Free Rise of the Fey by Alessa Ellefson Page B
Authors: Alessa Ellefson
snaps. “Everyone in there heard you! As if they needed any more ammunition against me, here you go, reminding everyone around of your link to Carman and her son.”
“There wouldn’t have been a link if your family hadn’t hired Dean to begin with,” I retort. “Why should I get all the blame in this?”
Rubbing his forehead in exasperation, Arthur starts pacing before me, as if searching for a way to explain particle physics to a baby.
“There you are,” a shrill voice says behind us before Arthur can launch himself into another diatribe.
Arthur’s face twitches before he can school his expression, and he turns to face the newcomer. “Lady Irene?” he asks calmly, as if he wasn’t just yelling at me a second ago.
“I want to know what you’re going to do with this little mongrel of yours,” Irene says, her eyes sharp behind her black birdcage veil.
“I fail to see what you are referring to,” Arthur says.
But I know exactly who she means, and I feel my temper rise at the insult. Before I can do anything to her, however, Arthur steps in front Irene so that she’s forced to tip her head all the way back to look at her son.
“Unless you wish to speak with me of matters regarding the Order,” Arthur says, “I’m afraid I cannot make any time for you.”
Irene’s face grows livid, the thick vein on her forehead pulsing more quickly. “I told you not to get involved with that tramp, Arthur,” she says. “She’s tarnishing your reputation at a time when you can’t afford any more bad publicity. And if you insist on keeping her around, you at least need to appease the crowds and placate the opposition by making it clear you have her under control.”
“And how do you suggest he do that?” I ask. “Keeping me leashed at all times?”
“Although I wouldn’t mind seeing that,” Irene replies coldly, “I was thinking of something a little more classical,”—she pauses, her smile stretching over her pale features like a bleeding wound—“like a public beating.”
I exhale quickly. No matter how many times she’s proved me wrong, I still have a hard time accepting such evil intents from someone I once considered my mother.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Arthur says. “We’ve got enough on our hands to worry about without having to throw a circus show in the mix.”
“You’re running a circus show right now,” Irene hisses, flinging her hands towards me, “you two parading together when we all know she helped Carman escape!”
“I didn’t
help
her, you stupid witch!” I exclaim. “How many times do I have to tell you that before you get it in your pea-sized brain?”
“Morgan!” Arthur exclaims, shocked.
There’s a loud clearing of throat and we all spin around to find Lady Ysolt and Sir Boris coming over to us.
“We are not interrupting anything, we hope?” Lady Ysolt asks, her grimace of distaste belying her words.
“Not at all, Ysolt,” Irene says, tucking a loose curl back into her chignon. She eyes me malevolently. “I was just on my way to report to headquarters.”
“Send my regards to Lady Parcenet, will you?” Lady Ysolt replies.
Irene nods stiffly before hurrying away, and Lady Ysolt and her husband close in on Arthur and me. I watch Sir Boris as he leans heavily on his thick cane, pulling on his long, handlebar moustache thoughtfully. Despite his latest injuries, the man is still imposing and I have to resist the urge to back away from him.
“She is right, you know,” he tells Arthur, rolling his ‘R’s. “You have to be more careful than any of them. You’ve displeased quite a number of people with your latest stunt, and not just on the Board.” His shrewd eyes come to rest on me. “As for you, girl, you’re Gorlois’s heir, one of the greatest knights of our time, and whose family ruled over this Order for centuries. So stand tall, be confident in yourself.”
“Perhaps not too confident,” I hear Lady Ysolt mutter. “She is rather
“There wouldn’t have been a link if your family hadn’t hired Dean to begin with,” I retort. “Why should I get all the blame in this?”
Rubbing his forehead in exasperation, Arthur starts pacing before me, as if searching for a way to explain particle physics to a baby.
“There you are,” a shrill voice says behind us before Arthur can launch himself into another diatribe.
Arthur’s face twitches before he can school his expression, and he turns to face the newcomer. “Lady Irene?” he asks calmly, as if he wasn’t just yelling at me a second ago.
“I want to know what you’re going to do with this little mongrel of yours,” Irene says, her eyes sharp behind her black birdcage veil.
“I fail to see what you are referring to,” Arthur says.
But I know exactly who she means, and I feel my temper rise at the insult. Before I can do anything to her, however, Arthur steps in front Irene so that she’s forced to tip her head all the way back to look at her son.
“Unless you wish to speak with me of matters regarding the Order,” Arthur says, “I’m afraid I cannot make any time for you.”
Irene’s face grows livid, the thick vein on her forehead pulsing more quickly. “I told you not to get involved with that tramp, Arthur,” she says. “She’s tarnishing your reputation at a time when you can’t afford any more bad publicity. And if you insist on keeping her around, you at least need to appease the crowds and placate the opposition by making it clear you have her under control.”
“And how do you suggest he do that?” I ask. “Keeping me leashed at all times?”
“Although I wouldn’t mind seeing that,” Irene replies coldly, “I was thinking of something a little more classical,”—she pauses, her smile stretching over her pale features like a bleeding wound—“like a public beating.”
I exhale quickly. No matter how many times she’s proved me wrong, I still have a hard time accepting such evil intents from someone I once considered my mother.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Arthur says. “We’ve got enough on our hands to worry about without having to throw a circus show in the mix.”
“You’re running a circus show right now,” Irene hisses, flinging her hands towards me, “you two parading together when we all know she helped Carman escape!”
“I didn’t
help
her, you stupid witch!” I exclaim. “How many times do I have to tell you that before you get it in your pea-sized brain?”
“Morgan!” Arthur exclaims, shocked.
There’s a loud clearing of throat and we all spin around to find Lady Ysolt and Sir Boris coming over to us.
“We are not interrupting anything, we hope?” Lady Ysolt asks, her grimace of distaste belying her words.
“Not at all, Ysolt,” Irene says, tucking a loose curl back into her chignon. She eyes me malevolently. “I was just on my way to report to headquarters.”
“Send my regards to Lady Parcenet, will you?” Lady Ysolt replies.
Irene nods stiffly before hurrying away, and Lady Ysolt and her husband close in on Arthur and me. I watch Sir Boris as he leans heavily on his thick cane, pulling on his long, handlebar moustache thoughtfully. Despite his latest injuries, the man is still imposing and I have to resist the urge to back away from him.
“She is right, you know,” he tells Arthur, rolling his ‘R’s. “You have to be more careful than any of them. You’ve displeased quite a number of people with your latest stunt, and not just on the Board.” His shrewd eyes come to rest on me. “As for you, girl, you’re Gorlois’s heir, one of the greatest knights of our time, and whose family ruled over this Order for centuries. So stand tall, be confident in yourself.”
“Perhaps not too confident,” I hear Lady Ysolt mutter. “She is rather