The Legendborn Cycle

THE DEMON'S CORPSE remains solid, as if mocking me.

I have already taken its head.

Dismembering the rest of the uchel had, at the time, seemed poetic. Remove the hand that struck my king. Crush the jaw that spoke against us. But now, on the second leg, the elegance of destruction is gone, and all that is left is ugliness. Brutality. My own rage made manifest.

I know this, but I cannot stop. I want it gone.

Destroying a dead thing is better than sitting in failure.

If this creature had been an isel, a lesser demon like the hellhounds who first attacked us in the woods, it would have burst into shining green particles second after I beheaded it. The weak demons struggle to become corporeal on this plane, and if they do grow powerful enough to form bodies, they must consume aether constantly to maintain them.

But every Merlin child learns early that the uchel, the greater demons, are different. Stronger, Isels gain corporeality, but uchels begin with it. The uchel absorb and store enough aether that their bodies do not immediately dissipate when they are slain. The aether they have infused themselves with lingers. Persists. Which is why this demon's disgusting, stubborn flesh still rests on the forest floor around me no matter how many pieces I tear away. To my right, arm ozzes ichor from the shoulder joint. To my left, a thick, heavy tree sized of a leg lies torn in two.

I scowl, Shadowborn don't even have the courtesy to die cleanly.

"Kingsmage Kane. "The voice behind me is low and urgent. "Is the uchel..."

I pivot to face William. "Dead."

"And its Gate?"

I shake my head once. "I don't feel a Gate nearby, which means it and the pack of hounds both traveled here from some distance, and purposefully, just like the flying isel at the Quarry two nights ago." Who claimed it didn't open it's own Gate, I think, suggesting someone or something helped it cross over by tearing the fabric between our worlds. And the same origin might be true for the demons here. But instead of sharing all of this, I simply say, "There are too many unknowns." 

William nods. "Agreed. For now, we need to move the others inside. As quickly as possible."

I look beyond him. The unconscious, injured Legendborn and my guardian Lord Davis, are being carefully lifted onto stretchers brought into the forest by chapter Pages. Victoria, Evan, and Lord Davis all need critical care. William has done what he can in the field, but their injuries can't be healed here.

Nicholas has already been moved to the Lodge infirmary, his body can't accept any more aether from William at the moment - even Legendborn has their limits. By the time William returns to the Lodge with the others, Nicholas will be ready for further treatment. Even though William hasn't said it, I know that Nicholas is not yet stable.

His injury is too severe.

A cracked skull from an uchel strike would have been fatal within second minutes had the Scion of Gawain not been a member of this chapter. As though that would not have occurred if I had been fast enough to kill the uchel before Nicholas moved within the demon's reach. Or if Nicholas himself had simply stayed back and let me do my job. 

I may be helpless to heal him, but I am fully equipped to...

My eyes find William again, the one person who can help Nicholas now. His fingers rub against one another at his side, producing a soft glow of aether as he monitors his patients while the Pages maneuver them over the forest floor.

"Go. Once I am done here, I will sweep the perimeter again."

William inhales sharply. "Are you all right?"

l frown. "I am not the priority-"

"Give me your status or you're coming with us," William orders.

I groan but I take inventory of my body: heart rate elevated only just, breaths coming quickly. Both are a result of my emotional state, not physical exertion.

"Your ankle-"

Oh. Right.

My inventory missed that. The uchel snapped my right ankle, and I'd forgotten. The pain had been pushed down low beneath adrenaline and anger. I lean forward onto my palms, shove against the earth hard enough to rise to standing in one motion, test the weight-and wince, Pain like lightning zips up my shin.

"Broken, clean through."

A frown mars William's features. "I can wrap it at least."

Merlins can call aether into flames from the air and shape it into any construct we wish, but we cannot absorb aether to heal. I would not call that poetic. Just an irritating truth.

I shake my head once. "It is already healing."

The six Pages carrying Lord Davis move toward the path, walking slowly. One of the Pages glances in my direction, and her eyes widen at the green and black ichor streaked down my shirt and forearms, dripping down my cheek.

"Pay attention, Page!" I bark. "That's the Viceroy of the Southern Chapter and former Scion of Arthur you're carrying."

She startles but tightens her grip on the stretcher. "S-sorry!Y-yes, Kingsmage Kane!"

"Selwyn...," William chides, shaking his head. He gives me a stern look but leaves me be to jog after the stretchers through the woods. I watch the group move down the path through the trees, my vision sharp enough to follow them all the way through the darkness.

Behind me, the remaining senior Pages remove all traces of the Oath ritual and the hellhound attack that disrupted it. They work methodically around the massive stone coin that is the Chapel, picking up discarded candles and robes.

Finally, finally, the corpse begins to glow and flicker, a portent to its dissolution-and someone gasps behind me, the sound so sharp it rattles my teeth.

I pivot slowly on my still-healing ankle, expecting to face one of the clean-up crew, but instead I find Briana Matthews holding a hand over her mouth in horror.

This person, Nicholas's supposed Page, was the first sign that tonight would not go as planned. It is so easy to transfer my anger to her, the anomaly around whom so many unusual things have happened in the past three days.

I can already tell that Nicholas believes Briana Matthews is an ordinary Onceborn girl who simply falls into trouble and strife. But I am beginning to suspect that she herself is the trouble and strife. What ordinary Onceborn girl would attack an uchel for a boy she'd just met? What Onceborn girl would stand before me in the woods, with ichor staining her skin and drying into shiny muck in the curls of her hair, without falling to the floor in a babbling, frightened mess? I do not believe a Onceborn girl like that exists. Which is why I do not believe Briana Matthews is a Onceborn girl at all.

"What do you want?" I drawl and watch this creature posing as a teenager betray its demon nature one beat at a time. Her eyes meet mine, then the fear in them is replaced by sharp indignation. Her shaking hand drops to her side, then balls into a tight, angry fist. Her heartbeat stutters in her chest-just as it would if she were a scared Onceborn-then recovers, becoming the steady thrum of a fighter, just like a demon's would.

"I helped kill it too, you know," she snaps.

Onceborn girls respond to me in a variety of silly ways: They titter nervously, drawn toward me even as some buried survival instinct in their brains tell them to run. They try to catch my attention in order to get a better look at my eye color. They give me a wide berth when I walk by them in the halls. They whisper to one another behind my back. They do not, however, snap at me in anger. The list of evidence against Briana Matthews grows.

Aether warms my palms, ready to be used, and my fingers twitch at my side. Brianna catches the motion, eyes widening at the silver and blue flames climbing up my wrists. She stumbles backward, yet another performance to convince me she is harmless, I'm sure.

"Yes," I respond slowly. "After encouraging a wayward son to return home the very night a rare demon appears, and after inspiring that son to run toward danger himself to save you, you 'helped' kill it. Convenient."

Her eyes narrow. "What-what are you implying?"

"That you are not who you say you are," I murmur.

Her voice is quiet and strained, but I hear the words just fine. "I am Nick's Page. I think that says plenty."

The growl rolls up from my chest involuntarily, and I take a step forward-just as Sarah approaches to place a hand on the creature's arm.

"Sel, Bree, is everything all right?" Sarah asks, looking between us. She is kind but sharp as a dagger, and I hear the true question in her voice: "Are you in control of yourself?"

"I am fine, Squire Griffiths."I am being honest. Mostly.

"I'm taking Bree back to the Lodge now." Sar tugs at Briana's elbow, then eyes me over her shoulder as she guides Nicholas's Page back down the path toward the Lodge and away from me. I whirl back to the demon corpse just as it begins to flare and dust in the moonlight, casting a green glow along the forest floor.

Sarah's unspoken question irks me even though I know her care is genuine. Merlins do eventually lose the ability to do their job well if precautions aren't taken. We do become untrustworthy if we grow too powerful and succumb to our blood. Even Kingsmages can fall prey to delusions and paranoia. Nicholas knew exactly what he was doing tonight when he implied to Lord Davis that my senses were losing acuity. It is an old card to play, and a dirty one. Without proof of Briana's origins, the seed of doubt he planted against me could grow into widespread suspicion, then distrust..., which means I now have a mission:

First, I must find proof of the demon's deception.

Next, I will reveal her true identity and objective to Nicholas, his father, and the chapter.

Then... I'll kill her.

The bond of the Kingsmage Oath does not allow me and Nicholas to share thoughts, but we know each other so well that it sometimes seems that way. So I am not surprised when he knocks on my bedroom door the next morning after breakfast with a demand that counters my new plans.

"Leave Bree alone." He stands in the doorway whole and healed, eyes flabing.

I return to my desk and take a seat on the edge. "Good morning, Nicholas Glad to see your head is back in one piece instead of two."

He steps in and closes the door behind him. "I mean it, Sel. I know what you want to do to her."

I smirk. "And what would that be?"

Nick shoots me a glare almost as devastating as my own. "Last night in the woods, I felt your intent through the bond. You wanted to kill Bree."

"Kill the goruchel?" I ask, tapping my chin. "That would be in the job description, yes."

A muscle jumps in his cheek. "She is a human girl, and my Page."

I can actually see him trying to avoid another fight. Too bad. I feel like fighting.

"She is a demon, and she has you fooled,"I growl. "Goruchels are notorious for their plans and schemes. They enjoy playing human, lying in wait."

He sighs. "I won't argue with you, so stop baiting me. Stay away from her. That's a direct order."

I scoff. "Claimed your title less than twenty-four hours ago and-"

"Please, Sel," he says through gritted teeth.

