‘LEFT HAND!’
“I’m not left-handed!”
‘You are now!’
I toss Excalibur to my left and feel the familiarity there. The surety.
The bear pounds toward me, gone berserk with pain. Sel meets it first, two daggers extended.
Movement to my left. Rhaz springs for me—the bear was a distraction, a setup. The demon’s fast—but my Bloodcraft roars to life, and for a second, I’m just as fast.
I spear Rhaz through his broken ribs, and Arthur’s strength helps me push the blade forward and in. Rhaz claws at Excalibur, but the blade bites into his hands. I lift the demon up, just like he did to Whitty. I watch him writhe and twist on his own death, and laugh—a joyous sound that crashes around the room. A sound that soars over the cries of his dying brethren and makes Sel and the Legendborn turn to watch us.
“What are you?!” Rhaz croaks.
Three voices answer him in a booming chorus. “I am a Medium, born from the earth. I am Bloodcrafted, born from resilience. I am Arthur, Awakened!”
“My death means nothing. Killing me won’t stop what’s coming. There are others of us in your midst,” he rasps, stilling on the sword. “The Line of Morgaine is rising.”
“Let her Line rise. We will rise against it.”
Rhaz growls deep in his throat, and his eyes roll back. He collapses inward, melting around the sword until all that’s left is a slimy stream.
I stand there, sword still raised, chest heaving and blood thundering through my veins. Every eye turns to me. Nick. Sel. Greer. Bloodied and panting, ichor covering their faces and torn clothes. Piles of isel dust around them.
I lower Excalibur, exhaustion overtaking me. All of that power—Vera’s, Arthur’s, my own. It’s too much. My vision blurs, and the cave spins. Nick steps toward me; so does Sel. To catch me, I think, before I fall.
Now that it’s over, maybe I’ll let them.
But Arthur is not done. To him, it’s not over.
Without warning, he seizes me up like a puppet, turning me to the Legendborn in the cave and roars, “Has it been so long? Do you not kneel for your king?”
I gasp in the silence after my own words. That’s not what this battle was. That’s not what this is. That’s not who I am.
I had to destroy these monsters, I yell at him. And we did. But this is not about demons. This is about you!
I fight against Arthur’s will, but he will not yield—not on this. He demands obeisance. Homage. And deference. Especially after Davis’s public betrayal.
Thankfully, no one moves.
Then, someone does.
“No,” I whisper, because I don’t want to hear it. But when Sel speaks, his voice is strong and clear.
“Y llinach yw’r ddeddf.”
The Line is Law.
He drops to one knee, and bows his head deep.
A second passes. Another voice rises. Sarah’s.
“The Line is Law.”
One by one, she and the others bend, kneeling to their king. Kneeling to me.
Tor stands still, shock and fury shaking her frame, locking her legs in place. Arthur roars at her insubordination, but I don’t care.
I turn to Nick, pleading, but there’s nothing he can do. His ocean eyes are kaleidoscopes of emotion, turning so fast I can’t read them.
“No…”
“Y llinach yw’r ddeddf.” On the final word, his voice cracks—and despair slashes across his features like lightning. Then, a smile. Small, worried, sad.
“No.”
His weight shifts. “It’s okay—”
“Please, don’t—”
But Nick falls to one knee anyway and bows until I can no longer see his face.
This isn’t what I wanted! I scream at Arthur. I don’t want this!
“A fo ben bid bont.” Arthur speaks through my voice, so that his answer is both for me and every Legendborn present. “They that would be a leader, let them be a bridge.”
The king’s spirit subsides until I am myself again. Bereft, empty, and buzzing with power. I plunge Excalibur back into its stone as if to seal Arthur there.
I know it’s no use. He’s part of me now.
Realization dawns through my dizzy, floating brain: the Legendborn remain bowed, because I am the one who must release them.
“Rise,” I whisper, then collapse.
57
I WAKE TO the sun shining through the curtains. Everything, and I mean everything, hurts. I’m so weak that it takes three attempts to turn over on my side in bed. When I do, two sticky notes fall from my forehead.
You collapsed in the ogof, but not
before driving Excalibur back into
the stone. Sel carried you back
through the tunnels.
It was all very dramatic, or so
I’ve heard. I hooked you up to
an IV for fluids, (cont’d)
but I expect you’ll wake up
famished. Alice told me to put
cheesy grits on the stove.
(I like her.) Lots to talk about.
Come down to the great room
when you’re ready.
—W
I smile, grateful that Alice knows me so well. Then the memories flow back and take my breath away until my chest feels like it could collapse.
I bury my face in the pillow and cry. For Vera. For my ancestors. For my family. For my mother. For all of my people. For the thread of death and violence forcibly woven into our blood, and the resistance we had to grow to survive it.
I cry for the deaths I witnessed—and couldn’t stop—for Fitz and Whitty and Russ.
I cry for me.
I’m not Nick. I’m not some chosen one. I am the product of violence, and I am the Scion of Arthur, and I don’t want to be either. I just want to be my mother’s daughter. And my father’s. I just want to be me.
But I know it will never be that simple again. I will never be that simple again.
My lineages are bound together in inextricable, horrible truths, and there’s no untangling them from my destiny, whether I’m ready to face it or not.
Sel bursts through the doors, and I shoot upright. “Where is he?” His hair is sticking up in every direction, his yellow eyes wild, and his clothes are covered with dirt and leaves.
“Where’s who?” I croak. I finally take a hard look at my surroundings and realize I’m in Nick’s empty room.
As Sel blurs from one end of the room to the other, opening the bathroom doors and the closet, a heavy, cold feeling settles in my stomach. “Sel?” When he stops in front of me, he roars in frustration. “Sel—”
His eyes find mine, and they are wide, lost. “They took him. They took Nick.”
* * *
I pace the room calling his phone without success for half an hour before Sarah stops me and pushes me to the couch. She disappears into the kitchen mumbling something about caffeine. Panic and tension have set every Legendborn on edge.
“Has anyone else tried calling him?” Tor asks for the fifth time.
“Kidnappers don’t tend to let their hostages call home, Victoria!” Sel bites out. He shifts beside me in the chair, and I feel the heat of aether radiating from his skin.
“How do you know it was Lord Davis and Isaac?” I ask around the catch that has formed in my throat. I’m trying to push fear for Nick out of my immediate consciousness, but the efforts are no good.