Oathbound (The Legendborn Cycle #3)

Chapter 22

22

THREE MONTHS

AFTER brIANA MATTHEWS DISAPPEARED

William

THERE IS ONE argument that has not waned in the months since we left the Keep. So, as Larkin and I walk through the parking lot that surrounds the highway motel we’ve stopped at for the night, I am not surprised when it comes up again.

Nick has just disappeared into the woods behind the motel. He informed us that this is one of the places his father and Isaac used as a hideout while they were on the run. I can see why; the motel desk agent’s security and identification practices at check-in were… laxer than most.

We’re here because Nick is retracing his steps, hoping to better understand the Morgaines’ preferred territories. As with the Legendborn who met with the Morgaines behind the Regents’ backs, he was never given a way to contact them.

Apparently, Ava and her group find you… not the other way around.

After nearly three months of being on this quest without being sought out by the Morgaines, I’m starting to doubt whether Nick’s approach will work. Whether having Larkin with us, even if he often hangs back to let Nick search on his own, is the hindrance that Nick said it would be at his curia.

“The Morgaines were rumored to have mesmered Lieges before they splintered off, you know,” Larkin says as he walks the mostly empty lot. He has already assessed that there are six other guests here, total. “What if the rumors were true and they can mesmer Legendborn as well? Davis’s mind could be manipulated as we speak, and we wouldn’t know. They aren’t to be trusted.”

“Neither are the Regents, Larkin.” I reply with my rote response at this point. “If that was the basis for not trusting someone, we shouldn’t have trusted Sel, either. He mesmered Bree. Repeatedly.”

Larkin purses his lips. “He shouldnae have done that.”

“That story about the Morgaines is the tale that we cannot trust, because we cannot trust the tellers.” I shake my head. “I believe Nick has a plan.”

“Do you believe he’ll tell you what that plan is?” Larkin asks. “It’s been months. He could be buying himself time. This whole endeavor may be his way of running from accountability and saving his own skin. But if he doesn’t go through with killing Ava, it puts all our lives on the line.”

“And yet you joined the quest just as I did,” I counter. “And did not abandon it when Cestra made her threats clear.”

“I joined the quest because you did,” Larkin says quietly. “And did not abandon it for the same reason.”

We walk silently for a few more minutes. A strip mall of restaurants is just up ahead.

This is where the argument usually pauses. Where I set aside Larkin’s concern for me, in particular, and remind myself that he is a Mageguard assigned to protect the king, and Bree’s intended Kingsmage. That he does not favor me out of the Legendborn or put my safety above the other Scions’.

But it has been months of this argument and months of my setting these thoughts aside. The road has been long. The days longer. And when Nick is on his own, retracing his steps from his time alone in the mountains, he cannot take us with him for fear of us being spotted and attacked by the very Morgaines he seeks out. It means that Larkin and I have spent more time with each other than I had anticipated.

“The Merlin scouts from yesterday haven’t returned,” Larkin says, jarring me out of my thoughts. “I think we’ll not see them for another few days at least.”

Nick and I weren’t surprised when, two weeks after we left the Keep, Larkin alerted us that he’d detected a pair of Merlins following us from a restaurant in South Carolina. He checks in regularly with the Regents, sharing our location and progress with them in a weekly text, but it was to be expected that they would send their own eyes and ears eventually. So far, the Merlins haven’t contacted us or made themselves visible—at least to me and Nick.

“And they’re still not aware you’ve spotted them?” I ask.

He responds with wordless indignation and bright insult.

I raise my hands. “Apologies. I should have known better than to ask.”

“I was set to be Bree’s Kingsmage, remember?”

I chuckle. “Yes, I remember.”

He shakes his head in mock annoyance as he continues to scan the parking lot. “To answer yer question, no, they don’t realize I’ve spotted them. That’s half on arrogance and half on youth. Their surveillance skills are fine, but they aren’t Mageguard trained and they’re still growing into their heightened senses. The Council probably can’t afford to send stronger soldiers just to watch us wander around in circles. But if the Regents get antsy one day, or something changes, we should expect a stronger show of force than a couple of wee scouts. They may want to see a dead Morgaine sooner rather than later and challenge Davis on his approach if the trail runs dry.”

“I see,” I say. “I suppose if he is successful, they’ll want proof of that too.”

He peers at me. “Will you be able to stomach that?”

