Oathbound (The Legendborn Cycle #3)

Chapter II

II

THIS TIME WHEN we travel, each leap to a new shadowy location is accompanied by a squeezing sensation. As if my very atoms are being forced into new spaces, pressing me into something too tight, too dangerous. I see ruins under a moonlit sky, the thickest underbrush of a towering forest, the arctic under never-ending night.

When we land, I collapse to my knees once more, but this time on a foyer floor laid with red brick. We are surrounded by white plastered walls. To my left, a small entryway table is tucked below a gilded mirror. Ahead is a living room where brown wingback chairs sit on a thick, expensive-looking rug set before a stone fireplace. Wherever we are, afternoon light filters in through the stained-glass window in the heavy oak front door behind me to create a collage of color. The foyer walls are bathed in deep goldens, warm blues, and burnt sienna nearing orange. It was the end of the day in London, so maybe we are back on the East Coast? And Excalibur is thousands of miles away.

The Shadow King moves around to block my view into the rest of the home—the large living space, the hallways to my left and right.

I stand, exasperated. “ Now where are we?”

As if in answer, his body changes shape again, to Erebus once more. “This is Erebus’s home.”

I hate myself for finding this face, this voice, the barest hint of comfortable. I tell myself it’s because I know Erebus, but that’s not really true, is it? “What I know” feels like sand sifting through open fingers.

“Did you murder him, too?”

“Yes.”

“How long have you been impersonating this Merlin named Erebus? How long have you been living his life?” I ask.

“Long enough,” he replies.

I stare at him, gathering my thoughts. “Erebus” is the nickname that Natasia Kane gave him at the Merlin academy… but was that nickname earned by the demon who stands beside me now, or is it yet another story stolen from the Merlin boy whose life had been cut short? “How long did the academy’s instructors unknowingly teach and train humanity’s greatest threat?”

His mouth twitches in a small, appreciative smile. “You are asking good questions, Briana.”

“I don’t want your approval,” I spit back.

“Nor will you easily earn it. Wait here.” After drawing the flickering darkness toward him, Erebus disappears in a gust of smoke.

He could be across the world again for all I know. In another country, several time zones away, or even back with the Regents, pretending to be their Seneschal.

After a moment, the room’s shadows relax and melt back into place, taking the shapes of their parent objects until they are still. The only thing moving in this entire room is my chest, rising up and down with my jagged breaths.

I don’t know how long I stand there waiting for Erebus to return. Long enough that the light changes around me, making new shapes against the plastered walls. Long enough for the faint ticking of a grandfather clock standing tall in a corner to grow loud in my ears. Long enough for regret and uncertainty to make themselves known in my chest. For me to wonder if, in choosing my own fate, I have doomed myself to a worse one.

How long have I been waiting again? I check the clock. Too long.

I take a step forward, half expecting my new mentor to reappear at my elbow at the unauthorized exploratory movement. He does not. I take another step, then another, until I am standing in the center of the living room and able to examine the details of the home more thoroughly.

For the home of a demon king, it is all rather… innocuous: High archways lead from the main space to other halls and rooms. A partially enclosed kitchen sits to the left. Brown built-in shelves on either side of the fireplace hold five rows of leather-bound books that remind me of the rare book collection at the Lodge library, except these look like they are better cared for. There are no picture frames of people, but the home does not feel abandoned. The mantel is spotless, without a speck of dust, and the lampshades are equally clean.

Is this where Erebus will leave me until he decides I am ready to be trained? For how long, I wonder? Days? Weeks? Months? Mild panic sets in, enough that I mistake the tingling sensation at the nape of my neck for nerves instead of what it truly is.

When the sensation doubles, any doubt is erased.

I am being watched by a demon.

I inhale silently. Shove the panic aside and prepare for a fight. Rather than allowing my breath to become shallow, I take in steady, long draws of oxygen to fuel my muscles and brain. Feel the familiar heat of my root deep behind my sternum. Feel Arthur’s strength in my body and remember that it’s mine, not his.

My eyes dart to the hearth near my left foot. That wrought iron fireplace poker will do.

Slowly, I pivot on my heel to face the room—and come face-to-face with a Black girl my age with long, thick twists down her back. She wears a thin-strapped black tank top, tight black jeans, elbow-length fingerless fishnet gloves, and a Cheshire smile. Her makeup looks fresh. Dark, smoky eye shadow and liner, deep eggplant lipstick, a soft pink blush on high, warm brown cheekbones. She could be equally at home at a coffee shop or a concert. Hers is the dynamic type of beauty that’s equally as powerful at rest as it is in motion.

And everything about her posture—her flexed fingers, her eager grin—feels poised for a fight.