That "please" stops me cold. Shifts the usual crackle in the air between Us. Nicholas rarely begs. I look him up and down, note the fine tremor in his hands, the tight lines around his eyes. Fear. Not mortal fear, but something adjacent. Terror, even. But why? My eyes narrow. "Even if she was Unanedig, you barely know her."

I know her enough. I... "His brow furrows. "I feel..." He looks away. "I can't explain it."

"Ugh," I groan. "So you are pleading with me to stay away from a demon because you have a crush on her? Nicholas, this is abhorrent-"

"No."He drags a hand down his face."I'm asking you for me, because of the bond. Last night, I wanted to... to murder someone or something with my bare hands and watch the life drain out of them." He swallows hard. "I don't want to feel that way."

"That's what this is," I sneer. Of course the golden boy, the pure, soon-to-be king, doesn't want to feel like a murderer. He leaves that bit to me. "Why not? Scared you'll like it?"

"Scared because I did like it," he snaps. "Because of how much I wanted it."

I hum. "It's called 'bloodlust' for a reason. You have felt it through the bond before. And last night it was just for a few moments."

"This is different!" He runs a hand through his hair in frustration. "I don't want to feel that way about Bree. For any amount of time."

I lift a shoulder. "If she hadn't been right in front of you, you'd have never known that it was her you wanted to kill."

"But then I did. I did know." He shakes his head. "And it felt wrong, Sel. Really, really wrong."

"Hm," is all I can say to that.

Nicholas backs away toward the door. "I have to go check on my dad. Just... I need you to do this for me, okay?"

When he leaves and the door clicks shut, I roll my eyes. "This is why kings need a mage in the first place."

That afternoon, I find William studying in the library on the second floor of the Lodge. I drop down onto the leather couch across from him. "What do you know of goruchels, William?"

My friend pushes back from his desk and organic chemistry textbook. His heartbeat is a steady, rhythmic thump-rush, even though I've just asked about the boogeyman every Legendborn child grows up fearing in the night. William's steadiness in the face of horrible things is one of the reasons, I think, that I spend so much time in his presence. Unlike the Onceborns, the Pages, and occasionally a Legendborn or two, William's heartbeat doesn't spike when I approach. The only other person whose heart remains steady no matter what I do or how suddenly I appear is Nicholas.

William regards me with gray eyes. "As much as you, or less."

"I did not ask how much," I murmur. "I said what."

"I used your knowledge as my point of reference,"William returns smoothly. "There is no point in repeating what you already know."

"Unless I'd like to hear you say it."

He hums. "Have more than you show, speak less than you know,'"

"Shakespeare. King Lear." I smile. "Indeed."

William sighs, crossing his arms. "The word 'goruchel' technically means 'highest class.' It is not the name of a demon species or subspecies, but rather a designation of strength and ability. The goruchel's greatest weapon is their ability to walk among humans. Even Merlins cannot detect their Shadowborn origins."

I nod and hear in his words an echo of my mother's voice, guiding me through one of the tomes on demonology in our home library.

William is good at catching my moods and thoughts without my saying a word. "Your mother taught you this, I'm sure. She would have known more than a Legendborn child was taught."

I nod again and quote her. "'A sudden turn of many events toward the worse, a stream of dangerous coincidences, a feeling in your gut that someone is lying about who they are... pay attention to these, Selwyn. There is no such thing as paranoia when lives are at stake."

William's eyes narrow. "Is this about Briana?"

My brow lifts. "What does it say that a specific individual comes to your mind when I speak of danger and lies and demons?"

"Less about the individual and more about your view of danger, lies, and demons."William shakes his head. "Be careful, Selwyn."

I raise my hands. "I've done nothing."

William sighs. "I spoke with her last night at length. She is a scared Onceborn girl, in much too far over her head. She brought Nick back to us, and he has claimed her as his Page. If you go after her-"

I roll my eyes, "I don't need to go after her. She is here in the building right now. Speaking to Nicholas in his room."

William blinks. "If you're spying on them ... "

"I do not spy on Nicholas, William," I snort. "She, on the other hand, had an appointment with an alleged therapist today in the university's arboretum." I wrinkle my nose. "Something about her dead mother and crafting flowers? I think the meeting was in code. Lord Davis called me away before I could hear more."

William drops his head back with a groan. "Sel, that's confidential, between Bree and her therapist. Some things need to remain private." He points at me. "You hate it when people dig into your personal business or your physiology or your family history, and yet...?" He lifts a hand.

I tap my fingers on the leather without meeting his eyes, then stand and walk toward the bookshelf, starting in the middle section at the letter G, even though I've read all the resources we have in our library already. Thrice. "My role supersedes anyone's confidentiality clause, because it serves the greater mission of keeping this chapter safe."

William studies me for a few moments. "Speaking of your job, how are you recovering from last night?"

"I patrolled through the worst of it," I murmur. I can't help the smirk that tugs at my mouth, remembering the fear in Briana's eyes when I found her and Sarah on the quad near her dorm. Rattling her until she reveals herself will do the job just as well as if I reveal her identity on my own. "Performing the Warrior's Oath on Felicity and Russ the same night that I meet an uchel is a heavier casting load than 1 anticipated, but one needs to adapt."

"I don't mean the Oath."

"l see."To that, I shrug. "It has been awhile, but I'm fine."

"Your and Nick's Oath connects you. More than I know, I realize."William pauses, hoping that I will respond and fill in the gap after his appraisal. I do not. "Which means when Nick felt mortal fear for his life, you felt the same, for your own. I know that's not... a frequent experience for you."

The Kingsmage Oath is not my only Oath, but it is my primary one. I swore to keep Nicholas alive and uninjured. To defend him against the Shadowborn who would take his life. To protect him as the vessel for the Awakened spirit of Arthur, should he Call, and the anchor of the Spell of Eternity. No other Oath rises above it. No other Oath produces an echo of Nicholas's mortal fear that rings so loudly that sometimes, when danger is greatest, his fear becomes mine. The sensation of impending death floods my mind without my consent. It is invasive. Unsettling. Inescapable. And there is no way to acclimate, because each instance is different than the last. If Nicholas feels he might die, then I feel I might, too. Terror like that is hard to shake.

I dislike that William knows this and shoot him a look over my shoulder. "Are you my therapist now, William?"

"Why, are you in the market for one?"

"Well," I begin, walking the shelves again, "I've just assumed no therapist would want to take on a patient who claims that he is descended from a half-demon sorcerer born of an incubus, whose mother was murdered by a full-blooded demon who looked like a human man, and who fights night and day against the rising tide of ancient hellish forces."I pause. "And who currently despises his Classics professor because the woman simply gets everything so very wrong-"

"You need to take the bond between you more seriously, Selwyn," William's admonishment cuts through my monologue.

I whip toward him, not caring that the ends of my hair have lifted and he can see the aether threading into flame around my hands. "I have no other choice but to take it seriously, William."

William stands, undeterred. He nods toward my hair, gestures at my fingers. "This is precisely what I'm talking about. Do you realize that I had to fight against your influence in order to heal Nick last night?"

The aether flowing toward me dissipates, whooshing back into invisibility. "What?"

William's eyes are patient, but the gray in them layers itself into a sharpened razor."Your bond goes both ways, as you know. When the uchel attacked, you felt Nick's mortal fear as if it were your own. But when you attacked the uchel with murderous intent in your heart, Nick felt you, and your fury was his."

My anger cools to a creeping chill. "He was unconscious..."

William shakes his head. "Our Oaths are stronger than consciousness, stronger than thought. When someone is injured, their trust in me and their will to live help me heal them. Help the aether go where it needs. But I felt Nick's spirit last night, and he was full of anger. He didn't know where it was directed or to whom, of course, but he felt the emotion. The bloodlust. It is difficult to heal that which only wants to destroy."

I turn away, jaw clenched. "He... I did not realize we could affect each other when we are not awake." I think of Nicholas's face this morning in my room.

William spreads his hands. "I do not say this to admonish you, Selwyn. I say it to warn you and to give caution: be careful with your rage and whom you point it toward."

I heard the words, but I did not listen.

I should have.

"You set me up!" the goruchel shouts. "You planned to corner me here."

I groan in impatience. In accusation. In derision. "Of course. I must admit, I was inspired by what you said yesterday in William's infirmary. You were right-all of this cat and mouse is getting old."

If she had not called me a crossroads child-a phrase no mere Onceborn could know and a word no Legendborn has reason to know-then I would not feel so out of control.

She falls backward on the bricks before the mausoleum, eyes wide. "Why are you doing this?"

"Because I'm tired, Briana, of your Shadowborn lies and the fun you must be having at our expense. Planting your brethren at our Oath, sending the serpent to take Nicholas under my nose, taking part in our trials." I advance on her and, with each step, release more of the frustration I have held in all evening.

If William were here in the cemetery with me now, he'd tell me to take slow, deep breaths to pull myself out of the battle haze. Only the strongest Merlins slip into this state when fighting the enemy. I don't know how it feels for the others, but for me, the bloodlust is fire beneath my skin that temporarily tints the world crimson. It makes me want to rain flames down onto my opponent until they are reduced to ash. And that is how I feel about Briana Matthews right now. I want her to break, then burn, then disappear into dust. "We both know you don't care about our mission. I can see it in your face!"

If Nicholas had just listened to me, then I would not have been pushed to such lengths. But if I am to be punished for doing my job and challenged by my own king... then Nicholas should be punished as well. I will make him listen, down to his bones. I will make him wish death upon Briana so fiercely that he would commit the murder himself, because I am tired of bearing this burden alone.

Our bond goes both ways.

I let my desire to destroy Briana Matthews flow through every musce and synapse, and send that desire out through our bond in a brutal rush. It hits Nicholas and bounces back, reinforcing my focus as it becomes his.

