Oathbound (The Legendborn Cycle #3)

Chapter 7

7

William

THE ROTUNDA IS so silent, a dropped pin could be heard.

My own breathing can be heard.

But Cestra’s anger and embarrassment are satisfyingly on display. Her face flushes red, the blood vessels in her neck and face responding to her nervous system, which is responding to my insult. Her nails curl into the ends of the wood chair beneath her hands. She cannot even muster a false, polite smile.

When Cestra does and says nothing, indeed, when the Lord Regent does and says nothing , Felicity emits a low, curious hum beside me. I wonder if she has landed on the same conclusion that I have: the Table’s rebellion with the Morgaines must have struck a nerve. That is the only explanation for my open insult to go unchecked. “Your point is well made, Scion Sitterson.” Lord Regent Aldrich clears his throat. “Of course we should honor Nicholas Davis’s true lineage.”

“Like you honored Bree Matthews’s true lineage?” Greer asks with a scoff. I raise a brow at them, and they look up at me, grinning. My interruption emboldened them to make their own, and something like pride grows roots in my chest.

Aldrich tenses. “This convening is not about Bree Matthews, Squire Taylor.”

“How could it be?” Erebus says. “When she is nowhere to be found?”

“Does that mean you’ve been looking for Bree and Sel?” I voice the question we all have.

“With every resource available to us—and some we do not have to spare,” Erebus returns. His brows draw together tightly. “It is just as you, Scion Davis, and Guard Douglas reported: There is no trace left behind, no sign of them anywhere. They have both vanished.”

“How do two people just vanish into thin air?” Hannah, the Scion of Bedivere, asks hotly from her seat. “And what is the Council doing about it?”

Shh-shh-shh-shh. The whispering sound of thumbs brushed over fingers fills the space—a nonverbal sign of approval from the other Scions and Squires in the room and even from the Lieges up above, whose spoken voices are not welcome here. Table members, both former and current, are listening. The Council’s eyes follow the sound of our dissatisfaction and distrust as it bounces around the room. Shh-shh-shh-shh.

“This Council is responding accordingly, Scion Mather,” Aldrich says, “to an unprecedented set of circumstances.”

“ Several unprecedented circumstances, in fact,” Seneschal Serren adds, voice loud enough to carry through the space easily. “The Order has no record of a demon who is powerful enough to materialize and dematerialize in and out of several layers of wards. Not even a goruchel can do such things, nor a Merlin of any level.”

I glance at Greer, then Felicity, who gaze back at me with wide eyes.

They truly have no idea where Bree and Sel are, and no leads on the demon who took them.

“Perhaps your records are incomplete,” I begin cautiously, thinking not just of Nick but of Valec and Mariah, of Volition—and of Bree. “It would not be the first time the Order fell short in documenting the truth of our world.”

“Merlins make it our business to know demons, Scion Sitterson,” Erebus says haughtily, sitting back in his chair. “As cambions, we understand the nature of Shadowborn better than any human. Our demonology records are both extensive and exhaustive. If this being has existed on our plane before now, it likely makes a habit of eliminating any witnesses in order to cover its tracks.” His red eyes bore into mine, cold and detached. “You three should consider yourselves lucky to be alive. If this mystery demon had possessed other impulses, I am certain that you would be dead and that we would be welcoming your bloodline replacements to the fold at this very moment. Be grateful it seems to have had other priorities.”

I swallow. Erebus is right; that demon could have easily killed us had he wanted to.

Had we gotten in his way.

“This is some sort of super-goruchel, then?” Alex, the Scion of Kay, stands.

“We do not believe this novel demon can be understood within our existing classifications,” Seneschal Tacitus adds in a gravelly voice. “This monster is beyond ‘uchel’ and ‘goruchel.’ There is no scale for power of this kind, no reference for black aether as described by Scions Sitterson and Davis. It is in a new league, Scion Hanover.”

“A league we are ill-equipped to pursue.” Erebus temples his fingers. “This so-called teleportation ability you witnessed is no doubt a mere taste of what this demon is capable of. It is not hyperbole to consider that the true depth of its powers is beyond our knowledge.”