I lift a shoulder. “Maybe it won’t happen. Maybe it’s all a ruse.”

“And if it’s not? Are you really prepared to watch yer friend murder someone? Not a kill made in self-defense, but one committed with intention?”

I answer honestly. “I don’t know.”

As I watch Larkin’s sharp eyes scan the forest around us, his ringed fingers twitching anxiously in the ready position for calling aether, I wonder if he, too, has grown tired of our familiar argument, or if he is waiting for me to push it forward.

“Why is that, exactly?” I ask abruptly.

“Why is what?” Larkin’s golden eyes flick to mine, then back to the trees overhead, the long driveway to the parking lot, the glowing windows of occupied rooms. In the months since we left the Keep, his hair has grown long. The shaved sides are hidden by the dark auburn locks that fall past his ears and frame his temples. I have tried not to notice, but after three months, I find I am too tired to keep trying.

“Why am I the reason you raised your hand?” I ask. “You don’t approve of my defiance of the Regents, nor do you approve of Nick’s methods. You have your own duties and responsibilities. There are parties searching for Bree; you could have joined them instead of going on this journey, which, after three months, may turn out to become a fool’s errand or, as you said, Nick’s attempt to buy himself time.”

Larkin’s silent steps keep moving at a steady pace, but I see the flush working up from beneath the loose collar of his black shirt. See his Adam’s apple move once as he swallows. “You shouldn’t be on your own. Erebus held you captive once,” he says. “I worry he might do it again.”

“Ah,” I say quietly, nodding. “That is a fair concern.” Even I hear the dissatisfaction laced through my comment, but I don’t know what to do with it.

Larkin, however, seems to have some ideas.

He stops abruptly, turning to me, dark brows scrunched together. I stop as well. “?‘A fair concern’?” He drags a hand over his face. “I cannae believe you just said that. As if I was reminding you to check the mail before you left the house or… asking if we have enough milk left in the fridge. Jaysuz.”

Now I am at a loss. “I’m not—”

“Your own capture, your potential recapture , by one of the most powerful Merlins on the planet is not a ‘fair concern,’ William,” he says, laughing hollowly. “It’s an injustice and a… a… danger !”

I nod silently. “Yes, you’re right. If the Scion of Gawain—”

“You are not just the Scion of Gawain!” Larkin interrupts. He huffs in frustration, his cheeks blowing outward. “For God’s sake, you are a person. A good person who has sacrificed any semblance of a normal life to protect others!”

“I haven’t sacrificed more than any other Scion,” I say. “I don’t think I’ve sacrificed more than you—”

“Because you do it quietly ,” Larkin insists, expression pained as he closes the distance between us. “In tiny ways. Hidden ways. You put yourself aside when someone else is hurt, which is fine, you’re a healer. But you don’t put yourself center again after! You don’t talk about your own losses. Three of your friends have been kidnapped in the last six months, and you never bring it up. Legendborn were killed in the battle of the ogof, and you don’t mention it. You lost your bonded Squire , and you never talk about it. I know you broke up with your Onceborn boyfriend to protect him from harm, for the sake of the Order, and you never talk about it .”

I blink at him, taken aback by his outburst. “How do you know about Dylan?” is all I can seem to manage.

“Not the point!” Larkin throws up a hand. “The point is that you , William, never treat yourself like a patient. You tell the others this all the time, but you deserve protection too. You deserve someone looking out for you, too. Do you not realize that?”

I gape at him, flushing hot and cold with emotions I can’t fully process.

“No, you don’t,” Larkin says, shaking his head. “You don’t realize it at all. ‘Medice, cura te ipsum,’ goddamnit!”

I pause to translate. “?‘Physician, heal thyself’?”

“Aye,” he snaps frustratedly. “Best to hear it in two languages. Maybe then, it’ll stick!”

“Larkin, I…”

He shakes his head again. “Lark.”

“What?”

“We’ve been traveling together long enough for you to call me by my preferred name.” He runs a hand through his hair, fingers lifting the thick shock of it up and back until his ears and temple lie exposed. “?’S Lark.”

I close my mouth, then nod. “Yes, of course. Lark. You call me William, after all.”

“You told me I could,” Lark says quietly.

“I did.” We were on the Liege’s plane after Larkin— Lark —brought Sel to us, unconscious but alive so that we could escape the imprisonment of the Regents.

