Oathbound (The Legendborn Cycle #3)

Chapter 1

1

SIX SECONDS

AFTER brIANA MATTHEWS DISAPPEARED

William

SOMETIMES “TOO LATE” is a matter of seconds.

By the time I arrive at the top of the hill, heart pounding and breathless, Bree and the stranger are nowhere to be seen—and Nick stands alone. While I am winded from our sprint, chest rising and falling with every full breath, he is deadly still. His gauntlet-clad forearm and bare palm remain outstretched in the empty air, frozen in his attempt to grasp Bree before she disappeared. Before us, the woods ahead are empty. Tall oaks stand sentinel while short shrubs sway in the breeze. Even the ground is undisturbed, without a trail to follow.

Too late.

A matter of seconds .

My panted question breaks the silence. “Where… did they go?”

Nick does not answer.

It had all happened so quickly: Sel, in his anger and frustration, had been breaking furniture in his room all morning, so when it went eerily silent, Larkin, Nick, and I rushed inside—and found him gone. Disappeared from within his locked, warded, and guarded room. Panicked, we looked for Bree next.

When we found her beside a strange figure at the top of the hill at Northern, Nick and I were standing shoulder to shoulder. We ran to her together, but he outpaced me quickly, faster as a Scion of Lancelot than I could ever be as a Scion of Gawain, calling aether to his body as he moved.

In a single heartbeat, silver-blue magic surrounded him. In two heartbeats, crystalline armor had snapped into place, shining and ready for battle, at his legs, across his torso, down his arms. It was an impressive feat—only Merlins can call and forge aether that effectively while so preoccupied.

But it was too late. By seconds.

“Where did they go, Nick?” Again, Nick does not respond. It is only then that I notice he is not looking in the forest as I am. Instead, his eyes are trained on the wisp of black smoke writhing between his fingertips like a thin, dark snake.

That wisp is aether. Black aether.

Aether can be many colors. Silver-blue, green, gold, Bree’s own crimson. Aether is never, ever black. And yet this aether moves like a shadow come to life. Like the air itself has been cursed. We watch together as the wind catches the strands, spinning them upward until they dissipate.

Fear for Bree courses through me so wholly that I feel my breath shake with it. She’s suffered so much, but she has always had people with her. She had us.

Now she’s alone.

When Nick releases his hand to his side, he does not acknowledge my presence. Does not meet my eyes. My healer’s attention immediately shifts from concern for Bree and Sel to the Scion in front of me. I swallow my fear and draw on the calm I reserve for moments like this.

“Nick. Hey, look at me.” I wave my hand before him, but his blue eyes are unseeing, unblinking. Awake but unresponsive. Catatonia?

My fingers itch for a penlight to check his pupils.

Nick’s aether armor shudders once, like an image losing focus and then regaining it, but it does not dissolve. Armor retention is a common threat response when Legendborn are overwhelmed. Their bodies in fight or flight keep their defenses in place. It’s a subconscious, magical protective mechanism that tells me something crucial: Nick is still “in” the battle. His mind is buried in some unreachable place.

Recognition drops like a boulder in my stomach.

I’ve seen this response within Nick before. I know where it comes from. How he hides it. How, in a matter of seconds, he has been thrust back into a time and place where no one else can follow.

“William!” Larkin’s bellow reaches us from the bottom of the hill. I jump at the sudden sound—Nick doesn’t.

Larkin speeds toward us, auburn hair tousled by the wind, Scottish burr thick under stress. “I’ve looked everywhere. There’s no trace of Kane. Did y’find Bree?”

“No,” I say, watching Nick carefully. “But—”

Larkin’s sharp inhale cuts me off. “But Bree was here. Her scent is fresh.” His amber eyes narrow before they follow the same path mine did: left, right, to the woods, across the ground. He inhales again, sharply. “Someone else was here too. Their scent is faint, barely there… but it smells like… like…”

Abruptly, his spine straightens like a dagger, and he whirls around, mage flame lifting the edges of his hair. “What the hell happened here, Scions? Why does it smell like Shadowborn?”

“Larkin.” I keep my voice even, watching Nick’s breath quicken. “If it was a demon—”

“There is no ‘if’! I know what a demon smells like!” Larkin’s palms flare to life with magic. Mage flame whips up around his wrists. A Merlin, on alert. “Bree is—”

“Gone.” Nick’s voice is a hoarse, angry whisper behind me, but I can’t suppress the relief I feel at hearing it. “She’s gone, William.”