Her eyes are a deep human brown, so at first, I question my own senses, my own paranoia. Then that smile widens, and her irises flash red before flickering back to brown. Then I know—she is not a goruchel demon, whose eyes are either deep red or the eye color of the human body they’ve taken. Not a mostly human Merlin with a golden or ochre gaze, but a balanced cambion with human and demon parentage like Valechaz. Which means she could be my age… or she could be hundreds of years old.

Perhaps traveling with the king of demons himself has made me immune to regular fear, because a balanced cambion should terrify me. Instead, I feel cold, like when I left Alice. Like when I stood on the hill at the Keep. Like there is nothing this moment can take from me that I have not already given up.

The cold is what I need right now.

“Who are you?” I ask as I edge closer to the fireplace.

“I’m Zoelle,” she purrs. “Who are you ?”

The iron poker is at my hip. Blood walking through left-handed Arthur’s memories has made my left hand more adept than it used to be, enough that I’ll be able to grab the iron with confidence. Which means my right will be for wielding root. That will have to work, because I don’t plan on letting Zoelle get close. If she gets her hands on me, I won’t beat her by grappling; cambions are too strong.

I try one more maneuver before this gets ugly. “Erebus brought me here. He won’t want me harmed.”

“He did, did he?” Zoelle looks me over once, up and down, eyes landing on my sternum. “Brought you here with all that power?” She grins. “I bet it’s delicious.”

“You really didn’t have to say that,” I reply with a grimace.

“Why not?” Her eyes sparkle. “Is it true?”

Instead of answering, I fling my palm outward, firing root flame in a short blast.

She flattens to the ground. “Hey!”

I use the distraction to grab the iron—but before I can swing it, a green fireball appears, cracking open in front of my face, startling me back.

That was an aether bomb. I never even saw her forge it.

I need more room.

I dash in front of the fireplace—and Zoelle’s hand shoots out to wrap around my ankle. She yanks me down. When I hit the ground, the pointy end of the fallen iron poker grazes my cheek.

A few inches over, and it’d have punctured my right eye.

I growl, twist, then thrust my flaming palm in her face. She screams.

While she writhes, I pop up. I need to get outside. Now.

I sprint across the floor. Aim for the back doors. Abruptly, a body blurs between me and the exit, stopping me short.

“Where you goin’?” a deep voice asks.

I blink, certain I’m seeing things. The cambion in front of me looks just like Zoelle—no, not just like, almost like. In place of long twists, he has black hair shorn close to his scalp. Same eyes. Same slim, tall figure, but he’s wearing a long-sleeved navy T-shirt rolled up at the elbows and a pair of dark pants over red Chucks. If Zoelle is coffee shop or concert, this newcomer is mostly coffee shop, with a crooked grin and eager, searching eyes. Where Zoelle is kinetic, this person is measured energy. A steady, hot drip of power, rather than the bright spark of Zoelle’s attention, lashes my skin as he examines me. But that doesn’t mean he’s not dangerous.

Behind me, a burst of laughter. I whip around to see Zoelle grinning with her arms crossed in front of her chest. Her left cheek is already healing, the raw red of the burn turning deep pink.

“I’m Elijah. Who are you?” I jump at the deep voice too close to my ear.

I backtrack, keeping both of them in my sights. “You’re—”

“Twins,” Zoelle calls. “He’s my annoying-ass brother.”

“And she’s my stubborn, devious sister,” Elijah says. “And you are…?”

“Not interested,” I hiss, dashing around Elijah toward the door.

Elijah laughs and grasps my arm, squeezing. “Don’t run! It only makes us wanna chase you!” I jerk back from his grip instinctively, and having seen Valec’s strength, I half expect to hear and feel my bone breaking in his hold. Neither happens, and not for Elijah’s lack of trying.

So they’re balanced cambions, but they’re not as strong as Valec? Are they as strong as Sel? I tug again, and Elijah’s fingers slip an inch.

“We just want a taste.” When Elijah releases me to sling an arm over my shoulder as if we’re friends, I realize something critical: no matter how they compare to a Merlin, they aren’t as well trained as Merlins.

A Merlin would never make the mistake of letting me go.

“Not gonna happen.” I grab Elijah’s forearm with both hands and yank down and in—fast, before he can react—curling my spine and pushing both hips back into his torso as I pull. He flips over my shoulder in a perfect arc, crashing into the glass coffee table and sending shards everywhere.

For a second, we all freeze. Zoelle’s mouth falls open. Then, Elijah’s shocked expression melts into one of fury. Before he can push to standing amid the sea of broken glass, his sister’s laughter reaches us.

Our heads jerk in her direction, where she’s holding her sides, eyes sparkling red and black.

“Jah!” Zoelle gasps. “Your ass went flying !”

“Zoeeee…,” Elijah growls. In a blink, he’s up on his feet and in front of me, a snarl marring his brown face as he stands in the epicenter of the exploded glass table.

