Page 26 of Avalon Tower
“Nice to meet you, Nia.” Serana smiles at me. There’s something wild in her smile, half joyous, half predatory. Even sitting, she’s one of the tallest women I’ve ever seen, and her red hair drapes down her back. She has an eerie beauty, with pale white skin and a smattering of freckles across her cheeks. Her bright green eyes mark her as unmistakably demi-Fey. She gives me a single nod of approval. “Tana told me about what happened on the boat. Fair play. Very gutsy move, that one with the crystal.” She drums her fingernails on the table. She’s wearing chipped black nail polish.
“Oh.” I clear my throat. “I got the impression that people here don’t think that.”
“Eh.” She waves her knife in a circular motion, the blade nearly nicking the ear of the guy on her other side. “Bunch of wankers. They don’t like strangers.”
“And I’m Tarquin,” the guy to my right interjects. He has a long, bony nose and nostrils that seem to stay flared. “Tarquin Pendragon?”
He looks at me expectantly. He has smooth auburn hair, combed neatly sideways, and thin lips pressed into a tight smile.
“Very nice to meet you,” I offer.
He clears his throat. “You know of Arthur Pendragon, I presume. King Arthur of the Round Table?” He points at the towering portraits. “That’s him and Queen Guinevere. I’m the spit of him, they say. The absolute spit of him.”
He looks nothing like the chisel-jawed, tan man in the portrait. Tarquin’s skin is the color of milk. “Quite.”
He grins uncertainly. “Yes. Arthur founded this place and built most of Camelot. His blood runs in my veins.”
“I see. You’re a descendant of Arthur?” I can see he wants recognition for this. “Very impressive.”
His grin fades. “Yes. Well, I’m descended from his sister, Morgause.” His expression brightens. “But some say the Pendragons in those days had incestuous relationships, so really I could be…” He clears his throat. “Anyway, since you’re new here, I can show you around. As a Pendragon, I feel it’s my duty to look after lost young women who are new to our academy. Of course, I can show you around the rest of Camelot, too. Outside the Tower. I’ve lived in the city my whole life.”
There’s something false about his smile that sets my teeth on edge, but I murmur, “Thank you.”
So he’s one of those Pendragons that Viviane referenced, someone who might cut me down just weeks into training.
But he doesn’t seem to hate me so far.
My stomach rumbles, and I turn to a platter of food. It looks like something from a fairytale—fresh bread pudding, jams, fruit, cakes decorated with dandelions, entire baked salmon and potatoes, all resting on a bed of wildflowers. Teapots stand on the table, along with a golden liquid that might be beer or whiskey. I immediately grab a small dandelion cake, then a piece of salmon and a potato, then bread and blue cheese, and dive in. It’s possibly the weirdest and most delicious meal I’ve ever eaten.
As I eat a buttery potato, I pour myself a cup of tea. “This is incredible,” I mutter. “Salmon for breakfast? Is this some sort of celebration?”
Serana’s eyebrows raise. “Celebration?”
“It’s Nia’s birthday,” Tana says. “So, we are celebrating.”
“Is it really?” Serana says. “Happy birthday!”
“My birthday was actually yesterday.” I frown. “I mean, is the breakfast always like this?”
Serana nods. “It’s just breakfast, love. But it’s Fey breakfast.”
Marvelous. My gaze flicks around the room. “Why, exactly? Are many of the demi-Fey here from the Fey realm?”
“No,” says Tana. “Most of us aren’t, and that’s exactly why we do it. I mean, for one thing, most of the people here are human, like Tarquin.”
Tarquin snorts. “Not exactly like me, but yes. Same species.”
“But even most of the demi-Fey have never lived in the Fey realm. And that’s why all this is part of the training,” Serana says. “Most of us didn’t grow up in the Fey culture. We’ve always hidden among humans.”
“I see.”
“These meals and the clothing are very important,” said Tana. “Four years ago, we had two undercover agents in the Fey realm. They had a good cover and perfect disguises. It should have been an easy mission.”
“They were demi-Fey but raised in England,” Serana adds. “One fellow buttoned his shirt all the way up, and the girl wasn’t used to wearing all the sheer dresses, so she had a jacket over it. It didn’t take long before they attracted the unwanted attention of a bastard Fey soldier. He followed them around, and then he noticed that they refused mead in the morning. And that’s the thing, isn’t it? Fey always have a glass of mead with breakfast and one at dinner.”
Tana picks up the bottle of mead and pours it into a small glass. It sparkles amber in the sunlight.
“The two spies were captured, tortured, and executed,” Tana says, her voice soft. She hands me the little glass. “Drink.”