“I know,” I say. Nick’s sympathetic nervous system is running the show right now. A storm, brewing over sea. I keep my voice even and steady. Offer a rescue buoy. “We’ll find her.”

“She was just—I’d almost—” Nick releases a frustrated breath and blinks hard, like he’s waking up from anesthesia. “They’re both … gone.”

“And we’ll find them both.” I fold every ounce of confidence I have into my voice, hoping it surrounds Nick and grounds him. “We’ll get them back.”

“How, exactly?” Larkin demands. His agitation breaks any calm I might have transmitted, jarring Nick where he stands.

I take a deep breath and remind myself that cambions, even trained Merlins, can be erratic in a crisis. “Larkin, control yourself—”

“They’ve left no trace!” Larkin exclaims, eyes wild. “They’ve—”

“Stop.” Nick’s command is quiet but firm. Larkin stills immediately, as do I. “Panicking won’t help us and won’t help them.”

Larkin’s flames recede as he eyes Nick warily. “Scion Davis? Are you…?”

“I’m fine.”

While Nick’s eyes are on Larkin’s face, my healer’s gaze is on him. The pulse in his throat is slowing down. He’s coming back to us, to the here and now, but I’ve learned not to believe anyone who, without prompting, declares that they are “fine.” Sel says this constantly. Bree, far too much for my liking. Nick? “Fine” was the word he uttered in a relentless stream right before he publicly renounced his title and left the chapter.

Nick has always said he is fine, but Nick has never been fine.

“Nick—”

“I’m fine .” Nick’s attention is on Larkin. “What do we know?”

“Not enough.” Larkin doesn’t miss a beat, a Merlin pursuing his quarry. “Few clues. Too many questions.”

“Then we tackle each question one at a time.” In Nick’s reply, in his sharp gaze, and in his quick recovery from his shock, I am reminded of the leadership for which he was trained. It’s kicking in now, clearing his head as he draws on drilled protocols and old memories. I have seen enough injured warriors in my infirmary to know that those drilled protocols are protective in moments like these. “We do a threat assessment. Now, while everything is fresh.”

I want to press Nick again. Ask him to pause. I am itching to offer him respite, if not healing. Space, if not clarity. But Larkin continues before I can put the right words together to stop what Nick has started.

“Right.” Larkin nods, gathering himself. “First threat, first question. Were Kane and the Crown Scion taken by the same demon? Or two demons working together?”

Nick’s reply is swift. “We should assume it’s one. If the man we saw can teleport, then taking Sel one moment and Bree the next would be possible. Easy, even.”

“Powerful demons don’t like working together. An alliance between two goruchel of that level would be atypical. Against what we know and what we’ve been taught.”

“We left ‘typical’ behind a long time ago,” I say.

“Yes.” Nick glances at me, then his eyes fasten onto Larkin. “And the last three months have proven that we won’t get far if we only rely on what we’ve been taught. Does the stranger’s scent tell you anything else?”

Larkin sniffs the air again. “No. S’nothing like I’ve encountered before.”

Nick’s jaw flexes. “What about Sel’s room? Is there an aether residual there, too? It might linger longer inside—”

“The room’s a dead end.” Larkin throws up a frustrated hand. “Kane forged so many weapons trying to escape, it was like an aether bomb had gone off. We wasted time searching for him when a greater demon was after Bree—”

“Searching for Sel was not a waste of time,” Nick says in a low voice. “He isn’t expendable. Neither is Bree.”

“Briana Matthews is the Crown Scion and Awakened King of the Round Table, Davis,” Larkin snaps, eyes flashing. “She’s as irreplaceable as they come. We should have been guarding her. I should have been guarding her!”

“The wards around the Keep were breached,” I protest, shaking my head. “We had every reason to believe Bree was protected within them. This isn’t your fault, Larkin.”

“I am her Kingsmage ,” Larkin growls. “This is exactly my fault!”

“You are not Bree’s Kingsmage.” Nick’s voice is steady and clear. When Larkin whirls on Nick, Nick doesn’t flinch. Instead, he raises his chin, his frame and height made even more commanding by his shining armor. “No matter how much you may want the title, Guard Douglas, it is not yours.”

