Page 46 of Avalon Tower
“I know.”
“Under no circumstances should you leave your spot. You must be ready to escape back through at any moment—with us, ideally, but without us, if necessary.”
“Raphael, I know. Do you honestly think I’d want to wander around occupied Fey France by myself?”
He studies my face carefully, and my cheeks heat with the intensity of his scrutiny.
At last, he says, “The glamour is remarkable.”
Serana was the one who glamoured me—that, it turned out, was her magical power. My irises had been glamoured to shimmer with golden flecks. The spell left my eyes dry and stinging, and they keep tearing up. Serana also lengthened my ears, disguising me as a full-blooded Fey.
Raphael’s gaze brushes down my body, inspecting my disguise for any flaws. When he nods, I assume he approves of the tight trousers and riding boots, and the tight jacket that binds my ribs. I’ve also got a knife holstered around my thigh—used by the Fey to clean the deer they kill.
“Now, let’s try it one more time,” he says, then asks in Fey, “What are you doing here?”
I take a deep breath. “I’m part of a hunting party.”
“No hesitating. That little pause means you will die. Again. Why are you here?”
“We’re hunting,” I say again, this time rushing it. The Fey have excellent night vision. To them, a hunting party is a perfect night out. “There are four of us.”
“Don’t give more information than they ask for.” His silver eyes narrow. “What are you hunting?”
“Red deer in the Broc Forest.”
“And your name?”
A short intake of breath. “Cyrania Gallowen.”
“You hesitated again. Now you’re hanging from the gallows or being tortured in the dungeons.”
“Is this supposed to help me relax?”
“Where are the others in your hunting party?”
My heart races, as if this is a real interrogation. “I lost track of the rest when they went off chasing a deer. My old horse couldn’t keep up.”
Raphael frowns. “Fine. But avoid speaking at all if you can. Your accent is still flawed.”
My nostrils flare.
He looks around us, scanning the field for activity. Seemingly satisfied, he guides his horse toward the veil. I follow after him, and the barrier’s immense power thrums and crackles over my skin.
My stomach drops. All of this suddenly seems like a huge mistake. I’m supposed to disable this huge wall of magic? At this point, I’ve done it once by accident in real time. Sure, in Raphael’s office, I can pretty consistently disarm the veil-in-a-box, but this isn’t a tiny little practice barrier.
This is the veil. The god of barriers.
If I lose control over my power, I could kill myself and everyone on my team.
My heart thuds hard against my ribs. Raphael is absolutely certain this mission is necessary—that we’re retrieving vital information that might save thousands of lives. But am I really the best option here?
Up ahead, the veil whorls, iridescent. The buzzing is so loud, it’s like a banshee screaming in my ear.
A few feet from the veil, Raphael halts his horse. I urge Dickinson forward and join him. Wisps of the veil whip around us.
“I do hope you’re ready,” he says.
“Of course I am,” I lie. “We’ve practiced this.”