She wrinkles her nose. “I’ll get it to him.”
I fold the shirt and hand it to her, then take a look at our ride for the first time. It’s a Tesla. “Nice car.”
She shrugs. “Not mine. The Order has a bunch we can use.”
My eyes widen. “Wow. That’s—”
“Pretentious.”
I blink. “Are you allowed to say stuff like that?”
She rolls her eyes. “I mean, I wouldn’t say it in front of the Regents, but…”
When I turn toward my dorm, she surprises me again by falling in step beside me. I try to figure out how to ask my question without being rude. “Aren’t you a Vassal kid?”
“Aren’t I rich, you mean?” I purse my lips, but she just smiles and wraps her sweater tighter around her narrow shoulders. “My mom comes from money, but my dad doesn’t. She Paged at the Western Chapter in Virginia, but never Squired. That’s where they met.”
I turn this over a few times. My parents met after my mother graduated; Dad didn’t go to college. I’d never thought about whether she’d met someone at school, dated. I’d always imagined her in a lab, but what did I really know about her life here? “Did your mother want to Squire?”
“At first. My grandparents definitely wanted her to, but then my parents got together and she realized she wanted a family.” We turn down one of the walkways that Nick and I had taken two nights ago. “She’d never admit it, but I think she wanted the prestige, not the war.”
“And your dad knew about the Order?”
Sarah shakes her head. “Nah. Not until later. He’s a sworn and pledged Vassal—had to be before they could marry—but mostly what he knows is the dinner parties and the opera tickets and the formal galas. Not that he’s particularly well received at any of them.”
“Why’s that?”
“He’s Venezuelan. But I pass, so people don’t realize I am too. Or they forget. They say racist crap around me sometimes.”
“Then what?”
She shrugs. “Sometimes I check ’em. Sometimes I don’t bother.”
“Ah,” I say, and neither one of us has to say anything else about that.
“Does he know how danger—” Sarah bumps my elbow so that I stop speaking. A pair of students—on the way to the twenty-four-hour library, by the looks of it—walk toward us on the path.
Right. This is what I signed up for. Following the Code of Secrecy means not talking about demon attacks within earshot of the general public.
Once they pass, she glances over her shoulder to watch them turn the corner. “Sorry. What were you asking? Does my dad know how dangerous all this is? He knows what we fight and why, but I don’t think it feels dangerous to him. He can’t See aether, and he’s never seen a demon. He knows we have a healer and he knows that my Line hasn’t been Called in decades, so he probably thinks I’m protected from the worst of it. Mom didn’t want me to Squire unless I got Selected by a high-ranked Scion, since they’re less likely to be Called. The Abatement, you know?”
“No, I don’t. What’s the Abatement?”
She curses low. “Fitz is an ass, but he’s right. Nick should have educated you. You deserve to know the risks.”
I stop. “Sar, what’s the Abatement?”
She releases a heavy breath. “When a Scion is Awakened, all the power from their knight transfers to them. The Spell of Eternity is… serious casting, you know? But we’re still human. The longer the Scions are Awake, the more it drains them. After they age out, most don’t make it past thirty-five.”
I struggle to breathe, to speak. William didn’t say anything about that. I can’t imagine him dying that young. “It kills them?”
Sarah hurries to correct me. “Only if they’ve been Awakened. It’s… it’s why the Legendborn are revered. Holy warriors and everything.”
I think of Felicity. Six hours ago she thought she’d live till her eighties. But now… “Can’t the Scions just not fight? Let some other relative take the inheritance?”
She kicks a pebble as we walk. “Scions can’t opt out of their blood. And once Awakened, they feel this… this need. To fight. Directly from their knights. If Tor’s Called, she’ll feel it, and when we’re bonded, so will I. Once I take some of Tristan’s power through her, Abatement will come for me, too.”
My chest is so tight I can barely get the words out. “Why would you choose this?”
“I can’t answer for everyone, but service is how I was raised. And…” She shrugs, flushes. “I love her. I won’t let her fight alone.”
Before I can ask anything else about the bond of Scion and Squire, a shadow descends overhead. Sarah is in front of me in a blink, dropped into a fighter’s crouch—hips angled, knees bent, one fist on guard, the other ready to strike.
“Page Matthews.”
Sel takes three determined strides toward me before Sarah slides between us. Even though the Merlin is the superior opponent with a foot of height on her, the pint-size girl glares up at him poised for a fight. The steel in her eyes tells me she’d put up a good one.
“Back off, Sel. I’m taking Bree to her dorm.”
“Not before I question her.” It’s only when he moves that we notice something’s not right. He stumbles. Actually loses his footing.
I didn’t think that was even possible.
Sarah stares in disbelief too. “What the—”
“She’s not what she seems,” he says imperiously. He dashes around her, but he’s nowhere near as fast as he was earlier. When he comes to a stop, he towers over me—and brings a hot, oppressive cloud of smoke, charred cinnamon, and leather. The smell is so intense, I cover my nose in disgust and retreat.
“You’re blitzed, buddy. Move.” Sarah wriggles her arm between us and pushes him away from me. He bats at her hand—and misses. The economy of movement he’d always displayed is gone; every gesture imprecise, too big.
It’s the most surreal thing I’ve ever seen, and after a night like tonight, that’s saying a lot.
My question is muffled behind my fingers. “What’s wrong with him?”
“He’s aether-drunk,” she says, as if that explains everything. She pushes against him with her full weight, but Sel sort of drapes his body over her. She grunts in frustration. “Must have just come from bonding Felicity and Russ. The Warrior’s Oath is pretty hard-core, and on top of that, he Oathed y’all tonight too.”
Oh. Oh.
That strange, intoxicated look on his face after the Oath of Fealty. His bloodshot eyes now. The dark pink of his parted lips, the angry flush on his cheeks.
“I am not!” Sel declares loudly. It’d be funny if I didn’t know how lethal he was.
Sarah shoves him hard and Sel growls at her. Shockingly, she growls back. It’s a small, silly-sounding imitation of his low rumble, but it works. He blinks at her and gives a confused grimace that is, somehow, the extreme opposite of intimidating.
“You are,” she insists. “And I’m not leaving you alone with Bree when you’re like this. Let’s go.”