“Because,” Sel says, shoving himself to his feet, exasperated to be repeating his story for a third time, “Isaac mesmered me. I was up late in the kitchen after we returned from the cave because I couldn’t sleep. Isaac slipped into the house, I turned around, and he was just there—taking over my vision, eyes locked, full mesmer. Then I woke up thirty minutes ago in the woods two miles from here. He got me out of the picture so he could grab Nick.”
“And Nick’s not in danger?” Tor demands.
“No. I would feel if his life was being threatened.” Sel shakes his head. “Doesn’t mean he’s safe, though.”
“But Nick and Bree were in the same room,” Felicity says in a wavering voice. She looks horrible. Her hands won’t stop shaking. My heart hurts just looking at her, trying to be strong when Russ is… gone. “Why didn’t Isaac take her? Control the Scion of Arthur?”
Sel’s already considered this. “Because an Awakened Scion of Arthur he can’t control with powers he doesn’t understand is too risky. Dangerous, even for a Master.”
“Speaking of powers he doesn’t understand…” William enters the room with more records. “A Medium, you said? And…?”
Sel watches me respond as he paces. “I—yes. A Medium and… a Bloodcrafter. I can generate my own aether.”
William whistles. “Handy. The Medium bit explains why Arthur can possess you the way he did. We sometimes inherit personality traits but… what he—and you—did is nothing I’ve ever heard of—the Pendragon speaking directly through his Scion—”
“You’ve never heard of it before because it’s never happened before.” Sel drags both hands through his hair. “William, this isn’t the time—”
“This is the time, Selwyn!” William shouts. “You yourself said you could feel if Nick is in harm’s way. He’s not. We need to arm ourselves with information. About Bree, about Nick, about how this all happened.”
Greer shakes their head. “If Nick isn’t the Scion of Arthur, then why did they take him?” They’ve been mostly silent on the couch all morning, eyes red-rimmed with tears for Whitty and Russ. Their grief is the voice-stealing kind. The kind that lives in your throat like slivers of glass.
“Isn’t it obvious?” Sel sneers. “To keep the Table from gathering! If they hold him hostage while Camlann has come, the Regents will do everything in their power to get the Awakened Scion of Lancelot back. Give Davis whatever he wants. If they don’t, the Table will never be at its full strength and it will fall to the Shadowborn. And to the Line of Morgaine—who are now in league with demons, if what the goruchel said is true.”
“That’s exactly why we need to understand the Scion we do have!” William says, sitting down on the couch. “Bree is something new. Something powerful. We need to understand the situation she’s in, and by extension, the situation we’re in.” He turns to me. “Now, Bree, my theory is that Arthur will inhabit you in ways we’ve never seen. Not just his abilities, but his spirit, his emotions, memories, possibly.”
William’s grief has sent him diving into work. He’s eager to dig into all that Arthur’s possession entails, but I have no desire to revisit it. Not when I can still feel him in the back of mind. I hold William’s gaze for a long moment, then look away.
Tor excuses herself just as Sarah walks in with a carafe of coffee and a tray of mugs.
While we’ve been talking, Greer has been spreading stacks of William’s yellowed documents and heavy, leather-bound records across the coffee table. “I still don’t get it. How is Nick Lancelot’s Scion and Bree Arthur’s?”
William rests his hand on my knee. “Bree, this is where we need you to fill in the gaps. Last night when Sel carried you upstairs, you were mumbling about Vera and a baby.” He shakes his head. “Who is Vera?”
All eyes turn to me, just as I knew they would.
“My ancestor,” I say quietly. “She was enslaved on a Scion of Arthur’s plantation.”
Greer and Sarah shift uncomfortably on the couch. Sel sucks in a breath between his teeth.
I tell them what I saw, remembering it all myself as the words spill forth. I tell them about everything except the woman at the hospital. When I stop, Sel looks at me closely. He knows I’m holding something back. I shake my head imperceptibly. Later. He narrows his eyes, but nods.
“Say the names again,” William says, riffling through a large, musty-smelling brown book. “The men’s names.”
I take a shuddering breath. “Davis. And Reynolds.”
William stops on a page, trails his finger down, until, “And there it is.”
“There what is?” Sarah says. We all lean in over the table.
William points to a yellow page with columns of names, dates, and locations. “This is Nick’s family. The Davis line. In the early 1800s Samuel Davis was the Scion of Arthur. Samuel”—William grimaces—“was a slave owner. He owned a plantation maybe twenty-five miles from town.”
The room falls silent around me.
“Davis knew if Vera had his child, that child would be a Scion,” Sel says. “If there was even a sliver of a chance she was carrying his child, he’d hunt her down.”
“But because she survived, she gave birth to a Scion,” William says thoughtfully. He turns to me. “Which means that you and your whole family are a splinter in the Line. The blood of Arthur has been running in your veins for generations.”
“And what about Davis’s wife?” I ask faintly. “The blond woman in my vision? She was sleeping with Reynolds.”
“Her name was Lorraine.” William flips to another page in the same book and blows out a breath. He taps a row of notes and names. “Reynolds is the surname of the Line of Lancelot. And Paul Michael Reynolds lived near here around the same time.”
“Like Guinevere,” Sarah whispers, eyes growing wide. “It’s just like the legend. Lancelot is Arthur’s most trusted knight, until he sleeps with his king’s wife. Lorraine sleeps with Reynolds and passes the baby off as Davis’s. Maybe he was even in on it, since he never found Vera or her child.”
William nods, staring down at the book on his table. “Samuel Martin Davis, Jr., born the same year. Their only child on record, and Nick’s ancestor eight generations back. Reynolds, on the other hand, isn’t recorded as having any children until later. He had three sons and a daughter. The Order has all of their records here.”
Sel stands up, pacing the room. “Which means Lord Davis and Nick are not Davises at all, from a bloodline perspective. They’re Reynoldses. And the Reynolds at the Northern Chapter right now is from the Line of Lancelot, but he’s not the eligible Scion.”
“Nick is,” I whisper, and all eyes turn to me. “His face last night… I’ve never seen him look so broken.”
When I look up, I catch William’s worried expression. The glance of concern he shares with Sel.
I’m worried too. I think about my connection to Nick. Our trust and affection. Now I wonder how much of that was me and Nick and how much was Arthur and Lancelot. Call and response. A king to his first knight, tied together by the deep bonds of loyalty and betrayal both.