Aldrich continues, his voice slowly growing in intensity. “While this Council and the Legendborn have had our… differences, it would be irresponsible for me to not make this clear: This new demon, wherever it is, is a danger to us all. Legendborn, Liege, Regent, Merlin, and Onceborn alike. Its very existence threatens everything this Order has built. Make no mistake, the kidnapping of Briana Matthews and Selwyn Kane is a sign that this Camlann, however it may have begun, will end like none other before.”

The room quiets all over again. A knock interrupts the moment.

“Come,” Regent Cestra calls. The double doors at the back of the rotunda open, and the light from the outer hall spills down the center aisle in an arc of white.

I immediately recognize the first two Mageguard to enter. Guard Olsen, one of the first Mageguard to arrive at the Southern Chapter, gazes straight ahead, and beside her walks Larkin.

As he approaches, I half expect Larkin to look my way. Then, I remember that the Council is watching and they still don’t know that his true allegiance is to Bree. If he shows any real expression in my direction, it might blow his cover, so I only allow myself a single glance.

It is, to my odd sense of dismay and frustration, more than enough.

Today, Larkin is in his dress grays. Silver-threaded slacks, a cross-buckled dark stone-gray jacket with a generous cowl, and an extra pair of silver aether-conducting rings on each hand. His Mageguard undercut is freshly touched up, and his hair lies slick in a thick wave, away from his face. He is handsome when he is focused , I realize, then swallow at the surge of unasked-for heat around my collar.

Finally, Nick enters. I have not seen him in three days, but aside from a shadow beneath each of his eyes, his pallor and demeanor are much the same as they were when he first called Cestra and asked to be arrested. His left hand is mostly healed and without a bandage, and today he wears dark pants and an unbuttoned charcoal-gray vest over a navy dress shirt rolled up at the elbows.

However, unlike that morning on the hill, when Nick was moving freely, his gait today is guided by two other Mageguard behind him. Nearly as tall as he is and flanking him on either side, they push him forward with a heavy gloved hand at each shoulder. It is only when the group clears our row that I see the thick black iron bands around Nick’s wrists.

“Fuck,” Greer curses under their breath. “Are those what I think they are?”

“Yes,” I reply lowly. “Cyffion gwacter. ‘Void cuffs.’?”

I’ve only ever seen the cuffs on Selwyn, as they are typically forged for Merlins. Designed to block their cambion ability to sense, call, or forge aether. Even then, Selwyn’s cuffs were unchained, allowing him individual use of his hands. Nick’s restraints are connected by a heavy length of iron links, leaving his arms partially immobilized along his torso, palms facing inward.

As he passes our row, Nick’s blue eyes find mine, his expression both amused and alert, before his gaze returns to the stage ahead.

“Mageguard plus void cuffs? What exactly do they think Nick’s gonna do here?” Greer hisses. “Attack the Council with aether swords drawn?”

“Well,” I reply, “I’d say that’s exactly what they’re worried about.”

No one here but Erebus saw Nick attack Maxwell Zhao, so perhaps we cannot fathom the violence our friend is capable of. I turn back to find the Seneschal regarding Nick’s approach with watchful, sharp eyes and don’t have to guess whether Erebus is the Merlin who bespelled Nick’s cuffs—which means he is the only person other than Bree who can break them.

“Thank you for gathering on such short notice, High Council,” Nick calls out in a loud voice.

As he is brought to a halt before the stage, the humor on his face matches the blatant taunt of his next words. “I cannot truthfully say it is good to see you. I could lie, if you prefer?” His eyes brighten, almost hopeful. “Or you could lie? It would be like old times.”

Aldrich stands with one hand in his pocket, pointedly ignoring Nick’s jabs. “It is not like we have a choice in being here, Scion Davis.” He waves the Guards guiding Nick forward, and they walk him up the stairs to the stage. At a second gesture the guards retreat, leaving Nick alone. Even cuffed, his body and face are relaxed, his shoulders loose.

Nick raises both linked hands to Erebus. “No chance you’d be willing to remove these?”

“I’m afraid not, Scion Davis.” Erebus sits back. “You have proven yourself to be a threat to my Mageguard.”

Nick drops his arms. “Thought you might say that.” He shrugs a single shoulder, the action lifting his lowered wrists at an angle. On anyone else the movement would be impossibly awkward; on Nick, it is effortless. “And I can’t exactly deny your reasoning.”