What Nicholas felt through our bond that night in the woods is nothing compared to what I unleash on him tonight. Intention is the engine behind every Oath, and I forge mine into an unshakable, ironclad resolve to watch Briana Matthews die. This feeling, once you've held it in your heart and felt it in your veins, never goes away. It takes up residence in your heart, forever.

So be it. It won't matter once she's dusted and gone. You can't mourn someone who never was.

"Nick was right." Briana's low voice lashes out like a whip, cutting deep. "Merlins are monsters. You are a monster."

For a moment, I lose my concentration. My hounds flicker. Before I can respond, a pack of isels finds us in the graveyard.

"Cedny uffern!" Hellfoxes. I shift toward them, redistributing my weight for a fight. "Call them off, uchel! If you kill me, you'll never get close to Nicholas. All your efforts will be for naught."

"They're not mine!" she yells.

They make their move, advancing on us in unsion.

"I said call them off!" I shout. She has command of the pack. All she has to do is-

"I didn't do this!"

Still the goruchel plays its game? "Briana-"

"Please, Sel!"

Please.

At that one word, time holds still. I stare down at this demon in hiding... and doubt cuts a clean, bright line through my intentions, cracking them open like a ray of sunlight through clouds. Her voice broke on her plea. Her heart races, suddenly so very loud in my ears. Panic is written all over her body. Her wide eyes glisten with tears... human tears.

Please.

I snap back to the battle, already murmuring for aether and pulling it into my palms. Three demons are yowling and pawing, with jaws snapping for our blood-mine and hers.

As we move through the tunnels to escape the foxes, the truth of her humanity seeps into me like water through packed soil, one drop at a time. How could I have been so wrong?

Just hours ago, I had imagined destroying a demon named Briana Matthews. Now, I am watching a teenage girl named Briana Matthews weep and gag while I gently pull a hellfox corpse off her glowing fist.

We are on the ground together, shoulder to shoulder beneath the demon she killed, the first time we truly see each other.

She is a girl who fights her own terror. Vulnerable, but made of steel, Where it is not covered in demon blood, her skin is warm and soft. This close, she smells like fear, sweat, and rich, sweet amber. But her eyes are a deep, melted brown that overwhelms my reasoning. They are human and scared, and filled with... relief. Because of me. Because I am here. With her. An emotion floods my chest that I cannot stop to examine.

"Close your hand, Bree,"I whisper in a voice I don't recognize. "I'll do the rest."

The relief on her face mingles with a trust that nearly undoes me right then and there, a trust that could split me open if I let it. Thankfully, she nods and closes her hand just as I'd asked so that I can move the demon. Put some distance between us.

When I drop the carcass on the ground, it bursts at my feet. One moment, a dead fox. The next, a cloud of foul green dust. I hear the other corpse behind me begin to explode-a fizzing sound deep within its body-before it bursts too, but my eyes are on the girl on the ground in front of me whose arms are wrapped in swirling red aether. Mage flame like I've never seen before.

In some ways, I was right all along: Briana Matthews is not an ordinary Onceborn girl. Briana Matthews is something else entirely.

Tears stream down Briana's cheekbones to her chin. She vomits while trembling on hands and knees. I ignore the smell and drop to my knees beside her. "You're okay. They're gone."

When our gaze meets again, her face reflects something I have felt all my life: the fear of not knowing what you are, what you're capable of. I feel a deep desire to help this girl, but I don't know how.

Is this what Nicholas feels when he looks at her, too? I think I understand now what it did to him to feel an all-consuming need to kill this strange, brave girl. I think I understand what he meant when he said it felt wrong. But it's too late.

When Nicholas and the others arrive, guilt churns in my stomach and threatens to spill out of my throat. For a moment, I'd forgotten what l'd done to him, but his face brings it all back in a dizzying, shameful wave.

It is only seconds before he discovers who the recipient of my-our-murderous intent was.

"What did you do?" he asks, and his voice is colder and harder than I've ever heard it.

I don't answer.

"What did you do?"

When understanding hits, the blood drains from his face and the realizations ripple through him in quick succession:

That his bloodlust had not been for a demon, but for a human being.

That he had not wished death on just any human being, but one he has feeling for. One who already has his heart.

That I tried to murder the girl he'd explicitly asked me to stay away from, not just for her sake but for his.

When our eyes meet, the ugly conclusion is a silent wound between us: I exploited our bond on purpose, out of cruelty and spite, because it would hurt him. Even after he'd asked no, after he'd ordered and begged me not to. Even when I knew that using the bond like this would tarnish the part of him that was beginning to love this girl. Even though I knew that if I failed to kill her and their relationship continued, he would have to live with the memory of wishing her dead. I had every reason not to, but I did it anyway.

I can't take this back.

I wish I could.

Nicholas and I have spent our whole lives finding new ways to hurt each other, Loopholes. The Oath means I cannot strike him with the intent to cause injury, but I have done plenty of damage both in the sparring arena and out. We both have. Bruises and scrapes and black eyes, sometimes out of anger, but always in the name of training-a worthy intention, as far as the Oath is concerned.

So this punch... I see it coming. I don't expect it to hurt. I don't mind that it does.

While training may be a worthy intention, retaliation is not. "You know I can't strike you in return," I say.

"Precisely," he replies.

Our gazes lock. Anger flares in my chest, rising to meet his. There between us lives all that I've done, all that he's done, all of the blows traded over and over again. All of the damage we leave behind.

When Nicholas carries Briana Matthews away, her eyes find mine over his shoulder. Inexplicably, they shine with concern and worry. For me. I nearly killed her, and she still looks back. The anger within me fades, leaving a question in its place: what kind of monster wants to destroy an innocent girl?

As the demon dust disappears around me, the answer becomes clear.

That kind of monster is... me.

____________________

I STICK A hand outside my window and press until my palm hits the inner ward and a blue shimmer ripples out in a wave. Wards aren't designed to keep people in, so the sensation of aether over my fingers is almost gentle. Warm, but still prickly. Sel usually recasts these in the early evening before Shadowborn activity picks up, so the scent of his signature is fresh. Bright spicy cinnamon and smoke from long-burning logs.

As I climb up on the sill, I have to laugh. Even with Arthur's strength, I never would have considered jumping out of a two-story window if I hadn't experienced Sel do it from three - with me on his back. I smirk into the darkness: if he ever catches me, I'll be sure to let him know where my inspiration came from.

Over the last week, I've discovered that the difference between a jump and a fall is a decisive, hard push off the stone exterior. When I land, I hear my trainer Gillian's voice telling me to take the impact intentionally, bending my knees rather than locking them. Back when Gill was first training me, my leg muscles couldn't have absorbed even a half story of shock. A jump like this would have sent all that force straight up my ankles into my knees and hips. Now, Arthur's strength keeps me from breaking something, but it does nothing for my balance. When I stand, I wobble a bit, but manage to remain upright without toppling. Progress. I take one step away from the building before a voice stops me.

"He's going to catch you one of these nights, you know."

I twist back to see a figure emerge from the shadows. William, in a green denim jacket and blue jeans, wearing a wry smile.

I cross my arms. "And then do what? Yell at me again?"

His mouth twitches. "Yes. Loudly."

I groan. "You here to stop me?"

"No. If I stop you, you'll just keep sneaking out. In increasingly creative ways, I imagine." He tilts his head up to my darkened window. "Not a bad jump. Or landing, for that matter. You're acclimating to Arthur's strength."

"Yeah, well,"-I shake my head-"strength is not enough."

"It never is." William watches me, expression mild and waiting. He would know what strength is and what it's not. For two hours a day, William is the strongest of us all. Stronger than Felicity. Stronger than me. Stronger than Sel.

I sigh. "How long?"

"Have I known you've been sneaking out?" He nods toward my right arm. "Since last Tuesday morning, when I spotted the poorly wrapped burn on your wrist at breakfast."

I shift until my arm rests behind me. The burn is mostly healed now. "Thought I hid that under my sleeve."

"You did. From everyone other than me."

I shift my weight, both grateful for and uncomfortable with how much William just... knows... without saying anything. How long he keeps his secrets. I don't want to talk about the burns I'm not yet good enough to prevent.

"Sel would have spotted it too, if he'd seen you that day."

"Well, he didn't see me that day," I mumble.

William doesn't comment on that.

"So." I gesture between us. "Is this another one of your bodyguard shifts?"

"Bree." He regards me for a long moment. "You can't blame us, can you?"

"No." I look away. "'If the Awakened Scion of Arthur dies by a Shadowborn hand, the Lines will end forever.' I get it."

William raises a brow. "If you get it, then why are you angry?"

"Not angry," I say with a huff. "Frustrated. I should be able to defend myself just fine. I should fight in this war just like everyone else."

You will. Just not yet." He gazes past me, along my intended path into the woods. "Heading to the arena?"

No use in hiding it. I nod.

He steps forward to my side and smiles. "I'll join you."

I blink. "You will?"

"Lead the way."

The nice thing about William is that he knows when to push back and when to be a companion. We both know the path through the woods well enough that we can walk it even without my flashlight.

If Sel were here, he could light the walk with a palm full of aether.

But if Sel were here, he'd be dragging me back into the house, even though he's warded the grounds behind the Lodge six ways to Sunday.

When we press through the second ward, William notices my reaction to the casting. My wrinkled nose and watering eyes.

"That ability of yours is fascinating," he says, studying my face.

"Smelling aether?" I lift a shoulder. "I guess."

"Not just smelling it, but ... "He shakes his head in wonder. "Differentiating between individual signatures. Getting information from the scent, who cast it, their mood. The only scent the Legendborn pick up from aether is ozone, and there's either a little of it or a lot."