“I think that… duty is a complicated thing,” I begin slowly. “Duty is something that is easy for us in the Order to identify with since we are born into our roles and titles. My sense of duty is defined by my role to protect others. I don’t… I don’t think of myself as the ‘protected.’?”

Lark sends me a searing look. “I’ve noticed.”

I grant him a smile. Then decide that my silent question is worth asking aloud. “Did you come here to protect Nick’s quest as his champion… or to protect me?”

Lark’s shoulders rise with a sigh, then drop. “I don’t know that I’ll answer that straightaway. I know it’s not kind to answer a question with a question, but I wonder sometimes if you are here to protect Scion Davis as the Scion of Gawain might… or if you are William, here to protect Nick’s secrets?”

This time, I am the one who has to look away. “I am a healer,” I murmur. “I respect healer-patient confidentiality. I know better than anyone that people sometimes must keep their own confidence. To keep secrets, as you call them. I trust that Nick has reasons to be…”

“Evasive?” Lark offers. “Consistently and unnervingly evasive to any direct questions that we ask about his plan with the Morgaines?”

“There are plenty of reasons to keep secrets,” I say with a bitter smile. “I trust Nick to know when to share his thoughts.”

“And what if I don’t?” Lark sighs. “What if he does something while we’re out here that I can’t stand by and watch happen?”

“On whose orders would you be acting?” I ask, suddenly seeing something in Larkin’s eyes that looks too much like duty and not enough like care. “Not mine, as Nick’s healer—”

“Is Nick your patient too, then?” Lark shoots back. “Does he know that?”

“Yes. And no.”

Lark takes a breath as if to steady himself. “Is everyone always your patient?”

This argument again. “No,” I reply. “But Nick is. Ever since—”

“Ever since when?” Lark steps closer.

I halt him with a hand. “It’s not my story to share.”

“William.” Lark catches my wrist in his hand—warm palm enveloping it whole. “I need to understand why you’re willing to put yourself in harm’s way because of him.” His mouth quirks into a sad, quick smile. “I need to understand why I’m still allowing you to put yourself in harm’s way.”

My breath catches. “I’m not sure I can help you with… that second ‘why.’?”

His eyes flicker between mine like gold at the bottom of a wishing well. What has now become a familiar heat begins to spark and spread behind my sternum. When Lark speaks again, his voice is like hot honey—and I am reminded that all cambions are attractive. It’s in their genetics. Their very DNA. “All right, Scion. We won’t talk about that second ‘why.’?”

And if Larkin Douglas happens to be the most alluring cambion I’ve ever met, well, that might just be due to our proximity.

His hand tightens, then he releases me. “But you’ll tell me about the first?”

Why am I putting myself in harm’s way for Nick? I think about Lark’s question before I answer. Really think. And, not for the first time, remember.

“It’s… about…,” I begin, “the night that Bree pulled Excalibur from its stone.”

Lark points me toward a wrought iron metal bench set among overgrown weeds in the green space at the back of the motel. Once there, he falls into it, somehow both effortless and easy in the same joint-freezing winter air that has me pulling my Gawain-green scarf up to my ears.

“I’m listening,” he says. “And I won’t repeat anything you say. I swear it.”

It’s a quiet vow. One that I usually make to my patients and friends, not the other way around. “That’s my line,” I say, shifting against the metal seat.

“Tch,” Lark says, voice fond. “You’re stalling.”

“A bit,” I admit, then swallow. Then, I begin.

“The night Bree became the Crown Scion, after the battle had been won, she lost consciousness in the cave. She was exhausted in every way. Sel carried her through the tunnels from the ogof back to the Lodge, and after I healed her injuries and cleared her from the infirmary, we settled her in Nick’s bedroom so that she could recover in peace. Nick stayed with her on his own while I went back downstairs and spoke with Alice. I was so worried about Bree that it wasn’t until I returned to his room to check on her that I realized that Nick wasn’t okay either and maybe never had been.…”

“She has so much to learn now,” Nick said, his eyes distant and mind traveling as he rubbed slow, small, gentle circles into the back of Bree’s hand.

“I know.”

A pause. A refocused gaze on me. “Not all of it good, William.”

“No,” I replied, “not all of it good.”

“I told her.…” Nick’s voice drifted off. “I told her I hated Arthur. Told her what happened to my mother. How Arthur destroyed my family. She held all of that with me, for me… and now Arthur will find a way to take things from her, too.”