“I am glad you agree,” Erebus says dryly.

“Oh, I’m sure there’s much upon which we agree, the Council and I.”

Nick pivots so that we can all see him clearly. He scans the small group of gathered Legendborn first, pausing on Donovan, then casts his gaze upward to the silent and shadowed Lieges tucked away and hidden on the balcony above—as if he can see them clearly too.

I frown. Only a Merlin can see in the dark.

Nick circles back to the Council. “And there is much upon which we disagree.”

“You drew on old Order traditions to bring us here today, Scion Davis,” Aldrich says, walking back to take his seat in the line of six chairs at the rear of the stage. “And yet you stand before us a self-proclaimed criminal. What do you have to say for yourself?”

Nick smiles softly. Then, in a resonant voice that carries, he recites: “Y cyngor, wedi’i alw ynghyd, i glywed gorchymyn. Y cyngor, wedi’i alw ynghyd, i ganiatáu cais.”

The Council, gathered, to receive a demand. The Council, gathered, to grant a bid.

“Llw o gefnogaeth i’r Chwedlanedig, yn addawedig. Llw o wasanaeth i’r Chwedlanedig, iddo’n rhwym.”

An Oath of Support to the Legendborn, pledged. An Oath of Service to the Legendborn, bound.

Aldrich’s jaw works back and forth. “I am aware of our commitment.”

“Thought you might be,” Nick drawls, turning, “as answering a Legendborn call for a curia and granting their formal request is the only Oath the Council ever swears to the Round Table. The only promise that ties you to our demands, rather than the other way around. And, like any other Oath, if you do not fulfill it as sworn—you’ll die a long, burning, painful death.”

The room shifts uncomfortably, clothes sliding across wood and coughs interrupting the silence. Beside me, Greer makes a surprised sound. It seems they did not know that at the center of the curia conventus lies an unbreakable Oath the Regents cannot avoid. Only the oldest Scion families even teach this ancient truth—and it’s why the Regents themselves never discuss it.

“We of the Council do not need to be reminded—in detail—of the consequences of a broken Oath,” Aldrich says with barely contained disgust. “Make your request and make it quick so that we may get back to the real business of running this order.”

Nick spreads his hands wide within their cuffs. “I assure you my request is in alignment with the Order’s objectives.”

“We will be the judge of that.” Cestra sits back, crossing her legs. “State your demand.”

Nick’s relaxed expression does not falter. “As Scion of Lancelot, second-ranked to the Round Table, I wish to be granted a formal knight’s quest.”

I shift in my seat. It makes sense that Nick wants to search for Bree, but formal knight’s quests are archaic, outdated journeys. I’ve never even heard of a modern Scion seeking one. And, by the looks on the Regents’ faces, this is not what they were expecting at all.

“Let me guess,” Regent Gabriel says with an eye roll. “You wish to search for Briana Matthews? Or Selwyn Kane? You cannot seek both.”

“No.” Nick’s voice does not waver. “I cannot seek both, nor do I wish to.”

No?

“No?” Cestra leans forward in her chair. “No?”

“He said no, my Regent,” Erebus murmurs in a low voice.

“What else, then?” Cestra scoffs. “Don’t tell me you seek a Grail quest.”

Nick smirks, eyes crinkling at the corners. “What I desire is not a fiction made up by Councils past, I assure you. Unlike the Holy Grail, what I wish to pursue is real.”

Cestra huffs. “Then what or whom is your objective for this so-called quest?”

I suck in a silent breath. If not Bree or Sel, then who? His mother, Anna?

Nick levels his gaze at the Regents. “I will pursue the Morgaines who conspired with the Round Table and who attacked the Council at the Keep’s fields.”

Low murmurs bloom across the hall. Beside me, both Greer’s and Felicity’s jaws drop.

“He can’t be serious,” Pete whispers.

Apparently a similar thought has crossed the Council’s mind, as the six of them exchange uneasy, uncertain glances.