I sniff. "Walking through Sel's freshly cast wards isn't very fun. If he's angry when he casts them, my nose gets congested. So, that's like... every day."

He chuckles. Pauses. Turns my words over in his analytical, medical mind. "Congested? Like allergies?"

I consider it. "More like... if someone walks by with really strong cologne. So bad you can't inhale around it or avoid it. Hard to think of anything else until it clears."

William ducks beneath a branch. "Sel does leave an impression."

I groan. "Even when he's not around me, he surrounds me. The wards, the Legendborn bodyguards, the orders and demands. It's suffocating."

He laughs then, gray eyes sparkling.

"What?" I ask.

He smiles softly. "You sound like Nicholas."

And just like that, the loss of Nick strikes me from within. Not the deep, obliterative wave of grief I still feel sometimes when I think of my mother, but something else. When I think of Nick's absence, fear slips between my ribs like a silent scalpel. A thing I gasp against, but can't avoid. But like the grief for my mother, the pain of his absence attacks when it wants to, arrests me when it wants to. The trees blur, and I stop walking. My eyes sting.

Nick was right beside me when he was taken. He'd just lost his title, been betrayed by his father, and yet he chose to stay with me while I recovered in his bed. Sometimes, I think I remember the heat of his breath against my collarbone, the reassuring weight of his arm across my middle. Words, whispered into my shoulder. "You and me, B."

William steps in my line of sight, notes my silence and pinched expression. His voice is low, to soothe. "We don't have any reason to believe his father would harm him. Or allow him to come to harm."

I take a deep breath, blinking away the prick of tears. "Everyone and everything out there that knows about the Order still thinks that Nick is the Scion of Arthur." I shake my head. "Harm will find him. At this rate, well before we do."

"You will have more say after the Rite."

I roll my eyes. "The Rite where I pull the sword from the stone again. This time for an audience?"

William frowns. "Your pulling the sword in battle was an immediate thing. And from what you've said, spontaneous."

It also wasn't just me, I think. It was Vera, Arthur, me. All together. Not one hand, but three.

"You have to formally and intentionally claim your title before the Regents to accept the transfer of power, make it official. Especially in wartime."

I snort. "The only time that Arthur Calls his Scion is wartime, William."

"War against known enemies, perhaps." He casts his gaze up into the high branches of the woods and to the moon beyond. "You've read the emissaries' reports. While searching for any trace of Lord Davis and Master Isaac and gathering intel on the possibility of Morgaines, the Regents and Seneschals have also been methodically- and quietly-combing through the other chapters to see if there are others like Rhaz. A task that must be done without alerting a potential goruchel assassin within our ranks and without drawing their attention to you." He looks down to me. "They will hand you a kingdom in grave circumstances, Bree. But they will not hand you an inner circle that you cannot trust. I, for one, am glad of this." His brow pinches in a rare show of pain. "We have had too many losses as of late... to not proceed with caution."

It is impossible to argue with that, and I do not want to. My hand finds his forearm in the dark and squeezes it before we keep walking.

I still don't understand why we haven't heard anything from Lord Davis, If Sel was right and Lord Davis wants to hold Nick hostage, then what's he waiting for? He knows as well as anyone else that the Regents will be here eventually, that he'd have a gathered and captive audience for any demands."

"Maybe Lord Davis doesn't know what he wants yet,"William says evenly. We've had this discussion before.

I grumble. "You mean he took Nick just for safekeeping."

"Nick is a valuable chip. He'll want to make the right play."

I gnaw at my lip. "And the Kingsmage Oath? Sel-"

"He would have alerted us if his Oath indicated that Nick was in danger."

I grumble again. "I still can't believe that Oath doesn't include some sort of tracking spell or something. What's the use of knowing there's danger if you can't locate your charge?"

"Kingsmages are not meant to leave their charges' side. Ever."William raises a brow. "So, usually this is a nonissue."

I don't have a response for that.

We arrive at the arena after a few minutes of quiet. The air holds the silence of winter to come, The wind is sharp across my nose, bringing the sour-sweet smell of dying leaves and damp wood closer as we step down the stone stairs carved into the side of the cliff.

The night of first trial, I'd walked down these same steps with Nick guiding me, eyes cloaked by Sel's mesmer. As I walk down now, I can almost feel his hands, large and warm on my shoulders. Almost hear his voice-a low, amused laugh from a forgotten memory.

"Steady, B, steady. See, the problem is that if you fall, the code of chivalry says I have no choice but to dive after you. Save you, roar with triumph, make a big scene and everything." I'd smiled at the joke and the genuine concern hidden bencath it.

Later, even though my participation in the trial had never meant to be real and had always been a cover, I'd asked him a question. "Do you want me to try for your Squire?" Did he want me, in truth, to pursue a bond between us? A bond that would last forever?

Nick had held my knuckles and grazed his mouth over them in a kiss that was both a promise and an offering. "You need to decide that on your own."

"Do you have another burn?" William's voice jolts me from the memory.

We've reached the bottom of the stairs and he's behind me, peering down at where I've been rubbing my thumb over my knuckles. I fiush. "Um, no. No. I'm fine."

He makes a thoughtful sound, then allows me to lead us onto the arena grass. When we reach the center, however, he holds a hand out, stopping me midstep. "Sel's last ward-"

I jerk my chin to the other side of the open field. Sel's third and outermost ward starts a few feet from the ditch where I'd once hidden with Sydney, a Page, during the tournament. Then it stretches around in a wide curve to make a massive circle with the Lodge at the center. "It stops at the treeline. I've checked."

William nods, satisfied. "All right. Show me what you've got, newbie."

I know what he's doing. Teasingly reminding me that even though I - not Arthur - succeeded in the combat trial using my own hard-earned skills and even though I have been training for weeks since then, the other Scions are still years ahead of me when it comes to knowing how to fight with aether, They'd started preparing for the possibility of inheriting their knights' aether abilities when they were six years old. Started training with rubber and metal practice versions of their knights' preferred weapons at seven.

William is reminding me, I think, to be kind to myself. To remember that even as adept as he is, he is human, like me. And humans must learn to wield aether, one step at a time.

It is difficult to be angry with William, so I'm not. But remembering that he and the other Scions had trained for a decade before they were Called does not make me feel better. It makes me feel behind. And I can't afford to be behind - not if I'm going to lead them on the search for Nick, lead them in this war.

I inhale deeply, and take a step away from him-just in case. The thrumming sounds of life in the woods have gone quiet for the season. My own breath is loud and raspy in my ears. My heart kicks at my rib once, twice. I close my eyes, ty and slow it down. Take another breath. Open my palms to the sky.

"Aether is all around you."William's voice is soft in my ears. "It's already there at your fingertips. You don't have to reach far."

Aether is all around me. It's already here.

"A quiet call. That's all you need to bring it closer. A whisper."

I grin. "Sel pulls. And I don't think he whispers either."

William snorts. "Sel pulls on aether because he's often aggressive or in a hurry. You don't need to be either, I promise."

I breathe again and reach without reaching. Aether brushes against my fingertips and across my wrist. Warm wisps of air dance along my skin. Then, I open my eyes-and call for it. I imagine the aether flowing thicker and richer. Invite it to transform from its invisible, gaseous state to its mage flame state- and blue fire ignites around my hands and arms, bright and hot.

"Now, forge it..."

The mage flame is getting hotter. I hiss but hold steady.

I watch the flames dancing along my skin and close my eyes, imagining them falling into the solid mass of Excalibur. I craft its hilt in my mind, build the pomnmel, and push the flames into my image. I visualize the flames like a swirling storm into the length of Arthur's blade, layering it over and over. Folding fire into thin sheets until it is a sharp-edged weapon.

But it doesn't work. There's only burning.

Instead of concentrating and cooling, the flames roar higher. The fine hair on my forearms singes, a charred smell in my nose. "Come on..., I mutter.

William steps forward. "Bree, let it go. We'll try again."

"No." I need to try again now. While it's here. The blade is a longsword. Thick and silver, a blood groove down the middle...

"Bree"

"I can do it." The pommel is shaped like a circle. The red diamond at the center-

"Bree!"

My hiss grows until it's a low cry. I'm burning myself. It's no longer the aether scalding me, it's my ineffective use of it.

"Bree, release it-"

"No, I just need-"

"Release it!"

Gritting my teeth, I yank on the aether. Stretch for it using what feels like my own blood, watch the flames lick in and out of shape. The aether bites into my skin, the burns going deeper, I scream-and finally release it.

The explosion blasts out and down, blowing dirt and dead leaves up into my face before the aether sparks out of existence.

"Damnit!" I slam a balled fist into the ground- and punch a hole into the earth. Arthur's strength, but it's not enough. Not enough at all.

William coughs, waving a hand through the dust in his face. "Now there's dirt in your wounds."

I groan. He's right. And it's in my hair. I'll have to wash it - and twist it - again if I want it to look nice for tomorrow. "Damnit!"

William kneels at my side, one hand resting over my forearm. He'd called his own aether for a swyn so quickly I hadn't seen it, or maybe he had it ready in his fist down at his side because he knew I'd fail.

"It's okay."

"No, it's not!" I shout. "I tried for the sword this time. Before I'd tried for the armor. God, even just a plain gauntlet, William. I can't forge any of it intoa. single shape, much less make it hard enough to sustain damage."

The burns sting like hell, even more so now with little bits of soil clinging to the raw and shiny red streaks. William takes my right arm in his gentle fingers and tuts. "The first few times, calling aether was overwhelming to me, too. Even after all that I'd studied"

I don't have a decade to study!" I shout.

