Page 142 of Avalon Tower
He nods gravely. “Plenty, and it will be discussed later. But before we do that, there’s one thing I wish to do.”
He’s holding a small case, and he opens it. Inside is a torc, silver with a rosy sheen. I swallow.
“Nia Melisende,” he says. “I want to welcome you again to the Agents of Camelot. You are an Avalon Steel knight.”
He takes the torc from the case and slides it around my neck. All around me, people cheer, a sea of smiling faces, of friends, of comrades in arms.
I wish Raphael were here to see this, too.
But Tana says I will get him back, and I know better than to doubt her.
A chilly autumn breeze breathes down my neck. I pull up the hood of my wool cloak and walk along the shore of the lake. I should be asleep at this time of night. Everyone else is. But Raphael isn’t here, and that means I can’t sleep at all. When was the last time I slept properly? Days ago, I suppose. Before Auberon captured Raphael.
The rain was hammering on my window as I was trying to fall sleep, and now that always reminds me of Raphael—being wrapped up in his bed in his tower room or kissing his rain-soaked skin in Fey France.
It’s drizzling now, and the earthy scent of petrichor fills the night.
I don’t know exactly why I’m heading to the bridge by Nimuë’s Tower, but something is pulling me there, maybe because it’s where Raphael and I kissed that sultry summer night.
Or maybe I’ve lost my mind from chronic insomnia.
Fog drifts along the glassy surface of the lake, along with a few orange oak leaves, bright against the dark water.
I reach the bridge at last and climb the old stone stairs. They’re slick from the rain, and I hold on to the rail. The tower looms over the lake, wrapped in mist. I pass the place where Raphael and I jumped in and feel my heart cracking at the memory. Gods, I wish I could go back in time.
Some of the ancient carvings on Nimuë’s Tower are glowing faintly—the triple-spiral symbols. I walk through the arched doorway and feel the magic hum against my skin. On one side of the landing, a stairwell winds down to the lake. On the other side is a round room that looks like a temple. Peaked windows let in faint light. There’s no glass in them anymore—if there ever was—and a cool breeze blows through the openings. In the center of the room is a circular altar covered in a layer of dust. Carved in the top of the stone are images of three women with long hair, holding urns. I run my fingers over the carving for a moment before pulling away again. This is too old for me to be touching.
Goosebumps rise on my skin. What did they use this for in the old days?
Going to a window, I peer out at the lake. Excitement flutters through me. A boat is waiting at the base of the tower. I’ve been out here a few times before, and there’s never been a boat. The small vessel glows in the moonlight, and I lean out the window for a closer look. It resembles a wooden canoe with a curled bow and stern, carved with intricate knotted designs. Two oars rest across it.
My heart thrums. Some people say that the Lady of the Lake is a protector of Camelot. But that’s not what Nimuë was doing. That’s not why she trapped Merlin in the oak. She was a bridge between worlds and a guardian of both. And when the humans started taking too much control, she tried to restore the balance.
If I’m the new Lady of the Lake, what does it mean?
In the center of my chest, I feel a tug, as if an invisible string connects me to the boat.
I hurry from the chamber and bound down the stairs. The stairwell ends with an arched open door and a stone path that leads to the boat.
I climb in and grab the oars, damp from the rain. Ignoring the persistent drizzle, I begin to row, my breath clouding the night air.
I row faster. Surely this boat came to me for a reason. Desperately, I wonder if the reason is linked to Raphael. Tana said I would rescue him, and in the past two days, it became clear that none of the knights of the Round Table had any idea how to get him out of Auberon’s grasp.
The cool air bites at my skin as I work the oars.
Nimuë sacrificed her lover for her cause.
But Raphael? He did the exact opposite. He put Camelot at risk to save me. I feel my chest cracking. The sooner I can get him out, the less likely it is they’ll break him.
And then I hear it, the hum of a veil. It’s so foggy out here, it’s hard to see, but it’s there—the opalescent sheen. It’s a veil, but this one feels different. It emits a low, resonant hum that’s almost musical. It’s a different sort of magic, beautiful and ancient. Primal magic, perhaps.
Is this where Avalon has been all this time? My breath quickens, and I summon the red bloom of my Sentinel magic. The moment the hum goes quiet, I start to row again, faster now, moving through the veil. What if this is where they’re keeping Raphael? On Avalon itself?
My oars carve into the water, and the mist thins. I keep going.
I look over my shoulder at what I’m approaching and feel the world tilt on its axis.
It’s there—a rocky, moss-covered island. Avalon. A vast, rambling castle of stone perches on a craggy hilltop. Pale stone towers jut into the night sky, almost glowing. At lake level, apple trees and oak trees spread out over the island.