“We’ll help her, Nick,” I whispered. “You know we will. You can help her.”

“I can’t protect her from Arthur,” Nick said, voice hard. “We can’t protect her from everything that will change around her the second she wakes up.”

BANG! An exterior door slammed open below—and we both jumped. Two voices reached us from the open foyer down the hall: Sel, back from reinforcing his wards and speaking to Greer.

I said, “Now would be a great time for Selwyn to not slam every door he closes.”

I turned back to Nick, half a smile pulling my face—to find him standing between Bree and the door, shining aether armor wrapping his chest and forearms, eyes blazing and teeth bared. Two longswords had materialized in his fists.

Nick looked… lethal. The expression on his face reminded me that he had been trained to enter the war only when it is most dire. Unlike the rest of us, Nick was raised not to fight Camlann, but to end it.

“Nick, it was just Sel.” He didn’t respond to me, so I stepped—slowly—into his field of vision. “We’re safe. Bree’s safe.”

After a long moment, he blinked, shuddering back to the present moment. The fight left his eyes.

“I—right. Sorry,” he said, releasing his armor. The sword returned to crystalline dust, then disappeared. He turned back to a sleeping, silent Bree. “I just thought… You know.”

“Your nervous system is still primed for a fight. Understandable after tonight, but not necessary any longer. The danger has passed.”

But the line of tension didn’t leave his shoulders. He pulled back a curtain at the window near the headboard, peeking outside as if to check to make sure the grounds were clear.

I tried to change the subject. “For someone who never expected to be Called by Lancelot, you forged his weapon and armor impressively quickly just now.”

He shrugged. “Arthur’s and Lancelot’s armor and weapons aren’t that different.”

“No,” I conceded. “But you’ve been training to inherit Arthur’s abilities, to forge his armor and longsword. Not Lancelot’s.”

Nick’s smile was sharp and quick. “I know that better than anyone, my friend.”

I pressed him further. “Nick, no Legendborn Scion in existence has ever had to master the abilities of an unexpected knight’s spirit. Without warning, you’ve inherited abilities you’ve never studied or considered, but you’ve also been Lancelot’s true Scion your whole life. After a lifetime of preparation to be the Scion of Arthur, there are bound to be unexpected consequences—”

“You are right on that point, Will,” Nick said, his jaw tight. “I have been preparing for my entire life. Maybe not to become Lancelot’s Scion but to be a Scion. Other than that, everything you’ve just said applies to Bree, too. She’s never studied Arthur’s abilities. She doesn’t know what to expect either.”

“But your father—”

“My father never let me forget what I would have to become one day ‘without warning.’ How good I had to be. How much control I’d need. How I couldn’t fail, not with Camlann attached to my Calling. Why do you think he forced me to train with Sel near daily? Forced us to spar against each other until we were both bruised and bloody?”

That surprised me. “But the Kingsmage Oath—”

Nick scoffed. “Sel can hit me if it’s done in the name of ‘training,’ William, you know that. He can do more than hit me if he’s been brainwashed to believe that hitting me is for my own good, or praised for ‘preparing’ his Scion for battle. My father knew the way to Sel’s heart—and fists—was to tell him that sometimes, protection looked like violence. That was the only language Sel knew for a while. Until I renounced my title and we both learned better.”

I had never heard Nick speak this way. Never heard anyone else describe their own training in these terms, much less that of the boy who would be king. I was speechless.

But Nick wasn’t done.

It seemed that some great, invisible dam had been broken that night. That after his father’s open betrayal, the battle, and the deaths of our fellow Legendborn, something in Nick had come unraveled—or he’d finally allowed his grip on it to loosen.

He saw the look on my face and laughed—a hollow, aching sound. “You look horrified.”

“I am horrified,” I’d said.

He turned back to the window, voice mild as he searched the grounds and trees. “Wait until you hear about the broken bones.”

My stomach churned. “Bones?”

He waves a hand. “Not from Sel, don’t worry. Some injuries were too severe for him to risk inflicting on me, so Dad left those lessons for the Lieges. Not Gill but… others. Lieges who were bitter about losing their inheritances. When they left our house, they’d leave me behind with broken bones, black eyes, cracked ribs.” He turned back to the room then, eyes wild with memory. “Internal bleeding, a concussion or two. Or five. Honestly, I lost track.”

I questioned his reporting. Out of ignorance, but still.