Larkin’s face flushes red. “With all due respect, Scion Davis—”

“Now would be a good time to remember that you are speaking to someone who has actually taken the Kingsmage Oath.” Nick’s voice is not laced with venom; instead, all I hear is a solemn weariness—and a biting clarity. “I’ve lived nearly half my life bonded to a Kingsmage. You and Bree are not bound, and that matters here. If you were, you would have felt her mortal fear. Since you aren’t, we have no evidence as to whether her life was or is at risk, only guesses.”

Larkin does not hear Nick’s weariness, only the pointed critique. His face flames further as he jabs a finger at the empty spot before the woods. “The Crown Scion has been taken hostage by a demon of unknown origin. A demon who can disappear into thin air. She could be dead. The war could already be lost.” His eyes flash. “I won’t stand here and be insulted—”

“Then stand here and use your mind instead, Mageguard,” Nick snaps. When he raises his right hand and glowing aether gauntlet, the light bounces off his skin, casting one side of his face in icy-blue brightness and the other in shadow. “My armor is still active. My inheritance is alive within me. Which means—”

“Bree’s alive,” I whisper, relief flooding through me. I stare at my own glowing dagger of Gawain. “Nick’s right. My dagger hasn’t dusted. If the Awakened Scion of Arthur dies by a Shadowborn hand, all the Legendborn inheritances—all our abilities and magic—would disappear with her.”

And never return. This silent truth is one we are all thinking but dare not say aloud. Larkin presses his lips into a thin line. “Forgive me, Scion Davis. I should have remembered—”

“It’s forgiven,” Nick interrupts, lowering his arm and gauntlet. “But keep thinking. We need to be smart about this. Determine what action to take and take it quickly. Bree’s alive. What else does that mean?”

“If she’s…” I swallow around the lump in my throat. Nick nods, encouraging me to continue my train of thought. “If she’s not dead by now… then the demon who took her doesn’t mean to kill her.”

“We can’t know that,” Larkin argues.

“I think we can.” Nick’s jaw clenches. “Think of how knowledgeable this demon must be to know for a fact that the Crown Scion was on this property. Think of how powerful he must be to breach the protective wards of a Legendborn chapter. Think of how strong he must be to handle Selwyn Kane in his current state. Do you really think a demon with that profile would hesitate for a single second to kill Briana Matthews if all he wanted was to end the Lines and win the war?”

“No,” Larkin admits. “He’d have killed her immediately. On sight. Her blood would be at our feet.”

I check my watch. “And they’ve been gone going on ten minutes now.”

Larkin’s eyes widen. “He… wants her for something.”

“No.” Nick’s gaze darkens. “He doesn’t just want her; he needs her. Isolated from us and at a location he controls. The question is… for what?”

“And why take Selwyn?” I ask. “He’s a handful right now, more than. Aggressive, violent, likely starving for every negative emotion within reach. Given that Selwyn is in full demonia, whatever inhibitions he normally places on his rage will be gone now.”

Larkin raises a brow. “You speak as though Kane is a reserved personality to begin with.”

“Selwyn manages himself as best he can,” I say, feeling my defenses rise.

“When he’s able to, yes,” Nick murmurs, eyes going distant. “But right now? Sel is uncontrollable.”

“And even more powerful now that he has descended,” Larkin mutters. “Based on how he trashed his room, his aether abilities and spellwork haven’t diminished at all.”

Nick taps his thigh in thought, eyes scanning the Keep in the distance. “Somehow, I doubt the demon took Sel for his aether abilities. Why bother with a Merlin, even one of Sel’s caliber, when you’re powerful enough to walk through wards and teleport? No. He took Sel for another reason—and likely took him somewhere else. Separated them.”

Larkin frowns. “How can you—?”

“Because Sel wasn’t standing here with Bree and the demon,” Nick explains, gesturing toward the place that Bree stood. “And I don’t believe for a second that this demon was too weak to transport them simultaneously; Sel disappeared first because Sel was his first trip. Then the demon came back for Bree. Wherever Sel and Bree are, they aren’t together.”

“There’s a small mercy.” Larkin breathes a sigh of quiet relief.

“Excuse me?” Nick says, voice a warning. “Why is that better? Sel could protect Bree—”

“?‘Could’ is the operative word.” Larkin purses his lips. “I’m not as close to Kane as you or Will are, but I know Kane isn’t himself. There’s no telling how he’d react to Bree right now. If he’d see her as food or…”

Nick’s eyes narrow. “Or what?”