Shadowborn demons are the Order’s primary enemy, but we are taught that the elusive Line of Morgaine comes in a close second. Though they were never cambions, the Morgaines were once considered a sect of Merlins themselves. They even used the same title and fulfilled similar needs in the hierarchy of the Order, working with cambion Merlins to hunt demons and protect humans. But in the 1400s, there was a splinter. A break in ranks over how the Regents at the time ran the society. According to the stories, the Morgaines who called themselves Merlins turned on their fellow sorcerers, turned on the Regents and Legendborn, and eventually abandoned their adopted title in favor of referring to themselves solely as “Morgaines,” then disappeared.

Until they recently revealed themselves to the current Legendborn Scions and Squires to expose the Council’s lies and hidden agenda—including the truth of my and Bree’s imprisonments and the Regents’ plan to usurp the Round Table’s power.

Given that the Morgaines are the root of the wedge of distrust between the Legendborn and the Council, I am certain the Regents and their Mage Seneschals would love nothing more than to hunt the Morgaines down and squash the splinter cell for good. But why would Nick?

Lord Regent Aldrich clears his throat and recovers first. “Scion Davis, you came before this body five years ago as a twelve-year-old boy to renounce your title as Scion of Arthur, mistaken as that lineage may have been. You have made your disrespect for our Order and this governing body appallingly clear. Are we to believe you despise the Morgaines, our enemies, so deeply?”

Nick releases a low chuckle. “To be perfectly honest with you, I don’t give a damn about the Morgaines. Particularly as they sent the goruchel Rhaz to end my life a few months ago under the impression of said mistaken lineage.”

“Then why pursue them?” Cestra asks.

“I grow weary of the games you play. We are at war. Humans are dying and new enemies have made themselves known. I cannot live as a hunted man, nor can I fight as one, wondering when your next assassin will make an attempt on my life,” Nick says. “I seek a formal knight’s quest to hunt the Morgaines, your enemies, on your behalf and on the behalf of this court and Table. Let me show you my loyalty.”

“This is no simple boon you ask for, Davis,” Cestra states, sitting back with a glower. “A formal quest grants the endowed knight a reprieve from court and military responsibilities—and clemency from any assigned punishments—for as long as their journey requires.”

Nick tilts his head, a flicker of mock surprise on his brow. “Is that so?”

And understanding dawns.

Nick planned all of this. In those swift seconds after Sel and Bree disappeared, Nick conceived of everything that led to this moment.

The call for a curia ensured that he would be granted an audience by the Council with the Legendborn and Lieges present as witnesses, making whatever happened during the ritual unavoidably public.

But Nick knew the Regents would love nothing more than to replace him with the next eligible heir in his Line, and if they had killed him before today, his death would have stopped the curia before it started. So he taunted Cestra into arresting him, knowing it would lead to his imprisonment—and that the tower and its ward would keep him safe from any further assassination attempts.

And today Nick used his deep knowledge of the Order’s own history to demand a formal knight’s quest, an obscure, archaic journey that would not only force the Regents to remove the kill order on his head, but require them to let him roam free.

With a single phone call, Nick Davis manipulated the entire Council of Regents into sending him on a fully sanctioned, unsupervised mission that could take weeks, months, or even years to complete. And no matter how much the Council hates the trap Nick set for them, they can’t refuse him—or they’ll die.

It’s not just quick, strategic thinking; it’s genius. Terrifying, brutal, ruthless genius.

Nick’s drawl turns syrupy. His words sticky. “Have I displeased you, Council? Upset you? I assure you that was not my intention.”

While the rest of the Council undoubtedly processes how a seventeen-year-old has just outmaneuvered them, Erebus recovers first. He alone seems unsurprised by Nick’s feat. “I find many of your intentions hard to believe, Scion of Lancelot. Are we to assume that you were not aware that once you are operating under the aegis of a curia-granted knight’s quest, this Council cannot pursue you for new crimes or otherwise attempt to harm you, without also risking the wrath of our Oath to the Legendborn?”

Nick’s eyes sparkle. “Yes, that is what you are to assume. And as for your Oath, well… the Line is Law.”

Erebus releases a sigh. “A frustratingly clever loophole, Scion Davis. I am impressed.”

Nick bows his head. “Thank you.”

“We have no choice but to grant you this boon, Scion Davis.” Aldrich inhales sharply. “The loophole you have so clearly exploited makes it so. But that does not mean we have to grant you your quest immediately. You will submit to our questions first—for the sake of the Order.”

