Page 115 of Avalon Tower
Amon nods gravely. “I am Avalon’s historian. And I know all of our laws and ceremonies. There’s only one precedent for this. Only one Fey from Avalon Tower’s history had one of the primal powers.” Amon looks up at the wall. My eyes follow his to the painting that hangs above the combat hall. Merlin.
“The founders were clear,” Amon says. “There are individuals that carry a different torc. Those are the founders of Avalon Tower. King Arthur. Sir Galahad. And Camelot’s primal sorcerers, like Merlin.”
“Not like Merlin,” Wrythe sputters. “Just Merlin. He was Camelot’s only primal sorcerer.”
“Merlin passed the Tower’s trials, which were then conducted by the Lady of the Lake,” Amon says. “He would have received a gold torc, but because he could manipulate the weather—and that is a primal power—she gave him a torc of Avalon Steel, forged by dragon fire.”
“You want to give her Avalon Steel? Are you mad?” Wrythe splutters.
Amon shrugs and looks at the ground. “I don’t want to. I have to. We have protocols.”
“Protocols and procedures, Wrythe,” Viviane says, again in his accent.
“Because you think she has mind control powers?” Wrythe’s voice becomes unhinged. “Compulsion?”
“You just told us that she did.” Amon frowns. “That she made you say what you did.”
“Or did you really mean what you said when you called yourself a twat?” Viviane asks.
“What is the point of being Seneschal when I have two demi-Fey working against me?” Wrythe snarls, and cuts a sharp look to Amon. “And a bearded idiot from the common classes. This place is going to hell, do you know that? It’s all falling apart.”
He pivots and storms off, slamming the doors behind him.
“Now, then,” Amon beams. “Nia Melisende, welcome to Avalon Tower. We will grant you the torc the moment we can get our hands on Avalon Steel. There’s not much of it left because it has to be forged on a stone in the lake using dragon fire, but rules are rules.”
Viviane turns to cross out of the hall. She throws open the door. The entire academy is out there, waiting. She stares at them for a moment, then lifts her chin and shouts, “Avalon Steel.”
And at her words, all hell breaks loose.
CHAPTER 39
Iknock three times on an imposing set of dark oak doors, the thick wood reinforced with nails.
I glance back at Tana and Serana. They’re staring at the door, their shoulders hunched, expressions tense. Serana has a coffee stain on her shirt, but it’s too late for her to change.
We’re on the top floor of Merlin’s Tower, the one no one is allowed to visit unless summoned.
None of us know why we’ve been called, only that the knights of the Round Table are waiting for us on the other side of the door.
“Do you have any sense of what they want?” I ask Tana desperately.
She shakes her head and crosses her arms in front of her chest. She’s been quiet and withdrawn the past few days, and I keep hearing her moaning in her sleep. I’m well aware that there’s something she’s not telling me.
“I hope they’re not changing their minds about us becoming knights,” Serana mutters, fingering her silver torc nervously. “They can’t do that, right? At this point?”
Torchlight burns from columns on either side of the door, wavering over the carvings that rise up twenty feet. On one side of the wood are engravings of swords, crowns, and a scepter—symbols of royalty. On the other are twisting nature symbols, a man’s face formed with leaves, and plants with three leaves. My gaze slides to the top of the door. Etched in the stone is the cycle of the moon.
Shadows from the burning torches dance over the stone walls and floor.
At last, the door groans open. Slowly, the three of us cross inside.
I stare in awe at the hall, the size of a particularly large cathedral. Pale blue light flows in through an ornate window a hundred feet high. The pearly rays gleam off a round table of polished wood so large that it seats about fifty chairs. Only about ten of them are empty, and the rest of the knights are staring at us. Nivene is among them, her scarlet hair like a flame in the streaming sunlight.
Flanked by Tana and Serana, I slowly walk across the flagstone floor. I try not to look at Raphael. Instead, I keep my eyes on the tall portraits on the far side of the hall. They span from the floor to twenty feet above: Arthur, Merlin, and Guinevere—each of them wearing a metal torc, pale with a hint of rose. Avalon Steel.
Mine isn’t ready yet. And that means I’m the only one here without a torc.
I glance at the round table again. I didn’t realize there were quite this many Round Table knights. And as much as I try to avoid looking at Raphael, I can’t help it. My gaze always goes to him, whether I want it or not. His beauty is like a command I can’t ignore.