Rise of the Fey Read Free Page A

towards a round stand erected a third of the way down the arena floor.
    “Rip her ogham out!” another shrill voice screams from the stands.
    Applause of approval resounds at the cry when a crackling thunder rends the air. I look up, startled.
    “I will have order and discipline at my court!” a voice booms out, coming from the dais raised in the center of the stadium.
    The curses and cries die out as quickly as a snuffed flame. The man who spoke is a grizzled geezer, his shoulders pulled back proudly, his face stern. Fluttering angrily on a pole above him is a triangular flag depicting a bearded man with the horns of a ram, a sword in one hand and a wreath of oak leaves in the other—the Board’s sigil.
    The guard makes me climb onto the wooden stand then proceeds to attach my chain to it.
    “Lovely,” I say bitterly, “as if this wasn’t degrading enough.”
    The guard smiles wickedly from his position, then gives a final tug on my bindings before stepping away.
    Despite the weight of my fetters, I hold myself straighter. If those people think they’ve got me cowering and ready to do their bidding, they’re out of their bloody minds. I stare, unblinking, at the judge and the rest of the jury set in a semi-circle about him.
    To the judge’s right are six members of the Board. I see with some relief that Lady Ysolt and her husband are still alive, though Sir Boris’s scarred face and new eye patch tell me he’s barely made it through the battle alive. Next to him is a brooding Father Tristan, followed by a large woman the size of an adult hippo then, dwarfed between her and my once-upon-a-time stepfather Luther, sits Irene.
    My gaze instinctively flickers away from her cold face to wander to the other half of the semi-circle, and my heart skips a beat.
    “Percy!” I exclaim, more loudly than I expected.
    The knight’s head snaps around in my direction and I break into a wide grin. The last time I saw him, he was on the brink of death after fighting off Dean’s evil banshee. I make a mental note to myself to thank Blanchefleur for saving him; if I ever get a chance to get out of these irons that is.
    Percy throws me a quick smile before looking away again, as if embarrassed to be overtly friendly with the accused.
    The slight hurts, but I can’t blame him. Rather, I blame everyone else around here. Who was the one who warned against the Fey behind all those black-veined murders? Me. Who warned against Carman getting out of jail?
Me
! But instead of thanking me, they’re now blaming me for everything!
    “Morgan Pendragon?” the old man asks.
    “What?” I yell, fired up with indignation.
    Out of the corner of my eye, I see Arthur grow tense and remember his warning to be a good girl if I don’t want to ruin my chances of getting free. I take a deep, calming breath.
    “Yes?” I ask more demurely.
    “You have been accused of practicing illegal elemental manipulation,” the judge says, loud and clear for all to hear, “of hiding important and dangerous Fey artifacts, and of theft. Do you deny any of these charges?”
    I refrain from rolling my eyes at him. “Yes, your highness,” I say. “I deny them all.”
    I hear muffled laughs behind me and the judge’s wide face turns slightly pink.
    “You’ll address me as ‘Your Honor,’ if you please, Miss Pendragon,” the old man says.
    “Yes, sir. Your Honor.”
    The judge nods then starts reading from a fat ledger.
    “Let us begin then with the illegal practice of EM,” he says, looking over his glasses at me. “A little over a week ago, you found yourself on Island Park, did you not?”
    I blink. Was it only a week ago that I was on that cursed island? “Yes, Your Honor,” I say.
    “And how did you get to that island?”
    “Your honor,” Arthur says, standing up. “There have been many reports, my own included, stating that she’d been kidnapped by the Pendragons’ lawyer.”
    “After having escaped from our house,” Irene retorts,