“Nick,” I said cautiously, “I’ve treated you dozens of times over the years and never seen signs of those injuries, never seen scars. Concussions are serious, traumatic injuries, and repeated ones leave devastating effects. I would have sensed old fractures.…”

Nick only waved his hand, dismissive. “Your cousin Reese made sure everything was healed up before the next training session. Made it like the injuries never happened.”

Two sentences said with a wave of hand. But they stopped my heart. Froze it in my chest.

My cousin Reese was my mentor. The Scion of Gawain two Callings before my own. He taught me everything I knew about caring for patients, about calling swyns to heal. Reese taught me how to set a bone when I was nine, well before I was eligible to inherit Gawain’s gifts.

I’m ashamed to say I didn’t believe it.

I didn’t believe him.

“Nick… no.” I’d shaken my head. “That can’t be right. Reese was a healer.”

Nick had laughed then, full voiced. “You think I don’t know that? Reese Sitterson was at my house every week for a year before my mother tried to put a stop to my father’s ‘training.’ Before she took me, and the Regents took her . Your cousin was a real stand-up guy who was happy to do the former Scion of Arthur’s bidding. Ole Reese’d be there at our doorstep to heal me as soon as my dad called him, but he never said a word to stop the injuries in the first place.”

“But Scions of Gawain are—”

“People, William,” Nick had replied. “People.”

“But Reese…”

Nick went still. All humor gone. “You don’t believe me?”

I stared at him. In minutes, he’d thrown into question everything I’d been taught since I was a child. How could Reese have shown me the proper way to bandage wounds while using his inheritance to heal injuries that never should have happened in the first place? But Reese also taught me to read my patients’ expressions. To listen to their voices for hidden signs of pain.

Nick’s face and voice were filled with anguish. His features were open and honest. As he said, Reese’s healings would have left no trace, even to me. Nick knew that without evidence of his injuries, some people would never believe him.

“I believe you,” I said. Then I repeated it so he understood. “I believe you, Nick. About everything.”

Nick swallowed audibly, then looked away. “Thanks.”

My fury at Reese took hold then. I frantically rifled back through every memory of healing Nick that I ever had. Whether I’d missed something in evaluating him, whether he’d had other symptoms from head injuries I knew nothing about. Memory loss, aphasia, headaches—

“I got checked out by a doctor eventually,” Nick murmured as if reading my mind. “They took scans. X-rays. Did some tests. They didn’t find anything, so it’s all healed.”

It’s all healed. I didn’t need to see the scans to know that’s not true.

“It doesn’t matter what your title was going to be, Nick,” I’d said. “You were a child and there’s no excuse for what he did to you. What they did.”

Nick’s spine stiffened. “I know.”

I felt like it wasn’t enough, so I kept talking. I shouldn’t have. He’d shown me he was vulnerable, and I should have paid attention. Instead, I said, “Nick, you cannot—”

“I cannot what?” he asked, brow raised in a manner that was unerringly like his Kingsmage’s. “I cannot what , William?”

I should have stopped talking.

“You cannot act like the revelations of tonight affect only Bree and not you. It’s clear you—”

“You think I don’t know how much this affects me?” Nick retorted. “Affects everyone?”

I should have noticed that he was in distress and stopped talking.

“I’m not talking about everyone. I’m talking about you—”

“Tonight isn’t about me!” He gestured to Bree, his eyes wide and stricken. “It’s about her ! It has to be! This is a curse, William. She could die —”

“Yes, but—”

“Bree is the innocent here. She wasn’t born bathed in this… this Scion-violence-and-bloodshed bullshit. It could poison her—Arthur could poison her—and I won’t have it.” Nick shook his head, eyes shining and defiant. “I can’t allow it. She deserves more than us. She deserves better!”

“Is everything all right?”

The door behind us opened, and we both turned to see Selwyn walk through. He was still in his short sleeves, with wounds around his arms and chest from the goruchel and the demons afterward. All injuries that I couldn’t heal because he is a Merlin.

His sharp eyes missed nothing—my stance facing Nick, the tension in Nick’s shoulders and body, Bree resting under the sheets. Selwyn closed the door softly behind him.

“I heard raised voices.” Knowing Sel, he heard more than raised voices. He likely heard most of our conversation. Sel’s eyes found Bree again, then me, and remained there. “I believe it was you who told me that patients require peace and quiet to recover, William.”