“Of course,” Nick says.

“Why the Morgaines?” Aldrich asks.

“You know the answer to that question better than anyone.” Nick jerks a chin at the Mageguard in the room. “You’re already running short on Merlins.”

Another silence floods the room, but this time, the Regents look rattled. Erebus and Cestra exchange silent, weighted looks that tell me that something else is running in the undercurrent of this exchange—something about which Nick has a clear and unexpected grasp. This time, the Mageguard share wary glances too. Then I think of Gill’s face, and Samira’s, and the young Merlin too young to be a Mageguard.…

“What do you mean?” Hannah the Scion stands. “What’s happening with the Merlins?”

Across the room, Larkin’s jaw is clenched tight, not with surprise but with resignation. What had Valec said to him last night about the Order’s presence in the world? S’pose you have to drop those reminders here and there nowadays, huh? With y’all being spread so thin . My fingers tense on the pew. Valec knew the Merlin forces were thinning. And Larkin knew too.

Aldrich clears his throat again. “I don’t know what you are referring—”

“In my time on the run, the Morgaines sought me out,” Nick reveals. “They knew many things about the Order from their years of silent observation. Their leader, Ava, sought to seduce me to their interests. She spoke of a plan to weaken the Order by killing off its Merlin army.”

Feet scuff the balcony floor overhead—the Lieges, shifting in place in response to this news.

“Don’t like that,” Greer mumbles. “What does he mean she ‘seduced’ him—”

“Hush,” I admonish Greer, although I have the same question myself.

“I was not taught to believe the Morgaines could become strong enough to kill Merlins,” Nick says, eyes narrowing at the Council, “but it appears they are succeeding. We cannot win this war without Merlin support, and we all know it.”

“As the Scion of Lancelot, you make a good target for Ava,” Erebus murmurs, lifting a shoulder. “Perhaps her so-called plan was just lies to invite your betrayal of the Order. A world-weary Lancelot ready to turn against his upbringing would make a fine prize for our enemies.”

Nick huffs a laugh. “Perhaps. But you Seneschals should see your Regents right now.…” He raises his cuffed wrists to point with both hands, sweeping slow across the line of Regents. “Those looks of dread on their very human faces are a dead giveaway that her plan is working. Merlins are being murdered, aren’t they?”

I swallow thickly, wrapping my head around something that seems impossible. A thinning Merlin army is quite possibly one of the Council’s worst nightmares, and with good reason. The Legendborn can’t cover nearly the same territory that Merlins can. There are only twenty-six of us, even when the Table is at full power. There must be at least a thousand Merlins in active service, maybe more—or there were.

Aldrich’s face reddens before he sputters back to life. “How exactly do you plan on stopping the Morgaines?”

“Ava hates the Order and knows that I have every reason to hate it too.” Nick’s words hit the ear like treason. “In other words, she will believe the enemy of her enemy is her friend.”

“Then what?” Regent Gabriel says, waving a hand as if to say, Go on . “Will you kill her?”

“If you like.” Nick’s voice betrays nothing.

I stiffen. Try my best to read Nick’s expression for more hesitation or distaste, even duplicity—but his face is blank and emotionless.

Killing Ava is murder, no matter how many Merlins she herself has killed and no matter how many goruchel she once sent to kill Nick. That the Legendborn world traffics in so much death that its Council openly speaks of murdering an enemy, without worry about censure or consequences, doesn’t surprise me as much as it should. It is Nick’s true willingness to commit that murder that I care about—and I find I cannot read him at all.

I search Nick’s face for remnants of the boy I grew up with. That boy is still there in his stature, in his hair and eyes, even in the noble lift of his chin. But the boy I grew up with is not who Nick has become. This Nick, the one with the hard glint in his blue eyes, the one in void cuffs, the one who casually agrees to kill an enemy, is not someone I recognize. I feel a surge of guilt for not seeing the emergence of him —and an answering wave of determination to untangle this newcomer from my friend.

Erebus taps his chair impatiently. “You may be successful in killing one of our greatest enemies, but that does not mean you can be trusted. You have already killed one of our own.”