Used to Sel's outbursts- far angrier and louder than mine-William doesn't flinch or even look up, just continues. "Even after all that I'd studied, it took long hours to visualize and forge the daggers. I needed to spend more time with the replicas in storage, study their weight, the feel of their hilts in my hand. You must know the weapon to forge it. You need more time with Excalibur, I think. It is unique in our world, remember. An aether weapon made stronger by each Scion who wields it, changing with each hand that holds it."

William's swyns are a literal balm. Calming, soothing. But his words remind me of Vera's. "You are my lineage, at its sharpest and strongest. The pain-welded blade." I breathe through the memory of her voice, every syllable its own type of cut.

"I don't understand why your casting is so cool. How do you bring the temperature down from that"-I gesture in the air with my left hand "to this."I point to my wrist, wrapped in shining silver-blue fluid.

"Well," he begins, "I'm not sure how we'd measure this using normal instrumentation, but I don't think the aether I call is as hot as yours to begin with. And I certainly don't call it in the amounts you just did."

"What does that mean?"

"It means what we already know. You are unusual. A new type of power-or rather, a new combination of powers." He pauses. "Speaking of, what about your Bloodcraft abilities? Can you call the aeth - root - you create from within, then cast it into solid matter?"

"Aether" and "root" might technically refer to the same natural, magical resource, but they are two different manifestations of that power. What the Legendborn call aether the rootcrafters call root. Instead of forging weapons, rootcrafters commune with ancestors to access root-and there doesn't seem to be a limit with how they use it after that, from healing to memory-walking. I wield both and do nothing so constructive with either one.

It doesn't matter if I'm calling aether or generating root. Either way, the power just burns.

I shake my head. "My root doesn't work like that, It's the reactive 'fight' part of fight or flight. Those flames spark for defense, not offense."

He hums thoughtfully. "If that's defense, I'd be both terrified and fascinated to see you on offense. In the cave, you didn't wield a weapon. You were the weapon."

I huff. "If I'm a weapon, then at the moment I'm a dull, unsharpened blade."

"Dull blades can be plenty dangerous, actually," William muses. I chuckle, but his expression stops me. "But I'm serious, Bree. What you did in the ogof... That was far more powerful than any Legendborn weapon casting could ever be. You used root like a Merlin uses aether. Like it was a part of you,"

"But I was possessed by Arthur and fighting for my life," I mutter. "All that power, and it was out of my control. Just like now. And I need get contro before the Regents get here."

"Why? You are the Crown Scion of Arthur. Control over his aether abilities, or lack thereof, doesn't change that. You can claim the title with the Rite, esen be coronated, without making a single plate of aether armor. You pulled the sword." He flashes a grin. "You are his heir, burned forearms or not."

"But if I'm going to lead the search for Nick, I need to earn the Regents' and other Scions' respect. I need to be as good at this as Nick would have been." 

William hums. "Well,"he says, sympathetic. "My diagnosis? lt's only a matter of time with Arthur's abilities. And in the meantime, at least you know how your Bloodcraft works."

I scoff and kick at the ground. "Not as well as I'd like. I ran away from my Bloodcraft at first, even if I didn't fully realize that's what it was, because I didn't want to deal with my mother's death. If I had just faced things head on and not run from it, I would have had access to root months ago."

William watches me for a moment, letting the silence stretch between us. "Is that what you're doing now? Facing your challenges head on?"

I think about it for a moment, and Vera's last words return to me. Hot and sharp and direct. "We ran so you would not have to." Then my mother's, from the hidden memory she'd left behind. "When the time comes, if it comes, don't be scared. Fight."

"Yes,"I tell him. "No more running."

"What the hell are you two doing?"

Selwyn's voice cracks across the arena-a whip of sound that lashes us both. I flinch and look up. William sighs and shakes his head.

Sel is a tall, dark shape at the top of the cliff. Too far to make out his facial expression, but I don't need to see it to sense his anger. His gaze scorches my check even fifty feet away and sixty feet up. He steps over the edge. His coat lifts in the air behind him, a dark shadow fluttering against stone. As soon as he lands, he's moving-and at my side in a furious blur.

This close, his eyes are a harsh bright gold. He looks like he's just come back from hunting: flushed cheeks, raven black hair wind-whipped, smudges of dirt on his black duster and his aether signature billowing in a cloud around him, fresh and burning. Whiskey, set ablaze.

"Explain yourselves!" he bellows, staring down at William.

William releases another, heavier sigh and continues his work. "Hello, Selwyn. Back from the hunt already?"

"The campus is clear," Sel snaps. "Imagine my alarm when I arrived home and you were both missing. I will give you two-no, one minute to explain yourselves before I drag-"Sel's glare lands on my arms in William's hands.

He must be beyond furious for his situational awareness to be so delayed. In the span a breath, the Merlin takes in the healing aether wrapping my arm from elbow to wrist. His nostrils flare, scenting the lingering ozone in the air. "You have burned yourself." He looks up, and his gaze hardens on mine. "Again."

It's the first time he's looked me in the eye since he arrived. The first time we've seen each other in a week. The first words he's said to me after days of silence.

And here we are, having the same fight that drove us apart.

I clench my teeth so I don't scream at him. "I told you I can't just sit in my room while you're all out hunting and fighting. I should be-"

"You should be back in the Lodge!" he snarls. "Behind three layers of wards, Briana!" He points at my wounds. "Is this not evidence enough of that?"

I grit my teeth, shame and embarrassment flooding my cheeks. And on top of those, the sting of Selwyn using my full name to chastise me. "When I can control Arthur's acther, I won't need the wards. And you can't give me orders forever, Kingsmage!"

He levels a stony glare at me. "I will give you orders right up until you take the Rite of Kings, and stop not a moment before."

This time I do scream-a wordless, frustrated sound behind my teeth. "What about everyone else?"

Sel lifts a dark brow. "Be specific."

"You" I push to my feet, but William tugs me right back down. It's not yet midnight; I could break his grip with Arthur's strength, but it's William. He may not get in the middle of our fight unless he deems it necessary, but be is a healer through and through-he'll never let me walk away still wounded. "You ordered the others to protect me on campus!"

Sel's mouth thins. "I did."

"I don't need them to guard me-"

"Clearly you do." He shakes his head. "Do you have any idea-"

A short, screaming howl cuts him off from beyond the arena trench. The sound shutters our argument. My heart rockets against my ribs so fast it hurts.

I know that cry... I remember it.

"Sel"

"Flank her," Sel orders, and speeds to my right with aether streaming toward both palms.

William is already on his feet, at my left in a blink. His acther armor builds itself in a rapid flow of clinking plates and chainmail. He spins his wrists once-sharp snap up-and two gauntlets appear on his forearms.

The high-pitched screech comes again. It hits the hard cliff wall and bounces back against the trees, playing tricks on our ears. My heart is a heavy drum in my chest. Push past it. Past the fear, Matthews. "How many?" I ask.

"More than one." Sel chances a glance behind us and above the cliff, where the forest continues back toward the Lodge in the pitch black of night. I know what he wants to do, what he's thinking. He wants to send me running back the way we came, to cross into safety behind at least one more ward if not all three. "Go,"

No."I swallow hard and set my jaw. "I have Arthur's strength!"

His eyes flash. "But not his wisdom."

His head whips back around as the creatures on the other side of his ward make their appearance. Whatever calculus he's doing, whatever scenarios he's running in his mind, they don't include me. "William, how much longer?"

William glances at the moon overhead. A quick check of the sky for the power in his blood. "Still a few minutes out."

Sel curses. "Too long."

I can handle this,"William says. "Get her back to the Lodge."

Sel's eyes narrow into the darkness, seeing more than we can and his face pales, "No..."

"Selwyn!" Sharp insult flashes across William's face. "I said I can handle it!"

Then, I finally see what has found us in the woods. And so does William.

"Oh my God," I gasp.

Six enormous, fully corporeal, armored hellfoxes emerge from the tree line, their tails whipping green, smokey aether back and forth behind them.

Sel's arms spread wide, and he steps forward. By now he's gathered enough aether to create a swirling cloud around our ankles, but I don't know if it's enough to fight foxes this powerful, this fortified and strengthened. It'd take all of the Legendborn to take them all down. Sel and I were barely able to fight three together, and they were half the size of these and weaker. Only partially corporeal.

The armored foxes snap their jaws at Sel's wards. Butt their heads against it. Ripples of aether appear on impact, fanning out in abrupt, bright circles in the air.

I shake my head. "The ward will hold them back, won't it?"

As if in answer, the fox directly across from us steps back and crouches low. It opens its jaw wide in an ear-splitting call-and the aether of Sel's ward begins to flow into its mouth in a swirling stream of silver smoke.

"Oh, sh-" Sel is cut off by another scream and another, and another, until all six foxes begin to call a section of his casting into their bodies...

And his ward flickers and thins before our eyes.

A HEALER'S LIFE is, in many respects, a life of waiting. Waiting for my friends' injuries. Waiting for those under my care to be hurt. Often, if I am fighting Shadowborn with other Legendborn in the field, I find myself waiting to witness the harm in real time. When that happens, I watch the inflicted damage in slow motion. Laceration. Contusion. Excoriation. Burns, degrees first through third. Sometimes, I hear the breaking of bones that I'll later fuse back together.

An hour ago, still in my formal wear from the Selection Gala, I sent my fellow Legendborn and my newly bonded Squire into the depths of the earth while I chose to remain behind. I watched them disappear into the darkness of the old campus tunnels. And now, after closing the open Gates aboveground, I stand before those tunnels once again-and wait.

