Blood of the Fey (Morgana Trilogy) (27 page)

I balk at the horrible image Arthur’s painting. “I didn’t know,” I whisper.

“Of course you didn’t know,” he says, “which is why I sent you to see your friend. But instead, you thought to take offense.” He moves away, eyeing me like it’s the first time he’s truly seen me. “I thought you had more sense than that, but I see they were right to put you with the freshmen.”

And with those lovely parting words, he stalks off. And I get to feel very, very stupid. Especially when I realize a slew of people are still gawking at me, whispering behind their hands about what’s just happened.

“Of course she wouldn’t understand,” Jennifer says with a smirk as she struts by me with her cohort of fans. “She’s never had friends to call her own, or family who cared about her, so she wouldn’t understand the pain of losing someone dear.” She throws a long sideways glance in my direction. “But it doesn’t mean that we have to cater to her emotional retardation.”

Fists clenched, I stare at the flock of girls and boys as it cackles away around a corner.

“Just because I’ve lived most of my life apart from people doesn’t mean I don’t feel,” I say under my breath.

“What have you done?”

A heavy arm lands around my shoulders, and I find myself looking up into Gauvain’s dark face. He flashes me his lightning-white smile, but his good mood doesn’t reach me.

“Getting Arthur angry, you mean?”

Gauvain nods energetically. “That’s exactly what I mean,
chérie
.
¹⁸
I’ve never seen him lose his temper like that before.”

Which makes my already low spirits drop a few more levels. This is just great. Not only have I made a scene, but on top of that, it’s apparently a first with the head of KORT. Just what I needed, another reason to have people talk about me behind my back.

“How did you do it?” Gareth asks, towering on my other side.

I almost get a crick in the neck staring up at them, too confused to bother with an answer.

“You see, we’ve been trying for ages to get him to show a bite more emotion,” Gareth says, his French accent thick. “But the most we ever got was cleaning duty.”

“It’s ‘bit,’ not ‘bite,’” Gauvain says.

“It’s the same thing, what does it matter?” Gauvain says before returning to me. “With you, he’s not recognizable. He acts like…”

“A human being,” they both say at the same time.

I shrug Gauvain’s arm off. “I don’t know what I’ve done, and I don’t know why you’d want to get Arthur angry. It’s really not very pleasant.”

“You’re our idol,” Gauvain says to my back as I hurry to class.

“Our hero!” Gareth shouts.

“Our goddess!” Gauvain adds even louder.

I shut the door to the staircase behind me and welcome the blissful silence. Everyone is in the dining hall, I know, but I’d rather skip a meal than have to deal with more unwanted drama.

Apart from a few stray comments and looks directed at me, the morning passes by without incident until we get to Sir Boris’s class.

“Did you see the news board today?” Keva asks as she edges toward us while we’re waiting for the teacher to arrive. “They finally named the three who are to be knighted.”

“Yeah, we saw,” Bri says, sounding tense. “Big deal.”

“Her brother’s gonna try for a position at KORT,” Jack explains.

“Owen’s out of the asylum?” Keva asks.

“Not Owen,” I mutter, “Hadrian, her older brother.”

“Oh.” Keva seems to consider that for a moment, then says, “I hope he makes it. Then I’ll be close to the sisters of
two
KORT members!”

“Miss Pendragon?” Sir Boris calls out the moment he walks in. “A moment, please.”

I feel myself turn bright pink at being singled out. Everyone knows trouble’s a-brewing when he focuses his attention on someone. I so wish the earth had opened up and swallowed me this morning. Not even Hell can be this tedious.

“Yes, sir?” I say.

He grabs a pile of papers, and I realize with dread that it’s my series of late homework, already graded. He shuffles through them, as if he needs a reminder of the poor job I’ve done.

“You did quite well, considering you’re new to this environment.”

I look up from my boots in surprise. “Sir?”

“I wouldn’t quite agree with you that goblins are such weak creatures,” he says, handing me the whole stack. “You can’t take Puck as a model of study. He’s been domesticated for far too long. But otherwise, your work is thus far exemplary. Keep working like that, and you may move up through the ranks a lot quicker than you might expect.”

I beam at him, thinking for the first time in my life how adorable and cuddly Sir Boris truly is. Refraining from hugging him, I get back to my seat.

“What did he want?” Bri asks.

“He’s graded my homework,” I say, staring at my papers like they’re great works of wonder. “And he didn’t fail me.”

“Well, that’s good then,” she says, noting the red A marked on the top sheet. “Might shut Keva up for a while. I don’t think she’s ever gotten higher than a B plus.”

We both grin at each other until Sir Boris calls us to attention and we are required to learn about the Alp-Luachra, a fairy that likes to burrow not in the ground or in trees, but inside people’s bodies to eat them from the inside out. A most appetizing prospect right before lunchtime.

“I want everyone to write an essay on how to prevent getting infested with these Fey, and how they interact with their environment,” Sir Boris says once the bells go off.

“A good thing he hasn’t brought one of those gross creatures with him this time,” Keva says on our way to the dining hall. “Can you imagine the ruckus this would have caused?” She shudders, holding on to her face without disturbing her impeccable makeup.

“You mean he brings Fey creatures in here?” I ask, trying to picture Sir Boris with a troll on a leash.

“Oh, sure he does,” Jack says. “Which is really cool, because usually we only see them once they’ve lost their form and all that remains is their ogham.”