He extends a hand to call aether, and a green cloud swarms around his fist—only for Zoelle to command it to her outstretched palm, turning it into a solid, shining bat—

“What is going on?” Erebus’s voice booms from the foyer, cracking against my ears.

In a blink, Zoelle and Elijah are kneeling with their heads bowed. Erebus stands over them, his eyes blazing red.

Elijah’s voice is a furious mutter from his sister’s side. “We didn’t—”

“You did ,” Erebus corrects. Elijah goes silent. “Because when I left Briana here, she was alone. Explain yourselves.”

“She—” Zoelle begins.

“Explain yourselves , not her. Now .”

The twins flinch at Erebus’s tone as the room darkens around us. Even light flees in the Shadow King’s presence. The shadows themselves grow bolder.

“We thought she was an offering.” Zoelle’s voice comes through a pair of clenched teeth. “Tribute.”

The midnight gloom behind Erebus clings to his back, then flares out like wings, painting the room in shades of gray and black. “If she was tribute, her power would be mine to consume. Not yours.”

“Yes, sire,” Elijah mutters. “We apologize.”

“Zoelle?” Erebus’s voice takes on the echoing, otherworldly quality from before. A voice that invades your mind from the inside out.

Zoelle’s eyes squeeze shut in a pained grimace, as if she’s resisting the impulse to reply.

“Zoe!” Elijah chastises.

In the end, his sister’s voice is curt and sharp. “I apologize.”

Appeased, Erebus draws his power inward until he is shaped like a man once more.

“To your feet,” he orders. The twins rise, their heads still bowed.

Erebus doesn’t seem surprised at their behavior; in fact, he seems bored of it.

“Who are they?” I ask Erebus.

He looks at the pair for a long moment, considering. “My wards.”

I sputter, “Your wards ? Like your kids?”

Elijah opens his mouth—to protest or correct me—but one look from Erebus silences him. Zoelle—Zoe—shoots me a brief death glare before bowing her head again too.

Erebus notices it all. “I had hoped to return before the twins did so I could make proper introductions, but I was waylaid by the Regents. However, this unanticipated moment provides us with a reminder of the work we need to do, Briana.”

“What work ?” Zoelle spits. “Who is this girl if not an offering?”

“The two of you say that you do not want to be treated like children. That you wish to earn my trust.” The twins’ heads jerk up. Erebus has their full attention now. “You claim that you are ready for more responsibility. Perhaps Briana here presents a solution.”

“I don’t like the sound of that,” I mutter. The three of them turn to me as one.

Erebus crosses his arms. “Your first lesson begins now, Briana Matthews.”

“And that is?”

“Calling on your power is not enough; you must also learn how to seal it.” He points at my chest. “It appears that both Zoe and Elijah here sensed it right away. Just as Agaraz did earlier at the museum. This is unacceptable. You must be able to close it so tightly that no demon or cambion can detect it. So that no magical being who meets you thinks of you as anything other than a human girl.”

I look at the twins, then remember Agaraz’s lingering gaze. His hunger. “Why?”

“Because if you don’t, you’ll be devoured or destroyed before your real training can begin. I cannot and will not be with you every moment of every day. Nor do I control every demon and cambion on this plane.”

Now that’s curious. Even the king of demons has his limits? I search Erebus’s face for any sign of his feelings about this fact, but his expression gives me nothing.

“Fine.” I nod, conceding the point. “How do I learn how to seal my power?”

He strides across the room to the back doors and slides one open, gesturing through it to the forest beyond the yard. To the trees and bushes in the distance and the rolling hills that seem to go for miles. A gust of winter wind blasts through the opening—and I am the only one in the room who shivers. “With a ten-minute head start.”

“A game?” Elijah cracks his knuckles. “Hide-and-seek?”

“Indeed.”

“Do we get to eat her if we catch her?” Zoelle asks, eyes steady on me.

Erebus hums. “Catch her using only your aether sense, and I’ll consider it.”

“What?” My heart leaps into my throat. No way he’d let another demon consume my root.

But the vengeful glint in Elijah’s eyes says that he can’t wait to take me down a notch. Beside him, Zoelle bares her fangs as she pulls her twists up in a ponytail. “Let’s go,” she says with a smirk.

Erebus points toward the grandfather clock. “Ten minutes, Briana—”

I’m sprinting before he finishes his sentence.

Out the doors, down the steps, across the patio, and into the trees as fast as my legs will take me. My arms pump at my sides; my thighs burn as I dash over the ground, kicking up pine needles as I go.

If this is the first lesson, then I have no choice but to master it. And the next one. And the one after that. I have no choice, because there is no choice.

I will learn everything I can from the Shadow King, because only he can teach me what I need to know.

Once I am strong enough, once I am powerful enough, and once I have total control, it won’t matter what I face next. It won’t matter whether my opponent is human or demon, cambion or spirit, Morgaine or Regent… because no matter who they are, I will never let them hurt me again.