I've been pacing for a few minutes now, unrolling and rerolling the sleeves of my designer dress shirt up and down my forearms as I walk. My once-shiny shoes and the lower hems of my dark-green tuxedo pants are covered in dirt from running from one Gate to another. I yank my silk tie loose and unbutton my collar, feeling hot in the stuffy underground room.

The Selection Gala feels like it happened a lifetime ago.

Abruptly, the hair on the back of my neck rises.

"William!"I'm still turning around when Selwyn speeds to a halt behind me, his arms and shoulders lit with mage flame. "What's happened?" His eyes have already taken in the sight of the massive Wall of Ages, open to reveal the six openings in the tunnel antechamber.

"Sar told us that you think Davis is trying to force Arthur's hand." I catalog his wounds while I talk, and blessedly, they are few. Unlike myself, Sel was able to change clothes after the gala; his jacket is torn by demon claws in a few places, and bits of ichor drip from his shoulders and forearms, but he's mostly unharmed. "The demons were headed to a central location on campus, and we think Lord Davis and Nick are-"

"In the ogof,"Sel guesses. He is already moving past me, toward the tunnels.

"We don't know which tunnel will get you to the cave the fastest...," I caution.

My caution is unwarranted: he turns at the tunnel second from the left and jerks a thumb behind him without hesitation. "This one."

At Selwyn's raised brow, mild chagrin passes through me; I suppose the Kingsmage and Sergeant-at-Arms of the Southern Chapter would have that information memorized. "The others went through the tunnels to stop Davis, but if he succeeds and Arthur calls Nick-"

"Then Camlann will begin," Sel finishes for me. His golden eyes flash in the gloom. "And Nicholas will be king."

"Fly, Sel,"I urge.

"Already planning on it." Sel nods once and turns back to the tunnel, shucking off his jacket. As he walks into the tunnel, I hear his low voice murmuring the transformation incantation. The light closes around him, but not before I glimpse the bones of his shoulders shifting down, changing shape. Not before I catch the hint of black-and-gray feathers.

Like Merlins, eagle owls move without sound. Silence is all Sel leaves behind.

And so I wait again.

Until I am struck by a bolt of battle-tinged joy-Whitty, my bonded, in the thrill of a fight. The edge of my mouth begins to curl in a smile. His warmth blooms through my chest via our freshly-taken Warrior's Oath. His emotions spread like hot honey through my limbs. A marvel of the Oath. I can tell that he's stressed, but in flow. Amused, but determined.

Without warning, the warmth disappears-and a thunderclap of pain explodes inside my heart and chest. I hit the ground before I can form a single thought.

***

"William!"

Someone calls my name in the distance, and I regain consciousness. When I wake, I am prone on the floor, my cheek pressed against the rough charcoal- black surface of the chamber. My limbs tingle. It takes a few seconds to lift my jaw from the dirt, to turn my head toward the sound of heavy, panting breaths in the darkness.

I know what has happened without anyone telling me. There is a cavern opening in my chest, as empty and deep as the ogof itself.

Whitty is dead.

"William!"

I wiggle my fingers and toes until the feeling returns. My mind sharpens.

My Squire is dead.

"William!"

The voice-Selwyn's-is nearer now. I push myself to my knees.

I felt Whitty die. I blacked out the moment it happened.

By the time Selwyn emerges from the tunnels with an unconscious and limp Bree in his arms, walking at a swift human pace, I am on my feet. Even as astute and observant as Sel is, I don't think he notices that anything is awry with me.

I shake my head, take deep breaths, and turn away from the gaping hole in my chest. I am a healer, and one of my own has been injured.

My pain will have to wait.

***

After I clear Bree of any major physical wounds and heal her superficial ones, her friend Alice and I change her into clean clothes behind a rolling curtain in the infirmary. While Bree lies unconscious, Alice remains silent. It's not without effort; I can see the questions burning in the deep-brown eyes behind her glasses, but she has enough self-control to keep them to herself for now, while the others are near. Still, the suspicious glances grow the longer she's in the infirmary, a place usually reserved for Legendborn and Lieges. I send her out with a quiet request to wait upstairs, and she nods and goes without a fight. Once I hear her leave, I pull the curtain partially back and signal to Nick.

He has been standing, stony-eyed and still, against the far wall of the infirmary since the group returned. I don't know what he's seeing, what memories he's reliving, but he snaps out of them when he sees my gesture. Covers the distance between us in long, quick strides.

As I pull the privacy screen closed behind him, I glance at the other curtained-off areas of the room. Behind them are the Legendborn who returned, standing alone or in pairs, whispering and weeping in turn. Those who perished were carried home, laid on cots before the Wall, and covered. My heartbeat stutters in my chest. Whitty is dead. Whitty won't come home. Whitty's parents... someone has to tell them-I sway slightly on my feet and catch myself before others notice.

Whitty isn't the only Legendborn who was killed tonight, and I can't forget that. Fitz died too, and Russ. And before them, Evan... who's been dead for longer than we know.

"Is she going to be okay?" Nick asks quietly.

I blink at his words, slow to process them. When I turn back to my current patient, Bree's brows are knit above her closed eyes. After a breath, they relax. I wonder if she is dreaming. "Yes, from what I can tell." I sigh. "She will be bruised but fine in the morning. I've healed her as much as I can, at least from the physical injuries."

"What other injuries are there?" Nick asks, eyes tracing her still figure on the bed.

"Mental, I'm sure," I murmur. "As to be expected after the shock of being taken by Lord Davis, fighting battles against Shadowborn, and experiencing the revelation of her true lineage." I hazard a glance at Nick, but his face reveals nothing. No recognition that the same things had happened to him tonight. "And perhaps magical injuries too. Bree's abilities have drained her before; when I healed her after the second trial, she was weak, sluggish, bradycardic. Whatever happened to her in the ogof has put her into a deep sleep state. Perhaps she'll wake up recovered, but I can't be sure without knowing more about how her magic works. My recommendation is to let her rest and wake up on her own."

"She can recover in my room," Nick offers. He swallows hard, nodding. "She's slept there before, so when she wakes up, it will be a familiar place, at least. I'll stay with her." His eyes flick up to mine. "If you think that's all right?"

"It's a good idea."Then I add, "I'd like Bree to stay here at the Lodge too, Nick."His shoulders relax a fraction at my agreement, and it's only then that I realize how much he'd wanted her close. "Can you-" I don't get the question fully out before he moves forward, slipping his hands gently under Bree's knees and upper back until he lifts her from the exam table. He pulls her close to his chest, shifting her limbs and hips subtly until she is secure against him.

I lead the way upstairs and ask Nick to wait while I update Alice, who I find hovering near the entrance to the great room. When he pauses at the closed elevator across the foyer, I see Alice hesitate at the sight of her friend in Nick's arms, almost as if she wishes she could take Bree home with her instead of leaving her here. "She'll be safe here," I say. "Sel has warded the Lodge against demons, and she'll be with Nick the entire night."

Alice's eyes travel to Nick again, but he doesn't notice. His gaze is only for the unconscious girl in his arms. "If you're sure..."

"I'm sure,"I whisper. "The Lodge is the safest place Bree can be. No Shadow-born can break Selwyn's wards. Let me get them settled upstairs, and I'll come back and find you a comfortable place to rest," I say. I hear her stomach growl faintly, and smile. "And something to eat, too."

She flushes and pushes her glasses up on her face. "Sorry. I'm hungry and confused."

I grin. "Nice to meet you, Hungry and Confused. I'm William."

She chuckles, and it's the best sound I've heard all night. With a slight tilt of my head over my shoulder, I gesture toward Nick. "Give us a moment?"

"Yeah, no problem." She wraps her arms around her waist and nods as she glances around the great room. "I'll just be... here."

When I join Nick at the elevator, his attention is on the sleeping girl he carries. He speaks to me without looking up. "She's Bree's roommate, Alice." It's not a question, and I'm relieved that Nick already knows who Alice is, even if Alice doesn't know him.

"Yes. Bree brought her here tonight. I claimed Alice as a Vassal in front of the others, but she's a Onceborn in over her head."I huff a tired, amused laugh. "Not unlike Bree herself that very first night. You brought her here in your arms, just like this, with both her forearms burned to the bone by hellhound saliva. Remember?"

"How could I forget?" Nick lifts his head slightly, staring ahead as he blinks that memory back into place. "She ran toward danger, rather than away. A trait that I've come to realize is not born out of circumstance but is just... who Bree is. To her core."

I watch Nick carefully holding Bree's body, his broad shoulders and palms shielding her as she rests. Nick touches Bree like she is something rare and precious, and in need of protection, even now when the danger has passed. I note the slight, determined twist to his mouth as he studies her. It's an expression that I know well: the mixture of anticipation and worry that takes over those who wait at bedsides. Watching Nick study Bree reminds me that I am looking at two patients, not one.

"You speak like you've known her for much longer than a few weeks," I say.

"It feels like I have," Nick replies, meeting my gaze with a quietly ferocious one of his own. "I've seen her character, William. Felt it call to me. And felt myself answer. She... I-"He swipes his tongue over his lip in thought, before he shakes his head once, as if to release his attempt to find the right words. He releases a soft chuckle instead. "Bree is singular."

"Indeed she is,"I murmur. I press the elevator call button. "Get her settled, and I'll come up to check on you both shortly. I can watch over her while you shower and get out of those bloody clothes." After a moment, when the elevator arrives and its doors open, Nick steps inside and turns to face me, careful to keep Bree's limbs clear of the walls. He hesitates, and I assume it's because we are parting ways and because he will be caring for Bree on his own. "You're safe now, Nick. You both are."

