“ ‘And the Shadowborn will rule the earth.’ ”
The room falls into a tense silence. Somewhere behind the silver wall, I hear a dripping sound.
I remember Nick’s warm smile on the walk through campus, then the terror branded on his face tonight in the woods. I brought that sequence of expressions to his face. Even if no one can control their knight’s Call, I brought Nick closer to something he’d never wanted. Guilt settles heavy in my belly.
I look back up at Nick’s star and think of him fighting, graceful like a dancer, feet light, body twisting. Swinging his sword with confidence and determination. Driving his blade through the hellhound. I can’t think of him falling in battle. My brain can’t imagine it.
“When was the last time Arthur Called his Scion?”
William cocks his head to the side. “Almost two hundred and fifty years ago? 1775, I think?”
“What? That’s—”
“The Revolutionary War.” One side of his mouth draws down in a tight frown. “Depends on who you ask, but in my opinion, that war would have happened anyway. And war is war, whether the Shadowborn incite it, prolong it, or use it as a feeding ground. People died by tens of thousands. Who cares what it’s called.”
I agree. My eyes are drawn to Nick’s star again.
And I notice something beside it that I hadn’t seen before. I stand and walk closer—yes, there’s something there, connected to Nick’s star by a shimmering dash.
“What is it?” William reaches my side, searching for what’s grabbed my attention.
I point to the small, dark marble stuck in the slab directly beside Nick’s name. It’s so black it seems to absorb light. “That marble. What is that?”
“Ah.” For the first time, he hesitates before he speaks. “Only the most powerful Merlin child in a generation is Selected to take the Kingsmage Oath. The child is taken from their family and bound here, in a formal ceremony before the chapter, to a child Scion of Arthur. For the rest of that Merlin’s life, they are the Scion’s sworn protector until death.”
My stomach twists. Taken from their family. A child—and a childhood—sacrificed to protect another. “No child could possibly comprehend what it means to make an Oath like that.”
“Like I said,” he murmurs, “none of us have a choice.”
My heart aches for both of them. Even for Sel, who is magically bound forever to a Scion who has never wanted his title. I may not like him and he sure seems to hate me, but I feel compelled to examine Sel’s marble and read the script beside it:
Selwyn Emrys Kane.
William hums thoughtfully. “Ready to go back? I need to check on my patients.”
I nod, ready to leave this place that feels more filled with death and loss than life.
Before I turn, my eyes drift up to the star above Nick’s. Beside it, someone has carved “Martin Thomas Davis” into the stone. Of course. Lord Davis went to Carolina years ago, when he was the Scion of Arthur and before Nick was born. Then, something else catches my eye.
“What happened here?” I point to the marble linked to Lord Davis’s star, representing his Kingsmage, an “Isaac Klaus Sorenson.”
William squints. “Not sure. Maybe the archivist got sloppy?”
I don’t follow right away, because what he said makes no sense. Every other line and stone and star has been meticulously carved, not a stroke out of place or an error in sight. But deep, angry slashes surround Isaac’s marble on every side, like an animal has clawed it. And yet the marble itself looks just like Sel’s: shiny, smooth, and perfectly round.
“Coming?”
“Yeah,” I mumble, and follow him upstairs.
16
I PANIC WHEN we get back to the infirmary because Nick is gone and his table is cleared. Tor is gone too.
“Where are my patients?” William thunders at Russ and Sarah. The two wide-eyed Squires shrink backward. I don’t blame them; the normally gentle-faced William looks murderous.
“They woke up! Nick went home,” Russ says at the same time that Sarah blurts, “Tor’s upstairs. She said she was hungry!”
My stomach drops. Nick just… left?
The raised voices elicit a low moan from Lord Davis, and William catches himself before he yells again. “And you let him?”
Russ recovers first. “He’s the—the king?”
“In this infirmary,” William hisses, advancing on him, “I am your king. Nick was not discharged! His head is still healing!”
“He left me?” I regret my question as soon as I say it out loud. It sounds so… pathetic. “I mean, just that he—not that I—” William’s raised brow and Russ’s confused expression don’t help me out at all. “I just thought I’d get to check on him first.”
Sarah takes pity. “We didn’t know where you and Will went. Nick called your phone a bunch, said it went to voicemail. I think he thought you went home after… everything that happened in the woods.”
I hear the words she doesn’t say: he thinks I gave up after everything that happened in the woods. Ran home scared.
“Nick probably needs some space to catch his breath.” Russ shrugs. “Think about it—he shows up to reclaim his title after years of being away, and boom! We’re two Awakened Scions away from Arthur. I’d be freaking out too.”
“Will?”
On the far table, Evan stirs. William is at his side in three steps, his fury gone and kind bedside manner in place. “Stay still, Ev. You took a claw to the head, my friend.” Evan follows orders, but he blinks bleary eyes open and scans the room. It only takes him a second to find me. He tenses on the bed.
“Hey, Bree.”
I give him an awkward wave. “Hey, Evan. And here I thought you were just a clueless frat boy.”
His weak laugh ends in a cough. “Don’t tell Char I got hurt, ’kay?”
Charlotte Simpson feels like a lifetime ago and a world away—a world that I have to return to tomorrow, like none of this happened. “I won’t.”
“Cool,” he mutters, and relaxes on the bed.
William snorts. “If you’re well enough to worry about your girlfriend, then you’re well enough to recover in your own bed. Let me check you over before you go upstairs.”
Someone tugs at my sleeve. It’s Sarah. “Can I drive you home?”
I blink, surprised by her offer. “Do you want to check on Tor first?”
She seems pleased that I asked. “My girl’s mad grouchy when she’s hungry, but she’s fine.”
As we leave, William kicks Russ out of the infirmary too. I hear him mutter something about no peace in this house, and some Welsh that sounds a lot like curses.
* * *
Sarah isn’t one of those people who has to fill a silent car with chatter. She turns the radio on, leaving me to spend the ride back to campus thinking about all I’d seen and done tonight. By the time she parks her car in one of the campus lots close to the dorms, all the thinking has given me a full-blown headache.
When we get out, I realize I’m still wearing the sweatshirt Russ gave me. I strip it off and offer it to her. “I think this is Russ’s?”