Page 88 of Avalon Tower
It’s been four days since we returned from our mission on Jersey, but my head still feels foggy. Even now, the residual thoughts of a dozen other people fill my mind like static, and I get terrible, debilitating headaches. My only respite is the constant supply of herbal tea from Tana. It’s nearly impossible to concentrate, which is unfortunate. The Culling is coming up fast, and I’m struggling to learn anything, despite staying up till two a.m. every night studying.
“No wall in history has ever been as effective as the veil,” Wrythe says. “MI-13 agents can’t swim or tunnel underneath, or even fly over the veil. There are some rare magical items, orbs and crystals and such, that provide some protection from veil magic, but they’re unstable, and many die trying to use them. Auberon’s mages keep the veil raised, stopping humans from invading their territory. Unfortunately, our only way of reliably going through the veil is with our Sentinels. At the moment, we have only one qualified Sentinel. As my brilliant niece Ginevra and I were just discussing, our command has been forced to resort to using untrained, subpar alternatives.” He cuts me a sharp look, and the rest of the class turns to stare at me, as though I’ve done something terrible.
“Even though we all know,” he goes on, “that until a cadet passes the Culling, he or she hasn’t proven what it takes to function as an agent of Camelot. But these are desperate times, indeed. Desperate times.”
I meet his eyes calmly. Untrained, subpar alternatives? That’s me, and yet, without me, the last mission would not have happened at all.
On the benches across from me, I see Tarquin and Horatio smirk. Tarquin mouths, Subpar. Serana, sitting by my side, tightens her fist, and her pencil snaps in half. I smile at her and hand her a spare.
“Every agent needs to be intimately familiar with the veil,” Wrythe continues. “We cannot have undercover agents gawking at it like fools, drawing attention to themselves. This is the reason for the field training mission that leaves this evening.”
A murmur of excitement runs through the hall. This field training mission has been almost all anyone has talked about for the past few days. All the cadets and the majority of instructors are leaving on a ship. The plan is to take them on a brief three-day tour along the veiled border.
Everyone except me.
Raphael already let me know that since I’m very familiar with the veil, there’s no point in me going. Instead, he wants to use this time to work on my Sentinel magic, preparing me for the Culling. And given how foggy my brain has been, having the extra time to prepare isn’t the worst thing in the world.
We’ve all been forgoing sleep, cramming maps and information and Fey grammar rules into our skulls. I’ve been helping Serana with her Fey language while practicing my lock-picking skills for one of the tests. Serana does her best to help Tana and me with our fighting abilities.
I rub my eyes, fighting off the exhaustion. When Wrythe lists the cities that the veil borders, Serana nods off. As her head bobs, I elbow her. She snores and startles awake.
“Ms. O’Rourke.” Wrythe’s sharp tone pierces the hall as he addresses Serana.
She blinks blearily. “Yes, sir?”
“Since you’ve been so attentive, perhaps you could list four cities in France that the veil’s southern border cuts through.”
“Um…”
“Incorrect.”
“That wasn’t…I was just thinking out loud—”
“I assume thinking out loud is the only way you’d get any thinking done.” He snorts.
More laughter from the Pendragons. My spare pencil snaps in Serana’s grip.
Wrythe’s lips curl. “By the time we leave tonight, I want you to submit to me a paper listing four of those cities, with the names of our contacts there and how best to get in touch with them. You, too, Ms. Melisende, since we all know that ignorance can be quite infectious. That will be all.”
The room fills with the sound of rustling paper and murmuring as everyone stands up to go to dinner.
“That utter wanker,” Serana mutters as she crumples her notes into her bag.
“Watch it,” Darius says in a whisper. “He might hear you.”
As we head for the dining hall, Serana touches my arm. “Sorry, Nia. I didn’t mean to get you in trouble.”
“Don’t worry about it.” I adjust the bag on my shoulder. “The veil is sort of an inverted U. I’d choose Bordeaux, Poitiers, Bourges, and Marseille or Avignon. And I already know the contact names and everything. We’ll do the essay in no time at all.”
“You’re incredible,” Serana says, relieved. “I was sure it would take hours, and I still need to pack for the training mission.”
“How do you manage to keep so bloody calm?” Darius asks me. “Wrythe is constantly making snide remarks about you. The Pendragons hate all demi-Fey, but they’re clearly targeting you.”
I shrug. The truth is, compared to the Dream Stalker’s torments, Wrythe’s barbed remarks don’t trouble me at all. “I don’t care what he thinks.”
We cross into the majestic chamber, where the sunlight pours through towering windows onto lavishly set tables. The portraits of Queen Guinevere and King Arthur loom over us all.
I walk to the cadets’ table, doing my best to avoid contact with other people. The last thing I need is more telepathic voices ricocheting in my skull.