Together, the figures say, “One at a time,” and everything goes dark.
Complete, endless black. Before the cinnamon-smoke scent even reaches my nose, I know that Sel’s mesmer has taken our sight.
My heart lurches against my ribs. Someone yelps, the sound breaking against the trees.
“Quiet!” Vaughn snaps.
Movement, ahead of me. The soft whisper of one pair of feet moving over dry grass. Closer. Greer’s breath, coming in short pants. A sharp gasp far to my left. A pause. Louder steps, shuffling, the sound moving farther away. Two pairs of feet, maybe. Where are they taking us?
One at a time.
The same cycle again, this time to my right. I hear Whitty grunt before he and his escort walk forward. Greer goes next. Then one more. Legendborn sponsors taking their Pages?
Measured paces approaching me now. I hope that it’s Nick. Closer. My heart leaps into my throat. I don’t want to be touched in the dark. My breath rattles in my ears. A hand wraps around my elbow, holding the joint in a loose grip. That subtle warning is all I get before someone pulls me forward.
They guide me from behind by the shoulders. Twigs snap under feet walking maybe twenty feet ahead of us. The ground transitions from soft grass to soil to pounded dirt. A path. My nose tingles with the scent of tree sap and fresh pine needles. The sounds of nature grow closer, tighter. A barred owl hoots above us. Crickets swell in a high-pitched chorus. We’re in the woods.
Two pairs of steps not far ahead of us, shuffling and regular. Another guide, another Page. We walk straight for a few minutes, then turn. Turn again. After a while, I lose track of time. Maybe it’s because I’m under, but the smell of Sel’s mesmer and the disorienting path make me dizzy. We walk for ten minutes. Or twenty. I think we even double back at one point, but I can’t be sure. There’s a hundred acres of wooded land behind the Lodge. We could be anywhere.
Suddenly, my guide halts me. They press my shoulders until I lower into a squat; then warm fingers move my hand to a smooth, cool stone surface that drops off after a foot. A step. Stairs. They stand me up and come around to my front, take both hands. We walk down the stairs one careful step at a time. By the time we reach the bottom, there’s a river of sweat down my spine. We’re back on pounded dirt when the hand on my right shoulder drops down to my wrist and fingers brush across my knuckles.
“It’s me.”
I release the breath I’d been holding. Nick flips my hand and squeezes my fingers, then steps close. I can feel the heat of his chest against my shoulders, and when he leans in, the stale-smelling cowl brushes my ear. “Squeeze once for yes, twice for no. Can you see?” I squeeze twice. “Keep it that way.”
In other words, Let Sel’s mesmer take you. Don’t resist it.
“Listen, Oaths are living bonds sealed by speech. Their words pull aether from the air so that the commitment becomes a part of you. The Oath of Fealty will know if and when you intend to break it, but it works like mesmer, so—” He stops, his words lost to the night.
I whisper, “Nick?”
He releases my hand. I feel him step in front of me. Overhead, towering pines creak in the wind. Nick’s feet shift on the ground, like he’s pivoting in the darkness, searching. My heart begins to race. I tongue at the still-healing bite in my cheek.
“Wha—”
“Hush.” Indignation sparks, then dies when I hear the sound of his sword, extending. I imagine his face: brows tight, eyes and ears intent, weapon drawn. A swell of rustling leaves. A single branch snaps up high and to the right.
The barest whisper of movement—and a palm strikes my chest so hard the air leaves my lungs in a whoosh.
I hit the ground back-first, and pain shoots across my spine.
A low growl from above—the harsh clang of metal on metal.
The high-pitched whine of weapons grinding against each other.
“What are you doing?” Nick shouts, his voice strained.
“You bring a Shadowborn onto our grounds, to our sacred ceremony, and you ask what I am doing?”
Sel!
Adrenaline rushes through my veins, along with Nick’s voice and Rule Three: “Never let Selwyn Kane get you alone. He can’t find out what you can do.”
I skitter backward in a frantic crabwalk, hands scraping dirt and gravel.
A burning-hot hand seizes my ankle.
A thud, a grunt. The fingers release.
Impossibly strong fingers dig into my bicep. Pain like daggers. I scream.
The hard smack of flesh hitting flesh. A punch?
Sel’s fingers let go.
Labored breathing above me. Nick, between us. My heart thunders with panic. How much do I trust him now that I know what Sel can do?
“She’s not Shadowborn!”
“Three nights in a row of Order interference is not coincidence. I mesmered her twice myself and yet she stands here. An uchel—”
“Jesus, Sel,” Nick groans. “An uchel?”
What is that? Another demon? They say the new word with a short “i” sound at the beginning, then the throaty “ch” from “loch.”
“I decided to bring Bree forth today. She is my Page. Mine. You swore an Oath to serve—”
“And I am keeping my Oath.” The wind picks up just as Sel’s casting reaches my nose. There’s a tight, rhythmic sound like a small cyclone spinning to life.
“Sel…,” Nick cautions.
“It has enthralled you,” Sel growls. Electricity arcs across my nose and cheeks. The wind picks up, and something crackles. Ozone enters the air.
“Don’t do it—”
“SELWYN!” A man’s voice slices through the woods, and the cyclone dies immediately.
Footsteps approach behind me on the path. The steps are low and measured, but the older man’s heavy drawl holds barely contained fury. “You wouldn’t be callin’ aether against my son, now would ya, Kingsmage?”
Another pause. Even in the darkness of Sel’s mesmer, the tension in the air raises the hair on my arms.
“No, my lord.”
My lord?
Dr. Martin Davis—Nick’s father—steps close, and his cologne falls over me like a rich, heavy cape. “Well, that’s good. Because if you were, I’d expect that Oath o’ yours to be burnin’ a hole through your throat right about now.” It’s part observation, part warning. Sel hears it too; in the following silence, I hear his teeth grind together.
“Yes, my lord.”
“Nicholas.” The breathless way Dr. Davis says Nick’s name makes me wonder how often he sees his son.
“Dad.”
“ ‘And there be those who deem him more than man, and dream he dropt from heaven.’ ”
“Tennyson,” Nick says, his voice tight.
“Indeed.”
The strain of distance in their voices makes me wonder what happened to their family. What shattered them?
Beside me, the man’s body weight shifts in the dirt. “Mercy! And who is this lovely lady?” I’m still half-frozen on the ground, adrenaline thrumming through my body. Light fingers land on my shoulder. “May I help you up?” I nod, and he slips his hand under my elbow, pulling gently until I stand.
Another pair of hands around my other elbow. Dr. Davis lets his son pull me to his side. “This is Briana Matthews, my Page.”