Nick's eyes flutter at my words, as if they don't quite make sense, or he doesn't believe me. Something for me to check in on later, I think, but then his next comment surprises me: "It's not the full truth, is it?"

I tilt my head. "What isn't?"

"What you said just now about Bree being'a Onceborn in over her head.' It's pot the full truth." His expression goes pensive. "Even if she was in over her head that first night-debatable, given how much she's uncovered that even we didn't know-Bree was never Onceborn." In a quiet voice threaded with conviction, he says, "Bree has always been Legendborn, William. Always."

"Yes." I nod slowly. "If"-I pause, correcting myself-"since Arthur has Called her, Bree has always been Legendborn. Thank you for the reminder."

"This truth is not something we can afford to forget, my friend," Nick murmurs, eyes falling to Bree's sleeping face once again, "for her sake."

"You're right, Nick,"I reply. "And I won't."

For her sake, I think. But not yours?

Nick dips his head, satisfied with my answer. I offer a kind smile as I reach into the elevator box and around the corner to press the button for the second foor. He tightens his hold on Bree as the doors close shut and block them both from my view. The elevator dings in the quiet foyer as it rises.

As soon as I pivot to turn back toward the great room, the world tilts beneath my feet. Overhead, the chandelier in the three-story foyer seems to sway in the night.

Whitty's death shoots through me as if it has just happened. My right hand macks against the wall to steady my body as I gasp for breath. Pain pierces my beart, drives between my ribs, and bursts through my back, as if it's not just a feeling, but a physical wound. In both a very real and very magical sense, that's exactly what an Oath is: intention made manifest, commitment turned into DNA, a promise imprinted onto our bodies.

And mine has been forcibly broken.

Footsteps echo from the hardwood floor of the great room, and the sound jalts me into action. I stand up and away from the wall, swaying slightly. One Mep at a time, I move through the foyer. By the time I find Alice, sitting alone and frozen on a chair facing the floor-to-ceiling windows, the broken Oath is a dull ache beneath my ribs.

A glass of water sits untouched before Alice on the coffee table. Her hands lie clasped in her lap. Unfocused eyes behind her glasses stare into the middle distance until she notices my entrance.

"Is Bree okay?" She stands, hands wringing in front of her waist.

"She will be,"I reply softly. "She'll rest for a while yet I think. Nick is with her."

She nods, brows furrowing. "Good." Then a pause. "And Nick is Lancelot's... descendant?"

"Yes, but more than that."I tilt my head back and forth. "Scions are not just descendants; they are the heir to their knight's power."

"So being a 'Scion' as opposed to a 'descendant' is...?" she begins curiously.

"A critical difference," I add. "One that both changes lives and puts them at risk."

I don't elaborate... yet. Instead, I let those heavy stakes drift between us. I wonder how much Bree has told her. The Bree who entered the cave is not the same Bree who emerged, and I think Alice knows this, the way that best friends can always sense when a life has shifted to a new path. I wonder if Alice will follow Bree's path, walk with her-or turn away.

Alice's mouth thins into an expression I can't decipher, and questions churn behind her brown eyes again, just as they did in the infirmary. I glance over my shoulder, cognizant of Legendborn-and Kingsmage-eyes and ears. Alice was no one's worry when we were on the brink of battle in the basement, but as the fight leaves the chapter, the Legendborn will ask questions about this Vassal whom no one has seen before tonight. "Let's relocate?" She follows me into the kitchen, and I point to one of the barstools at the island. "Tea?" I ask her.

"What do you have?" She leans forward to rest her elbows on the quartz countertop.

I open an upper cabinet with a row of silver-lidded apothecary jars filled with loose blends. "How about chamomile and bergamot?"

"Trying to calm me down?" Alice asks wryly.

"In hopes that you'll rest, yes,"I reply, without missing a beat. I fish out the correct jar and tug a drawer open to extract a spoon and two tea infusers.

"How am I supposed to rest?"A Tupperware of cookies swiped from the gala sits beside the kitchen sink, and I open the lid and slide it toward her. She blinks at the cookies as if desserts offend her. "Or eat? Or drink tea?" Alice drops her head in her hands, running her fingers back through her hair. She pushes her glasses halfway off of one ear and frowns, yanking at the temple piece to pull the frames fully away and set them on the counter. "How am I supposed to sleep knowing everything that happened tonight? Everything that's been happening with Bree this whole time?"

"Tea helps," I reply. "But that's five questions, and I think you really only need to ask one."

She fixes me with a stern glare. "What have y'all done to Bree's life?"

I resist the urge to flinch, knocked off-balance by her challenge. "It's not that simple, I'm afraid."

Her attention sharpens. "I can handle complexity."

"I don't doubt that."I prep the tea kettle, regaining my own sense of balance in the rhythm of the ritual. "But do you want the pithy answer or the comprehensive one?"

The frown on her face tells me she's taking my half joke seriously-and it immediately increases my esteem of her. Like Bree, she has been thrown into a world bigger than she could know or conceive of. Like Bree, she is here for reasons outside of herself, because of someone dear to her. But this could be the moment Alice decides to stay, or the moment she opts to run. The decision lickers across her face, but she does not answer.

"Before we continue, you should know that the Legendborn life is a constellation of choices and unavoidable consequences. In some ways"-I smile softly-"Bree is a force that happened to us, and in other ways, she was inevitable."

She narrows her eyes. "What does that mean?"

I truly met Bree the night of a ritual that we call 'the First Oath.' She walked in at Nick's side. Right through here," I explain, pointing at the foyer beyond the archway to the great room. In a flash, I remember seeing her enter and mee Whitty.

Even the memory of my Squire threatens to open my chest wide. I fiddle with the empty infusers in my hand, swallowing hard as I push the images dowr and away. I twist open the jar to spoon leaves while I talk.

"This life is a dangerous one. Unforgiving," I whisper in a hoarse voice reminding myself of those facts as I share them with Alice. She waits for me te continue. "I knew that Nick would have never brought a Onceborn, someone born outside of the knights' bloodlines, to the Lodge unless his hand had been forced. But when he and Bree walked in here together, he didn't appear to be threatened by her. If anything, it was the opposite; he was enamored. Instead of wishing she'd turn around and walk away for her own safety, I wanted to meet her. I should have known then that Bree was something special. Even in her ignorance of this house and its occupants, and all that we are, the way Bree carried herself that first night was undeniable."

"That's Bree," Alice says, with a huff that is half admiration and half frustration.

The tea kettle behind us begins a low hiss.

"And now she is your king?" she asks.

"She is now, and will be." I nod, remembering Nick's words. "She always was, and yet she will need to rise to the occasion. To become."

Alice chews on her lip as she processes this. The kettle finally sings, a high and plaintive note in a silent kitchen and a silent house. I liberate it from the stove and turn to pour the water into our mugs. Alice clutches hers close, fingers dancing across the porcelain as she thinks.

"Well?" I prompt. "What have you decided? The pithy answer or the comprehensive one?"

"Neither." She tugs her glasses back onto her face and meets my gaze. "I want the answer that will keep my best friend whole. Keep her alive."

"'Keep my best friend whole. Keep her alive.' Good reasons from a good friend." I offer her a small smile-cut short at the pain shooting through my chest.

Whitty is not whole. Whitty is dead.

I clutch at my sternum, fingers digging in without thinking.

"Are you all right?" Alice asks, eyes wide.

"Fine."I wave her off. "Fine. Just... sore. A muscle in my rib, I think."

She tilts her head, hesitating. "Are you sure-"

"I'm certain." I grimace and hope my bared teeth read as another smile. "I am a healer, after all."I am saved from further questioning by the bell tower in he distance. Fifteen after three a.m. The sun will be up in a few hours, but neither of us seems tired. "I'll tell you what I can. What I think you need to know."

"Don't water it down," Alice orders, lifting her chin.

I wince as the pain fades, and smother it with a smile. "I wouldn't dare."

"Good," she responds, and lifts her mug to her lips to blow on the steaming liquid."Please talk. I'm listening."

_______________________________

TWO MONTHS LATER

"Ye did what you could for Miss Chen." Larkin's voice is quiet at my side as we stride through the Northern Chapter's Keep in the early morning.

I barely slept last night. Instead, I spent hours pacing in my temporary room as l searched my memory and knowledge for a solution to a magical coma. I'd found nothing, but headed to Alice's bedside at dawn anyway. Larkin had been kind enough to retrieve me from Alice's room and was now escorting me to see Selwyn-another patient in need of my attention with an ailment I can't heal.

After my silence, Larkin adds, "Done more than anyone could expect, really."

"Why?"I don't bother hiding the challenging bite in my voice. I won't stand to have Alice Chen bad-mouthed-by anyone. "Because she's Onceborn?"

Larkin flinches. "Nah. Because you're barely standing yourself, William." His golden eyes trail up and down my disheveled shape. "You've barely rested. Yesterday you were healing for hours. Not just Miss Chen back there but the Legendborn hurt in the battle with the Regents."

I feel my shoulders fall from my ears at his concern, but the worry remains. I should be able to do more. My response is born out of stubborn contrariness, and not even fully true to my own ears, but I say it anyway. "I can't help but want to heal them. It's my inheritance."

Larkin chuckles at this as we weave our way through the busy dining hall. A few of the other Legendborn wave as we pass; Sarah, Greer, and Pete at a long table eating what looks like a variety of breakfast foods from Northern's gourmet fridge.

"Why are you laughing?" I ask, and he shakes his head. He holds the door at the end of the room open for me with one arm, and something about the gesture makes me forget my train of thought for a moment. My cheeks flush as I pass by him onto the covered walkway through the gardens.