“Or blame her for his descent,” Lark says. “Attack her in revenge, even cause her pain on purpose—”

“Sel wouldn’t do that,” I interject. I may not know what a descended cambion looks like up close, but I refuse to believe Sel capable of that level of cruelty. I can’t believe it. I won’t believe it.

Hesitation crosses Larkin’s face, but only briefly. “The Selwyn you know is gone, Scions. This is where my distance from the situation is a benefit. I know that—”

“You don’t know Sel.” Nick’s jaw clenches. “He sacrificed his humanity to bring Bree home.”

“Exactly my point!” Larkin snaps, fangs flashing. “Kane sacrificed his humanity, and now that humanity is gone. His reasoning is different now, his faculties altered. If he’s not careful, he could get himself killed, either by a goruchel who sees him as a threat, this demon who kidnapped him, even another Merlin—”

Nick is steadfast. “Impossible. Sel would—”

His sentence is cut off with a gasp. He falls to his knees without warning, landing roughly on both palms with his head bowed.

“Nick!” I lurch forward instinctively, wondering if I have missed an injury. Hoping it’s not Sel and the end of their Kingsmage bond. Praying that Sel’s not dead, wondering what that would do to Nick—

Beside me, Lark has forged an aether axe. “Is it the Shadowborn?” His eyes dart from Nick to the land around us, senses on alert. “I don’t sense anything—”

“Are you hurt?” I grasp at Nick’s shoulder, pulling at a pauldron, but he wrenches away.

“Don’t touch me!” he hisses.

I step back, shoving down the bloom of guilt at touching him without his consent. “Tell us what’s happening.”

Nick shakes his head, fingers digging into the dark brown loam. “Nnnnnngh…” His groan is low and guttural. A shout, trapped behind his teeth like he’s trying to hold it back. “Just…,” he grits out. “Need… a minute—” His torso trembles under the force of some wave that has taken him over. Some invisible wound that I cannot see or stop.

After a long moment of shaking, rattling breaths, Nick leans back on his knees. I gasp at the mix of emotions on his flushed face. Pain, I expect. Frustration, sure. But in the set of his jaw, his brow, I see something else—a potent rage. Then, as fast as it appeared, it recedes—and Nick begins to laugh. Gasping, full-bodied laughter emerges hoarse from his battered throat… and I have no idea how to respond.

Larkin looks at me in horror. “What the fu—”

“Sel.” Nick’s dancing blue eyes meet mine, crinkling with unbridled joy in the corners. “He’s… not dead.”

Relief floods me. “The Kingsmage Oath and bond are still active,” I breathe, half to myself and half to Larkin. “Sel’s alive.”

“Sel’s not… only… alive. He’s… murderous.” Nick pants, smiling, both hands on his knees. “He wants someone dead. Don’t know who… but I can feel it, bright and clear: Sel wants to tear a body apart, limb from limb.” He huffs a laugh, dark amusement making his features glitter. “Slowly.”

“Your mortal fear and Selwyn’s murderous intent,” I murmur, remembering that I’ve seen this before but from the other side of the equation. When Bree, Alice, and I were outside the Crossroads Lounge in Georgia, Sel too had doubled over from the barrage of Nick’s side of the bond. “I truly wish the bond gave you access to more than one emotion each.”

“One is plenty, believe me.” Nick shakes his head. “I’d hate to be the person in Sel’s sights right now.”

“Aye.” Larkin eyes Nick as he recovers. “Whoever that poor soul is, they aren’t long for this world.”

I realize this is the first time Larkin has witnessed the Kingsmage Oath exact its price from its Oathbound. Nick was right to remind him of what he’s missing, and I’m suddenly grateful that wherever Bree is, at least she won’t feel Larkin’s anger.

Larkin watches Nick for a moment longer. “You seem awfully delighted by Kane’s appetite for dismemberment.”

“I am.” Nick nods and pushes to his feet with a small, delirious grin. “Because now we know they’re okay, both Bree and Sel.”

“?‘Okay’ is relative,” Larkin cautions. “?‘Okay’ is not the same as ‘safe.’?”

“No, it’s not.” Nick’s eyes flash to mine, and I don’t like what I see there.

“Nick?” I ask cautiously. “What are you thinking?”

He glances away. Runs his tongue over his bottom lip.

Larkin’s brows furrow. “Scion Davis?”

