Page 45 of Avalon Tower
“The train of Gobannos,” Tarquin says with a half-smile.
“That’s right.” Wrythe nods. “The train of Gobannos is part of the status quo agreements. A train that connects the independent, human-controlled south of France with the occupied north. Fey sometimes use it to import human goods. And a few rare times, we’ve smuggled agents onto that train, gaining access to the heart of occupied France.”
He turns around and looks at me, his eyes narrowing. “Ms. Melisende. Since you’ve been paying such close attention, I would be happy to hear your opinion. Suppose you were an agent on that train, on your way to a gala. How would you present yourself to anyone who starts talking to you? What identity would you adopt?”
Shit. I clear my throat, trying to recall the texts I’d read two nights ago. “I would present myself as a baroness of one of the distant Fey isles in their realm, such as Saxa or Collibus. The majority of Fey aren’t closely familiar with those two families, so they wouldn’t question it. To fortify my cover, I’d come with at least two additional agents, one masquerading as my footman and the other as my personal secretary. They would be able to gather additional information from the common areas.”
“A detailed cover.” Wrythe raises an eyebrow. “And for the additional agents, perhaps you could use your friends, Ms. O’Rourke and Mr. Merton.”
“Sure,” I say warily. Serana and Darius shift uncomfortably. I’m starting to sense a trap.
“And then you would find that those from the Fey regions of Saxa and Collibus are almost never invited to the big galas. And in fact, Fey from Collibus never ride the train because they are backward, unsophisticated, and distrust human inventions. Your cover would instantly be blown. Not only have you got yourself captured, but your friends are now being tortured to death, and it’s all your fault. How do you feel now, when you are being forced to watch your friends carved up to betray our secrets? They would break Ms. O’Rourke’s fingers one by one. Shatter Mr. Merton’s teeth with a mallet. Slowly flay the three of you alive until you told them everything you knew about Camelot. All because you had better things to do than to pay attention in class. Oh, dear. Not very good, is it?”
I feel nauseated, fixing my eyes on the flagstones. When Raphael asked me to join the academy, he didn’t mention the possibility of torture.
“And this is why we have this class.” Wrythe’s voice booms over the hall as he addresses the rest of the room. “It doesn’t matter that Ms. Melisende is barely paying attention to the lives of her friends. Her job, thankfully, is only to get a skilled agent through the barrier. But if the rest of you don’t know every little detail of our enemies’ culture, you will be found out. And your friends will suffer with you on the rack.”
Everyone in the hall is staring at me like I just murdered someone.
The Seneschal puffs his chest. “Now, Ms. Melisende, please tell me—”
The large oak door at one end of the hall groans open, and Raphael and Amon enter the classroom. Wrythe bustles over to them, and Raphael leans in, speaking to him quietly.
Serana exhales. “That absolute bellend. Your answer was much better than anything anyone else could have come up with right now, and you’re still new here.”
“I missed some important details,” I admit miserably.
“Only because you’re stretched so thin! You’re barely sleeping, Nia.”
“Nia Melisende.” Raphael’s voice echoes over the room, and his piercing gaze bores into me.
Amon looks worried, and Wrythe’s face is red with fury, jaw clenched.
Raphael nods at the door. “Come on. You have a mission.”
CHAPTER 14
The evening breeze is cold and whips at my hair. My horse, Dickinson, trots through the main street of a tiny village in the south of France, not far from the veil. Gas lamps cast warm light over stone buildings lining a cobbled road. Around us, colorful wood shutters are closed to the night.
This morning, Raphael received an urgent signal. A contact in occupied Fey France sent word about a possible invasion into South France, but the detailed intel had to be delivered in person.
In enemy territory.
The other Sentinel is off on another mission and can’t be summoned back quickly enough. And that’s how I ended up here, staring at Raphael’s crisp white shirt and broad shoulders as he rides in front of me.
Two other agents flank him. On his right is a man named Arzel, with long, flowing black hair and pale skin. Arzel wears a hunter’s cap and a bow and quiver as part of his hunting disguise.
And on his other side is a demi-Fey woman named Freya, dressed in a Fey-style hunting jacket like mine, trousers, and tall boots. The moonlight streams over her bronze skin and wavy auburn hair. Like Arzel and me, she’s also armed with a bow.
Graceful and sophisticated as she looks, she spent the boat ride next to me, vomiting over the side. We are sisters in nausea now. The past twelve hours blended into a series of rushed, nerve-racking moments. It began with a quick briefing in Raphael’s office before the mission, then seven hours on a boat, during which Freya and I bonded between heaves. After horseback riding through the south of France for two hours, we’re nearly at the veil, and nerves are making my heart race.
Up ahead, the three agents guide their horses past a fountain in a village square. The sound of the fountain’s burbling mingles with the buzz of the nearby veil. The closer we draw to it, the more nervous I become.
When we reach the end of the village, we guide our horses out into fields. From here, I have a full view of the veil, and my heart speeds up. Sunflowers sway gently in the night breeze, bathed in the glow of the magical mist. At night, it shimmers like moonlight with an eerie violet tinge. So beautiful, so deadly.
Raphael pulls his mount to a halt and looks back at us. Beyond him, the fog swirls, and magic buzzes over my skin, raising the hair on the back of my neck. I still have no idea if I can control the veil in person like I did before. What if that was a one-off?
My stomach flutters as Raphael’s gaze lands on me and he guides his horse closer. The shimmer of the veil sparks off the hilt of his sword. A wayward lock of dark hair falls before his eyes. “You understand your role here, right? Open the veil and nothing else,” he says quietly. “Wait just on the other side for us to return from Allevur.”