"Because," Larkin says as he catches up, "you are a healer down to yer very soul, Scion Sitterson of Gawain. You'd find a way to help people even if yer inheritance disappeared one day or if it had never shown up in the first place. It's not yer blood that makes you this way; it's yer heart."

I nearly miss a step as his words hit me, and my flush deepens as my irritation-and fatigue-rises. He's right, but for some reason I don't feel like admitting it. "If it was all down to my heart, then I would be able to heal as much as I want to, and everyone that I want to."

Larkin hums in response. Outside, the morning dew has claimed the foliage, and a breeze flows through the walkway, ruffling the holly bushes that bank either side of the stone path. Larkin opens another door to the second, smaller building, where we have placed Selwyn and where Nick has been alternating shifts with Larkin to monitor him. We pass into the marble-floored hallway and take quick steps around the corner.

We find Nick pacing in front of Sel's room, hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. At every close of his fists, his crystalline aether armor snaps into place. At every release, it dissipates. His ability to call and forge is faster than my own now. Faster than Tor's or Sar's. I wonder, once more, what he has seen in his time away from us. What he's done.

On the other side of the door, I hear a large crack, as if a piece of wood has been snapped in half. "There you arel" Nick calls, relief coloring his voice. "I almost went in without you."

"Ye wouldn't have made it through the door, Scion Davis," Larkin responds with a smile, pointing to a shimmering layer of magic over the door behind him. "My wards are still intact. Wrapped around this entire room on all four sides, plus the ceiling and floor. Triple-cast."

"I'm aware," Nick replies smoothly, as if Larkin's wards are no matter to him. Larkin looks at him oddly, but Nick doesn't seem to notice; his eyes find mine. "How is Bree? Is she-".

"Bree is... recovering," I say. "The best she can."

It's not an answer Nick's happy with, but he accepts it with a nod.

"How about Selwyn?" I ask. "Still not speaking?" Sel hasn't spoken to anyone since he, Nick, and Bree returned to their bodies from Arthur's dream.

I've been trying to get him to talk to me all morning. He knows I'm here, but he won't respond." Nick backs up to study the door, sighing. "He woke up, detected Larkin's wards, became slightly murderous, and started forging weapons to try and break those wards, destroying the furniture in the process." Glass shatters inside, and Nick winces at the sound. "Not unlike the typical Sel on a regular bad day, honestly."

I nod solemnly in agreement. Larkin looks between the two of us. "Excuse me?"

"Usually it's not furniture," I murmur, rolling my sleeves up and standing back. "Usually it's pine trees."

"Excuse me?" Larkin repeats, but moves into place to take down his wards, both hands raised up against the wood.

"Long story," Nick says.

"Don't think you lot have any short ones," Larkin mutters. He focuses on the room and begins to disenchant his wards in low Welsh. "Datgelaf, dadrithiaf..."

"It's quiet in there now," Nick observes, eyes narrowing as Larkin works. "Too quiet."

"Agreed," Larkin says. "All right, brace y'selves, lads." He inhales deeply and pulls the outer wards back into their malleable flame states until they peel away from the door.

My heart leaps in my chest as Nick approaches the handle. I count down. "On one, two..."

"Three," Nick finishes. He pushes the door open, and for a moment, all any of us can do is stare in shock. The room is a mess of magic: Larkin's triple-cast, silver-blue wards still flowing toward his hands from the ceiling and floor and walls. Sel's hardened, glittering constructs-weapons of every type and size-sparking and disintegrating on the carpet as they fall from where they've been embedded in Larkin's disappearing wards. Bright, rippling, breaking aether in every visible state: liquid, solid, and mage flame, all reverting back to invisibility as we watch.

But there is no Selwyn in sight.

Nick's face pales. "Where is Sel?"

"Gone." Larkin's eyes grow wide at the magic and destruction inside the room-the very empty room. "Kane's gone."

AUDIO LOG-ENTRY #87

It has been a very long time since I have hunted someone through the woods.

Demons? Yes.

Fresh Shadowborn crossing from a Gate? Somewhat frequently. They die hungry and weak at the end of my spears.

Cambions? Not truly. I have monitored other cambions at a safe distance, of course, if only to discern whether they are Merlins from the Order or some other being that I should avoid. Like me, they leave no footsteps, making things... tricky.

But following, tracking, hunting someone else? Using my five human senses as well as my aether sense to catch hints of a path and listening for whispers of sound that are so faint they may be mistaken for intuition? It has been a very long time indeed.

And never have I had to use all of my skills and knowledge to track a cambion who has been instilled with those same skills and that same knowledge from the age he could walk. Who knows, as a Kingsmage knows, how to move as a ghost in the night...

In the end, I find my son by blood.

Drops of blood that glisten like black liquid coins, winking up at me through the tiny channels they've melted through two-feet-deep banks of snow. Blood that sears through ice when it falls, burning puncture wounds in the landscape. Blood from a wounded greater demon.

I crouch at the first drop I see, catching a scent that does not belong to Selwyn. There is no time for relief, because a greater demon is still a problem, even for my son. He is still fresh in his demonia, the changes still new in his body and in his aether. I have not seen him cast a construct, so I don't know if he can fight as he is used to. I jog on, until the scent reaches my nose again. This time, there are three drops of blood, then a trail that has burned a wobbly line across the glistening snow. The trail stops. Then starts again. No footsteps.

Someone was injured and either they stopped to hold or bind their still-bleeding wound, or the person carrying them did so.

I run faster, eyes scanning the landscape for the next clue.

A new scent slams into my senses, as solid and mind-obliterating as the thrown fist of a stone isel. Blood, again, but... human this time. Whether it fell from a human wound or a cambion wound does not matter, the blood would still be red. It would still smell alive.

I sprint now, following that scent more easily thanks to the way that Merlins have been guided over the centuries, Cambions raised to protect humanity, to protect the Order, to protect its king. The primordial urgency generated by the scent of fresh human blood is the opposite of bloodlust, and yet the hunger - the need is similar.

By the time I reach the next drop of human blood, the source of that blood is no longer there. Black blood, red blood, trails leading to the same open clearing in the snow. Both shine silver beneath the moon, then dip darker or lighter as I circle the pool. I see markings of a body now, perhaps two, imprinted in the snow. A fight. A struggle. Steps that pace away - the human. Then, stop. Another imprint, filling quickly as the snow turns heavy and falls in thicker flakes.

If the demon was a predator and the human was prey, then I would say that the demon found a wounded human and overtook it, devoured it in some way, then escaped the way I came, leaving its wounds to heal as it walked.

I catch a third scent - and lose it just as quickly.

Who-

Laughter. A low, surly chuckle at least half a mile away, deeper into the woods that I have not yet searched.

I'm a blur among the trees before the speaker takes a breath, threading my path through snow and ice falling from the sky.

And then I find him. Selwyn, seated upon a snow-covered log with his hands in his pockets. He is gazing at the ground, eyes amused and burning red in the darkness. His legs are kicked out before him, crossed at the ankles. "Selwyn?" I call.

He does not raise his head, but I know he hears me because his laughter ceases.

"Hello, Mother," he murmurs.

"Hello... ," I say cautiously, eyeing the trees above us, beyond us. The snow has become a heavy curtain of white, falling faster. We won't feel the chill, as hot as our bodies are, but our clothes will be soaked very soon.

"Did you see the blood?" he asks idly.

I nod carefully. "Yes. Of course."

"Did you find them?" he asks. "The human? The demon?"

"No," I say.

He inhales through his nose, nodding, then releases the breath. "Neither did I." He pauses. "I don't think the human fared well. Their heartbeat stopped. The demon didn't sound like it had one..."

"You heard them?" I ask. "When?"

"Before they went silent," he replies, gesturing over his shoulder as if the sound had once come from that direction before it was lost.

I nod again, although I do not understand. "Were you hunting?"

He smirks. "I am always hunting." His eyes find mine. "Just as you are."

"What does that mean?" I step closer, and closer again.

"Not running toward something or away. Just hunting." He tilts his head. "Maybe it was always hunting. No direction except the direction of the scent. An objective without a true target, seeking nameless, shapeless things. Vengeance without purpose."

I swallow the grief and despair that rises at his words, as if he has called them into being from where I have placed them away in their proper boxes. "Are you hurt?"

Selwyn extends his bare forearms. The tattooed skin is unmarked and unmarred. "Not in any way that you could see."

I debate how to respond, then decide. "We should get home. This will be a blizzard soon."

Selwyn studies me. "Could you catch me, I wonder? If I truly ran?"

I study him. "Is that what you did tonight? You ran away?"

"What if I did?" he asks. "But also... what if I didn't? What if I haven't really tried to escape?" A pause. "Yet."

I ignore the implication. "Let's go back to the cabin."

"Could you even raise aether against me?" he asks, ignoring my words. "If you had to?"

I let the snow fall, filling our silence.

Then, I answer. "Don't give me a reason to truly hunt you, Selwyn."

He chuckles again. "I think that's a yes."

I shake my head. "Why are you asking these questions?"

Selwyn ignores me, eyes going unfocused as he gazes into the trees. "I wonder what she would think of me now. Would she see a hunter beneath the guardian? Would she ask herself whether the guardian ever existed in the first place?" Another pause. "Would she run? And if she did... would I have any other choice but to give chase?"

I stiffen. "Selwyn, who are you talking about?"

Selwyn's eyes sharpen as his focus returns. He studies me for a quiet moment before smiling. Instead of answering my question, my son rises smoothly and strides toward me on silent feet, leaving a hair's width between our shoulders as he passes. "Let's go back to the cabin, Mother. We could catch a death of cold out here in the wilderness."