After a beat, Nick inhales, drawing his shoulders back until he stands at his full height. When he releases a long, slow breath, his armor fades, then disappears entirely, revealing his loose navy shirt and jeans—and a still-bandaged left hand. I recognize the injury immediately: it’s his half of the matching shallow cuts that he and Sel made on themselves in order to blood walk to Bree.

I haven’t had a chance to heal it yet.

When Nick turns, there is something in the set of his jaw and shoulders that I have never seen before: cold authority.

“Hand me your phone, Guard Douglas.”

Larkin startles. “What?”

“Your phone.” Nick points his chin at Larkin’s jacket, voice mild. “The one you keep in your breast pocket. The one you used to call the Lieges when you and the others were at Volition. I assume you have other numbers saved?”

Larkin’s hand flies to his breast pocket. “Yes. What other numbers?”

Nick levels his gaze at Larkin. “That’s an order, Guard Douglas.”

Larkin hesitates only for a millisecond before he unlocks the phone with a swipe of his thumb and passes it to Nick.

“Nick?” I ask.

Nick’s jaw remains tight. “This must be done, William.”

“What must be done?”

Nick navigates Larkin’s phone history and hits a call button. When a voice answers, his face shifts into a charming smirk. “Regent Cestra. Been a while.”

Larkin and I both lunge toward the phone, but Nick dips his shoulder, sidestepping the two of us smoothly. Cestra manages a muffled, shocked response from the other end of the line before he replies. “Yes, this is Scion Davis.”

I reach for Nick again, but this time, Larkin holds me back. He’s listening to his Regent’s low, angry voice. Cestra never rescinded the kill order on Nick’s life, which means Nick has just called the exact person who sent her world-class assassins after him.

And yet, Nick chuckles, eyes sparkling. “What the hell do I want? Well”—Nick tucks one hand under his elbow—“the Council and I have much to discuss, wouldn’t you agree?”

The long vowels, the near-rhetorical questioning… when I recognize the familiar speech pattern and who it reminds me of—Lord Davis, Nick’s father—my jaw hardens. There’s a pause as Cestra sputters. I wonder if she hears the late Viceroy Davis in his son’s voice too. If it unsettles her like it does me.

“I cannae believe this,” Larkin mutters. “Cannae believe this right now—” He thrusts his hands through his hair and begins to pace back and forth.

“No, I don’t think I will ‘listen here,’?” Nick says brightly. “In fact, I think you will listen to what I have to say. Every single word.”

Cestra says something sharp in retort, a shouted phrase that sounds like an affronted “Why would I do that?”

“Because,” Nick says, his warm drawl dripping with molasses and knowing, “I am speaking to you and, through you, the High Council of Regents. As the Awakened Scion of the Line of Lancelot, second-ranked knight of the Round Table, and first blade to the king, I invoke curia conventus.”

I freeze, and Larkin sputters a curse of disbelief. At the sound of Cestra’s shocked gasp, Nick’s smirk grows and twists.

I rack my brain for the rules of a curia, but it’s been ages since I’ve even heard of one. It’s archaic. Unheard of—

“You’re familiar with the term, are you not?” Nick continues. A pause. “You are? Excellent. Then we understand each other. You, the other Regents, and your Seneschals have no choice but to comply. I summon you to a formal audience here at the Northern Keep in three days’ time.” His smile is a quick and sharp blade against the warmth of his face, turning it cold. “In the meantime, why don’t you have Mageguard Douglas and the Merlin posted here at the Keep arrest me?”

Beside me, Larkin chokes. I suck in a breath just in time to hear the piercing tone of Cestra’s voice.

“Why would you arrest me? Aside from the fact that we both know you’d sleep better at night if I was captured?” Nick asks. “Or, better yet, if I was dead?”

Her voice grows clearer through the speaker. “Scion Davis, we’d never—”

Nick laughs, voice low and taunting. “Come on, Regent Cestra. Just arrest me. You know you want to.”

She begins to respond, but he cuts her off. “All right, fine, we’ll set aside your not-so-secret plan to kill and replace me with the next eligible Scion of Lancelot for the moment. Even without that diabolical chess move, I think you—and your Mageguard—will likely want to arrest me for something else. A crime no one can contest, much less me, since I’m prepared to confess to it.”

“And what crime is that?” Cestra asks.

Nick holds my gaze as he answers, voice steady and clear. “The murder of your Mageguard Maxwell Zhao.”