Oathbound (The Legendborn Cycle #3)

Chapter 5

5

FORTY-EIGHT HOURS

AFTER SELWYN KANE APPEARED

Natasia

AUDIO LOG—ENTRY #1

My son is with me. After thirteen years , my son is with me. Here, in my home.

But Selwyn is not awake—nor is he at rest. Erebus said he was forced to put my son under in order to control him, and after two days, I understand why.

Selwyn has been unconscious since the moment he appeared in my living room, but his mind and body have been increasingly fighting some invisible battle. Sweat streams from his face and body now, soaking the bedsheets beneath him. He thrashes dangerously, and has already left a fist-size dent in my guest bedroom wall. His black-tipped claws curl and unfurl, slicing his own palms open until they heal again. His brows are drawn tight in focus, in rage. I speak to him, but he cannot hear me. His sounds are unintelligible growls and groans, no words that I can discern. My son is boiling over with silent fury while fighting an opponent that I cannot see… and all I can do is wait as Erebus’s sleeping spellcraft continues to wears off.

If Selwyn is like this while unconscious, then what destruction had he sought while awake? I may never know. Erebus claimed that he is in demonia, but it is too soon, he is too young, this is too violent a fall—

I have already worn a path in my living room rug from pacing back and forth. I’ve been living mostly on adrenaline and caffeine—a bad combination.

Maybe my own emotional state is why I reached for this audio recorder to begin a new file of notes and observations—to give myself the refuge of scholarly distance. Anything is better than the silence and agony of the past two days—and I can’t keep pacing and worrying. The rug won’t survive.

So. [Slow exhale.] Notes and observations. Let me begin:

Even in Selwyn’s current state, he is a marvel. Tall. Strong. Hair as raven black as my own. Even though he is unconscious, I can sense that his affinity for aether is precise and powerful—that he is powerful. In his calloused hands and athletic build, I see that he has learned much. Seen much. Fought much. But there are other details that I did not expect:

At some point, he began to collect tattoos. Tattoos! We both bear the mark of the Merlin, but he has expanded on our shared symbol, inscribing his own story on his skin in curving lines of ink. And his ears! They are pierced with thick-gauged black rubber plugs. How is he old enough to have tattoos and piercings? Did he get them on his own? Did he go with friends? Does he have a partner? Someone who adores him and someone whom he adores equally? Do they know of his current condition? Are they worried?

As I hold vigil at his bedside, my mind swims with relentless questions. Old ones mixed with new. And with those questions, the familiar guilt of leaving him behind turns it all… messy. And hard.

The last time I truly spent time with my son, he was five years old. He was curious. Bright. Talkative. The boy Selwyn was when the Regents took me away has been gone for some time now. I do not know if that boy will ever return. If it is his demonia that has placed that childlike self forever out of reach, or if the Order wrung that innocence out of him years ago…

Perhaps I should leave the speculation to another time. Another recording.

Selwyn was born a Merlin, but like all Merlins, he was born with a splintered self. From birth, the slivered, small parts of us that are demon , the parts of us that are not quite alive the way that humans are alive on this plane, live at the corners of our minds, testing their boundaries, pushing at our consciousnesses. Our demons are hungry, gnawing, persistent—and patient. Because one day, after enough time, they will make themselves known. Just as Selwyn’s demon has made itself known—far earlier in his life than I would have ever expected.

I am glad that I am the one holding vigil at his bedside, rather than a human friend and rather than his bonded, Nicholas. I imagine he might frighten a human right now, including the Legendborn Scions and Squires under his supervision. It is better that they do not see him like this. As he is now, when he wakes, his eyes will only see the emotions that his body and mind now hunger for. I can only hope that he will know me as I am: his mother… and the woman who abandoned him for reasons he can’t understand.

The Order does not recognize Merlins who descend. To them, we are both the “succumbed.” To them, we are lost souls.

They are wrong.

Unlike the society that orchestrated both his and my own conceptions, ensuring our strength and power only to discard us later, I hope that Selwyn will recognize me in the same way that I will recognize him—in full.

But that is not why I have started this recording. [Audible sigh.]

I keep losing my train of thought. What kind of scientist am I? What kind of scholar?

I ask that… and yet perhaps I should give myself grace. If Faye were here, she would remind me that I am not just a scientist. Not just a scholar. Not even just a Merlin. She would remind me that I am all those things—and also a mother.