“But he brings them
live
,” Keva says.

“Do you remember the time Kaede’s grandma came over for a visit during the first week?” Jack asks.

Bri lights up. “Yeah, she’d brought a kijimuna with her.”

“A kiwi-what?” I ask.

“Kijimuna,” Bri repeats. “They’re these little fairies that live in the woods, usually found around Japan. Big heads, tiny bodies, and red hair everywhere. They were adorable!”

“They tied Sir Boris’s mustache ends together,” Keva says, “kicked him in the crotch, and jumped on the chandelier. They were caught only when the thing crashed down on K’s grandma.”

“Was she all right?”

“Oh yes,” she says dismissively. “She had a bunch of protective charms on.”

“Miss Pendragon?”

A young servant is standing before us, tall and spindly, his long hair pulled into a low ponytail. He hands me a letter before disappearing again in the mob of students.

“Uh-oh, someone’s been summoned,” Keva says with a smirk. “What did you do this time?”

“Nothing,” I say, tearing the envelope open.

“It’s from the medical wing,” Bri says, reading from under my elbow.

Dear Miss Pendragon,

It has been brought to my attention that you may have the necessary qualities to be of help here at the infirmary.

Please see me at your earliest convenience after practice session.

Dr. Daphne Cockleburr

“Qualities?” Keva says, sounding skeptical. “You mean as a lab rat?”

“Still a better prospect than cleaning bathrooms,” I quip.

Keva raises her hands. “Tough call.”

Whack!
I curl up in a ball, holding my head with both hands, trying not to cry like a baby in front of the fifteen-year-old boy. Today’s class is sword training, which means I actually get to practice with the others for once—which made me very happy until I found out who I’d be partnering up with.

Daniel crows over me, triumphant. “You have to do my math homework now, Troll Feet,” he says, pointing his wooden sword at me. “A bet’s a bet, don’t forget!”

I scowl up at him, but he seems unaffected as he swaggers about the training area, high-fiving Ross and Brockton.

“Up, Miss Pendragon,” Sir Ywain, our weapons master, says. “In a battle, there is no time for dillydallying. Make sure your stance is proper so that your forte’s always defending the line between you and the tip of your opponent’s sword. And fix that grip of yours.”

“As for you, Mr. von Blumenthal,” he adds, wiping the smile off my partner’s face, “you know very well our practice is scholar’s privilege style, which means no attacks to the face.”

Elias gets smacked farther down the field and lets out a loud yelp. The teacher runs off.

Muttering to myself, I get back to my feet and grab my practice sword.

“You done gloating?” I ask, angling the sword up, my right foot forward.

“I’m ready to teach you a lesson any time of day,” Daniel answers, blowing on the strands of hair falling in his eyes.

Quick as a snake, he surges toward me, deflects my blow, feints, then hits me behind the legs. I drop to my knees as he comes back on my other side. He cracks his sword down on my arm and points it to my exposed neck. All in less than thirty seconds.

Panting, I hold my arm, still ringing from the blow like a tuning fork.

“Do you surrender?” Daniel asks.

“What do you think?” I say, using his sword to pull myself up and nearly bringing him down.

With a smirk, he stalks off to Ross and Brockton, who are still practicing a few paces away.

“That taught her good,” Brockton says as he parries Ross’s blow.

“I don’t think anything can get into her thick skull,” Daniel says. “My bet is, she’s never gonna learn.”

“At least you gave her a good spanking,” Ross says. “She deserves it for giving our class a bad rep.”

Pretending not to hear them, I gather up my gear and return it to the armory. I wouldn’t be causing such trouble if people left me alone, people like Arthur and that stupid girlfriend of his. They should just get married so they can leave on their honeymoon and give me some peace.

By the time I make my way to the infirmary, my arm is still tingling. The medical wing is brightly lit with salamander lamps like in the dorms. From a back room come the moans of an injured person, and the distinct sounds of someone throwing up.

“Hello?” I call out. “Is anybody here?” I look down at the note again. “Mrs. Cockleburr?”

A stocky woman waddles up to me from a side door, a pencil stuck in her auburn hair to prevent it from getting in the way.

“What is it?” she says. “Another practice injury?”

“I got a note to come see you,” I say. “About helping?”

“Are you Morgan?”

I nod, hoping nothing will entail cleaning.

“Oh good. I heard from Linette, that is Professor Pelletier, that you’ve got rather a deft hand with herbs, and just this morning I heard you had a healing gift.”

I feel like I’ve just been thwacked again. “I beg your pardon?”

Dr. Cockleburr frowns at me. “You did treat a clurichaun wound overnight, didn’t you?”

“I put a salve on one,” I say, cautious. “It was meant for snakebites, but—”

“How interesting,” she says, taking notes on a small pad. “You prepared it yourself?”

I swallow with difficulty. “Y-Yes.” I look about me, wondering if Arthur’s in one of these sickbeds. He looked fine this morning, but things can go bad quickly—I’m one to know.

“Is something wrong?” I ask.

“Not at all, not at all,” the doctor says, still writing. “And you have experience preparing other solutions?”

“Yes, but it was always under supervision.”

“Perfect.” Dr. Cockleburr closes her notebook and slips it back in her lab coat pocket. “So here’s the deal. You are to spend your botanics classes with me instead, and I’ve already talked with Ysolt regarding trading half your EM time to help me out here with the patients and the preparation of remedies, since you already have some experience with it.”