He sits on the room’s window seat with a sigh. “If I am Called and Awakened, I’ll inherit Arthur’s strength and wisdom. And I’ve been trained for that moment since I could walk. If the Shadowborn army is rising, I won’t let my friends fight it alone.”
“And the Abatement?”
His face turns grave. “My father says focus is death’s most precious gift.”
“Death doesn’t give gifts.”
“Tell that to a Scion.”
I nudge his foot and he shifts over so that we can share the seat. “You don’t want to lead.”
He answers without meeting my eyes. “Never have.”
“Don’t want the glory?” I lean into him. “Don’t want to be a king?”
He turns to me then, eyes serious. “Bree, if I get all of that, it means that Camlann is inevitable. I don’t want the world to need a king.”
21
TEN MINUTES LATER, we descend the stairs with a prickly sort of awareness bouncing between us. Yesterday we entered the great room in agreement, but we each had limited information about the nature of our situation. Twenty-four hours later, Nick’s world is heading to war, and I’m preparing to unravel my mother’s history. As our paths continue, will we still find common ground?
When we reach the foyer, the sounds of dinner reach us from the vast dining room around the corner. Clinking cutlery. Chairs scraping the floor. Voices.
I look back to find Nick watching me, my own uncertainty echoed on his face. “We good, B?”
I nod. “We’re good.”
His mouth quirks. “I don’t know why, but—”
Suddenly, the front doors open and humid, light rain sprays across the tiles. Outside, three women stand deep in conversation, shaking their umbrellas on the patio before entering. They’re dressed head to toe in country club–chic: blouses, cardigans, capris, spotless white tennis shoes. Their pale, perfectly contoured faces light up when they see Nick.
“As I live and breathe…” The woman on the left wears a neck scarf the deep yellow of the Line of Owain.
“Is that—?”
“Nick Davis.” The tallest woman, a brunette, speaks with a low rasp. The first woman elbows her, and she corrects herself. “Excuse me. Scion Davis.”
Nick inclines his head, addressing them all in turn. “Rose members Hood, Edwards, and Schaefer. What brings you to the Lodge tonight?” He steps back to let them in. “The tournament trials are closed, as you know…”
It takes a second, but I recognize their last names and facial features. These three are mothers of chapter members: Pete Hood, Scion of Owain; Ainsley Edwards, a second-year Page; and Vaughn Schaefer, from my Page class.
Rose member Schaefer’s eyes twinkle as she enters. She acknowledges me with a polite smile and a wave, then offers a sly glance to Nick. “We heard a rumor you returned.”
“Elena, please.” The Edwards woman waves a manicured hand adorned with nails the dark orange of Bors. “The Order of the Rose always supervises catering during the Trials.” Still addressing Nick, she extends her umbrella toward me, handle first. “Take this and dry it? Now, tonight’s meal—”
She stops speaking when I don’t follow her instructions, and turns, fully looking at me for the first time.
“Did you not hear me?”
Indignation and rage burn through me like a furnace. “I heard you just fine,” I mutter through clenched teeth.
She inhales sharply. “Where is your supervisor?”
“This is Briana Matthews, my Page.” Nick takes the umbrella himself, hard steel under his placid tone. “She is not a servant, Virginia, nor will you treat her as such. Not in my presence or otherwise.”
The other women detect Nick’s quiet anger and say nothing.
But Virginia Edwards is not done. Her nostrils flare at Nick’s admonishment. At a teenage boy’s use of her given name, and the reminder of his authority. “Your… Page?” Her gaze darts from point to point as she processes this information: my face, hair, T-shirt, and jeans. How close I’m standing to Nick. “Scion Davis, I would expect you to select a Page from the Vassals to your Line, as is tradition.”
“I value Page Matthews’s abilities,” Nick says, his face impassive, “and your expectations belong to you.”
She stiffens. “What does your father think of this? Surely he must—”
“His father is thankful that he has returned.” We turn to see Lord Davis entering the room using a wheelchair. Nick makes as if to assist him, but Davis waves him away. “And pleased that the Order of the Rose is here once again to support this year’s tournament.”
“Lord Davis.” Vaughn’s mother dips her head, as do the others. “My son shared that you’d been injured in battle.”
“Don’t you worry. I’ll use braces by the weekend and walk without aid by Monday. Aether works fast, but we old folks just don’t heal as quickly as the youth. Children”—Lord Davis turns to us, and gives me a wink—“why don’t you join the chapter in the dining room. I’ll guide our guests to the kitchen, where our hired catering staff dropped off the meal.”
* * *
“The Order of the Rose?” I hiss as we walk, still fuming.
Nick grumbles, “A women’s auxiliary founded centuries ago when they couldn’t Page, Squire, or Scion. Mostly ceremonial now. A way for mothers or former Pages to support chapter events.”
All I see are obstacles. Women who want their children in my spot. White women who assume a Black girl in the Lodge is a servant, not a member. Certainly not someone who outranks them. If Virginia treats me like that, how does she treat the caterers? My skin crawls. Then, something strikes me.
“Did you say women couldn’t be Scions? I thought the Spell followed the bloodline, no matter who was eligible.”
“It does.” Nick’s jaw tightens. “But for a long time, men didn’t care what the Spell wanted. They’d eliminate daughters to force it to the next heir.”
I stop walking and stare at him, my stomach twisting in horror.
He pauses at the dining room entrance. “Fifteen hundred years is a long time to operate. The Order was never above the world’s brutality. It still isn’t.”
“That’s… disgusting.”
“That’s what happens when you lead with fear and greed.”
“Bree! Over here!” Greer waves me over, the Lamorak coin winking on their red bracelet. “Saved you a seat!”
Nick tilts his head. “That’s our cue.”
Still reeling from his revelation, I follow him into the room.
Nick makes his way to the Legendborn table where the Scions, Squires, and Sel sit. I slide into the open chair between Greer and Whitty at the Pages table, grateful to be between people I know.
Whitty digs into what looks like flank steak with fresh rosemary, while Greer passes me an enormous white stoneware dish of scalloped potatoes. “I was worried you dropped out.”
“Nope. Not a quitter.”
“A cheat, then?” Vaughn calls from across the table without looking up from his plate. As soon as the words leave his mouth, silence falls across the table.