And so, here are the details of the moment that my son returned to me, to the best of my memory:

I keep a cabin by the ley line that runs through the Appalachian Mountains. It is the same line that runs through the Cambrians in Wales, and so makes for fruitful study of Gates. As with every other hideout, I don’t stay here long, keeping visits brief so as not to become too relaxed in any given location. I send Faye letters to—ahem. Sorry, when Faye was alive, I sent encoded letters to alert her of when I might visit. And when we saw each other, briefly, over the years, we both understood why I could not share the locations of my residences. And in the months since her… her passing, I have moved five times, perhaps due to some paranoia on my part after risking exposure to Faye’s daughter while in the fresh throes of my grief. That paranoia was only doubled when I felt Martin Davis die through our Kingsmage bond. After Martin died, I went out of my way to see no one and be seen by no one. I have been more than careful. Greater than cautious.

I say all of this to explain that there is, simply and factually, no explanation as to how Erebus Varelian could have been made aware of my current location.

The only way that Erebus could have found me so urgently and immediately is if he has been watching me, consistently, for some time—and that I simply cannot fathom. He is a Mage Seneschal, and I am, in the eyes of the Order, a criminal behind bars. If Erebus has been watching me, then he must be aware that I escaped from the depths of the Order’s most notorious Shadowhold—and yet he’s chosen not to pursue me or return me to that prison. Why?

And how did he appear to teleport with Selwyn in his arms directly into my living room? The only beings that have such powers are demons, and even they can only use them over short distances and to places they have been before.

[A pause.]

I worry that my old friend has been left much too alone in his research, or that perhaps he is working with the Scion of Mordred, who is known to dabble in less-than-ethical demon experimentation. The pact magic that warlocks use has ill effects on the human bearer and has long been considered not only unsavory among the Merlins of the Order but dangerous. Has Erebus been experimenting with pact magic on himself? At the academy, he was secretive and sometimes displayed a lack of care for others, but his distaste for warlock practices was as strong as any other Merlin’s. But that was nearly thirty years ago now. We have all changed, I’m sure—

I digress.

The details, Natasia… recount the details . The facts.

Two days ago, Erebus Varelian, the Mage Seneschal at Arms, appeared in my living room, holding my unconscious son in his arms. My first instinct, my immediate fear, was that Selwyn had been killed in battle. I have not felt fear like that… in a long time.

Erebus said, “He is alive. Be calm.” Short but appreciated.

Selwyn was freshly unconscious then. Limp and unresponsive. And, upon closer inspection, deeply subsumed by demonia. Dark veins line his wrists and arms, and his claws end in black points, indicative of the change in his blood. His skin is flush, and his fangs have grown past his bottom lip. The tops of his ears now end in slight points.

Erebus, for his part, appeared preoccupied and irritated. He made to leave soon after depositing my son on the floor in front of me. Before he could do so, I asked what happened.

Erebus replied, “I was forced to render him unconscious, lest he continue to fight me. He will remain so for perhaps a day or two, so you will have some time to prepare for his awakening. Be warned, he is dangerous. Even to you.”

“How did this happen? His Kingsmage bond to Nicholas should have protected him—”

“Selwyn has been separated from his bonded for some time. His descent was slow and manageable until recently.”

When I asked what happened recently, Erebus appeared… frustrated. Angry. “Selwyn consumed power that did not belong to him.”

I did not and do not know what he meant by this sentence. As a Merlin, Selwyn shouldn’t have been consuming anyone’s power.

Instead of explaining further, Erebus asked, “Will Selwyn’s father come looking for him?”

Of course a Mage Seneschal would want to know if a human man would be searching for his son, causing trouble with the Code of Secrecy, getting in the way of things. I let him know that Selwyn’s father would not be looking for him. While my son has inherited his father’s general insouciance, sarcasm, and good looks, Selwyn’s quick sense of duty to others comes entirely from me. Besides, he was raised more by the academy and the Davises than his father.

Again, I digress—

Erebus paused, then said, “I do not presume to know what news you gather from the world of the Order, but if you have not heard—”

“You let them put me away, Erebus,” I interrupted, suddenly angry for myself and my son. “You didn’t stop them.”

“I was not yet a Seneschal. And even if I had been, I could not intervene” is all he said. All he said twenty-five years ago and all he said two days ago. All he has ever said to explain his inactions when he could have spoken up on my behalf.

“You could have vouched for me,” I said. “You knew I’d never have opened those Gates.”

He grew cold. And just as before, he only repeated, “I could not intervene.”

At that, Erebus turned to leave, but before doing so, he offered a note of discouragement that I only repeat here so that the record is whole. He said, “It is too late for Selwyn, Natasia. Even for someone as knowledgeable and adept as you.”

Perhaps he meant this parting message as a type of comfort. A kindness given to an old friend for whom you still hold some measure of regard. As Erebus is not a parent himself, perhaps his words were an attempt to show sympathy to a mother in crisis. I do not know Erebus’s reasoning for giving that precise warning to me—and I do not care.

Without hesitation, I made my position clear: “Selwyn is my son , Erebus. It is never too late.”