“Maxwell Zhao was attempting to kill me . Am I not ‘one of our own’?” Nick counters, something sharp in his voice. “Under your orders, Zhao threw an aether spear aimed at my heart, and my father died from the blow instead.”

“I am aware of the events, Scion Davis.” Erebus sighs. “But how can we be certain—”

“Be certain of this ,” Nick says, taking a slow step toward the seated Council. “I have never hidden my distaste for your methods, but I do believe in the Order’s core mission as it was taught to me and my fellow Scions. I believe in using our inheritances to fight demonkind and to protect Onceborn lives.” As he speaks, Nick takes another step, then another, until one boot rests on the stairs ascending the dais where the Council sits. “Do you also believe in these things, High Regent?”

The powder-keg tension of the room twists further. Aldrich’s eyes narrow a fraction. “I do.”

Nick’s smile is sharp and quick. “Then have we reached an accord? Will you grant me this quest so that I may leave a free knight?”

Aldrich taps his fingers on his armrest. “You have not provided sufficient reasoning to this Council as to why you would not immediately seek either Briana Matthews or your Kingsmage and defect from the Round Table in the process.”

A long pause.

“I think we both know Selwyn Kane is gone,” Nick says quietly. “In spirit, if not in body.”

My stomach drops. Has Nick truly given up on Selwyn? That can’t be possible. I know what the Order has taught us about demonia and I know that Selwyn’s progression toward something is real, but I refuse to believe that he is truly out of our reach. And the Nick I grew up with, the Nick I saw in the moments after Bree and Sel disappeared, would never take the Order’s word about demonia at face value. He’s lying. He must be lying—

“I agree that Kane is a lost cause.” Erebus tilts his head. “And what of Briana?”

Nick steps back. “Six months ago, this Council and its mission would have deemed Briana Matthews a Onceborn. An ignorant innocent at best, an expendable nuisance at worst. I myself sponsored her entry into our Order—a decision that will haunt me for the rest of my days.” A pause. “In the months since the revelation of Briana’s true lineages—being born of not one Line of power but two—she was lied to and deceived, drugged, imprisoned, tortured, and possessed by the malevolent spirit we Scions were raised to worship. And every act against her was not committed by demonkind enemies, but by the very Order that should be kneeling at her feet . This Council sought to break Briana Matthews… and found it could not. I think you are fortunate that she has not sought vengeance against you. As are we all.”

Nick raises his eyes to Lord Regent Aldrich, finality written on his face.

“To answer your question, I will not pursue Bree, because even if she is with an enemy, I know that she will survive—which is a far better fate than what awaits her here.”

A long silence fills the rotunda.

Aldrich’s mouth is a pursed line. His next words break the silence like stones thrown in a still pond. “You dance with treason today, Scion Davis.”

“If treason is truth, then perhaps I do. Or perhaps I merely tire of your version of loyalty.” Nick levels his gaze, hard and flinty, at the older man. “I was raised by my father under the Order’s philosophies. I heard him speak daily of the rights and access he deserved and that he claimed I was owed. You have made me parentless twice over, Regents. I am an orphan of your Court. I have lived beneath your violence; I have seen what you seek to hide, not just here but everywhere. And in my time away from this court, I have seen and felt your truths more clearly than ever.”

“What truths?”

“Your supremacy,” Nick says, brows tight. “Your misogyny. Your racism. Your cowardice.”

Aldrich snarls. “Scion Davis—”

“I only state out loud that which you enact in plain sight. That which we can all see, if we can stand to bear witness.” Nick seethes. “Will you punish me for doing so? Your chosen son ?”

The Regents are silent.

“Briana Matthews cannot be the only voice that speaks against you.” Nick’s face turns derisive. A bright fury, rising beneath his skin. “Not when she bears our burdens for us and goes so unprotected. Not when you erase her humanity to guard your own power and protect your own whiteness.”

Aldrich and Gabriel both sputter, while Cestra’s face turns red. The High Regent shoots to his feet. “Scion Davis—!”

“I’m not done!” Nick roars back. “And I wasn’t just talking to you.” Nick turns to the room, to the other Scions and Squires, to the Lieges up above.

“We have to know these sins. We have to name them. Not only in Bree’s presence”—at this, Nick looks at the Southern Chapter, at me—“but in her absence, too.”