CHAPTER

16

A gasp escaped Calib before he could stop it, and a second later, the curtain whipped open.

Sir Percival Vole snarled down at him. His eyes were still rimmed with leftover kohl from when he had masqueraded as Mistress Pearl. He’d lost some weight, which made his previously plump cheeks sag like slack sails. His teeth were black as ever, but Calib could no longer distinguish the smell of his rotten breath from the smell of sulfur all around.

The vole stood with his arms crossed and his footpaw tapping impatiently. For a second, Calib thought a flicker of recognition crossed Percival’s face, but then it passed.

“You’re late with the breakfast, prisoner,” the traitor of Camelot said. He stepped back a little so that Calib could enter with the tray.

“My apologies,” Calib mumbled out of the side of his mouth, disguising his voice a few octaves lower. He wished he had his friend Barnaby’s gift for accents at that moment. “I didn’t want to interrupt.”

Sidestepping Percival, Calib made his way to the large rectangular table at the center of the tent. At its head sat the Manderlean, studying an open scroll.

Calib suppressed a shudder. The golden mask still covered the creature’s face, making it impossible to tell what kind of animal he was. The lack of features made the Manderlean even more mysterious—and terrifying.

With eyes that seemed to be lit by coals, the Manderlean scrutinized Calib intensely. Calib dropped his eyes to the table and saw that it was covered with maps. Carefully, Calib set the tray of eggs and raw fish in front of the creature, and bowed.

The Manderlean stayed still, making no move to eat—or dismiss Calib.

“Aren’t you forgetting something?” Sir Percival snapped.

Calib’s breath caught. He’d messed up somehow. They know— A screeching caw from outside the tent interrupted his swirling thoughts.

“Theodora becomes very cranky when she’s not fed in a timely manner,” the Manderlean said. “And when she’s cranky, she’s known to put mice on the menu.”

“Yes, m’lord,” Calib grunted, quickly grabbing the bowl of fish from the table. “I’ll take care of it straight away.” And before the warlord could examine his new prisoner further, Calib scurried out of the tent.

Theodora the hawk was roosting in a birdcage near the back of the tent. She was hooded, wearing a leather helmet that covered her eyes, blinding her to her surroundings. Still, the claws of her talons gleamed and looked as if they’d been freshly sharpened. Her beak hooked cruelly.

“I hear you, groundling.” Calib jumped as Theodora clapped her beak together. “Come closer. Have you brought me my fish?”

Gritting his teeth, Calib hurried toward the cage and pushed the bowl through the bars.

“Y-yes, ma’am,” he stuttered from the ground. Though he was terrified, he was slightly in awe of the hawk’s sense of hearing. She couldn’t see him because of her hood, and as far as he could tell, hawks weren’t known for their keen sense of smell. By only listening to him walk, she’d been able to tell what he was.

Suddenly, Theodora flared her wings, and the gust of wind from her feathers knocked Calib back onto his tail.

He scrambled to his feet as Theodora let out a piercing burst of laughter. “Sieer! Sieer! Careful, groundling, unless you want to end up in the Wolf’s Mouth. That’s where the misbehaving beasts go!”

There was an awful squelching sound as Theodora dug her beak into the fish and began to gulp down strips of scales. Feeling queasy, Calib turned and left the war tents.

Things weren’t looking good.

Calib was a prisoner for Camelot’s biggest threat. Sir Percival was still at-large, plotting Camelot’s fall. And Cecily was almost certainly going to die at sunset.

But for the first time since he’d arrived, Calib had a confirmation that he was on the right track. He’d learned that Cecily was still alive, along with some idea of where she might be.

The Wolf’s Mouth.

Cecily was somewhere in this fortress, and he would find her—before it was too late.