My head bowed at his silent admonishment. Shame coated me. “Yes, that was me.”

“Nicholas,” Sel asked, voice even, “are you all right?”

Nick’s teeth had ground together. “I’m fine.…”

Sel moved past me toward his charge, swift and steady, to wrap his hand around Nick’s elbow. Nick faced me as Sel faced the window.

When Sel leaned close, bringing his mouth to Nick’s ear, I saw the way that Nick’s shoulders rose to his ears, then dipped, relaxing at Sel’s touch. I saw the way he shuddered, the anguish still there, working through him.

I couldn’t hear the words the Kingsmage whispered to his Scion. All I could witness was how those words washed over Nick, making his eyelids flutter. All I could do was observe as Nick nodded and finally, slowly unclenched his jaw.

I heard Nick’s first deep ragged breath. I heard him murmur, “I know.” And when Selwyn spoke again, Nick shook his head. “I’m sorry—”

“Do not apologize.” Sel’s grip tightened until Nick met his Kingsmage’s eyes. Something silent and deep passed between them. An understanding. A grace.

Only Selwyn had seen what Martin Davis had done to his son. Only Selwyn had born witness to Nick’s recovery from injuries healed the slow way… and the fast way, from my cousin’s swyns. And, as a child himself, only Selwyn had had his Oath so contorted that he could be used to batter the very Scion he was sworn to protect.

They had become weapons, against themselves and each other.

And I never knew.

Nick brought his empty palm to cover Sel’s at his elbow, squeezing Sel’s fingers once. After another moment, Sel nodded—and let Nick go to sit back against the windowsill, eyes stony.

“Thank you for your assistance, William,” Sel said as he turned to face me, voice firm and formal. “But I have it from here.”

“Bree needs—”

“I have them both,” Sel said, his golden eyes hardening, “and you have done enough. Please leave.”

I opened my mouth, closed it. Then pursed my lips, fighting indignation I didn’t earn.

I dipped my chin toward him, a second apology, and looked around his shoulder to where Bree slept. “Let me know if Bree’s status changes.”

Sel stepped between us then, blocking my view of both my patients. “If you are needed, I will come find you.” There was no rancor in his voice. No recrimination. For that, I am still grateful.

I began to say something else—to thank him, maybe, for taking care of Nick and Bree, but Sel had already turned away. His Kingsmage gaze shifted between Bree, his new king, and Nick, his old one. His liege and his bonded.

And I realized that I had nothing else to offer there. That I had done enough.

That Selwyn had them both.

When I finish my story, Lark’s face is troubled. “William,” he says hesitantly. “You didn’t know. Even if you had known, Nick’s father would have denied it; that’s why he had your cousin heal the wounds before others could see—”

My fists are balled at my thighs. “But other people knew! Adults knew, or at least they had to have suspected. And they looked the other way because a powerful man bade them to.”

“William—”

“ Reese knew,” I whisper, my voice tight with anger. “And I trusted Reese. He taught me everything I know about being the Scion of Gawain, but he never told me about Martin Davis. Never told me he was making house calls to heal wounds that our own Order membership had inflicted on our child king. The night that Bree’s and Nick’s true lineages were revealed, I thought I was pushing Nick forward, helping him, when all I did was take him back to some of the worst moments in his life. I didn’t believe him immediately, like I should have. I should have thought of the swyns, how they accelerate healing.”

Lark swallows. “I read the reports; this conversation with Davis happened the same night your bonded Squire perished, Will. I know about the agony. What happened to Whitlock—”

“Whitty,” I correct, even as the pain swells in my chest. “His name was Whitty .”

“Whitty,” Lark says, nodding. “What I mean to say is—”

“I told you this story because you should know that Nick understands the Order, and what it’s capable of, more deeply than most Scions,” I finally say. “Nick has been forced to consider its tyranny over its own members, its children, the Merlins, over Bree. Nick takes that part of our war, the silent part that no one speaks about at curias or funerals or dinner parties, perhaps more seriously than even the war against the Shadowborn. You asked why I am here? I am here because I believe in Nick. I won’t make the same mistake twice.”

To that, Lark has nothing to say.

We go back to waiting for Nick in silence—and I fear that is how we will remain. That this memory that does not belong to me, that I should not have shared, will create a wedge between Lark and Nick when I would have preferred to create understanding. I am abruptly worried that I told Nick’s story for all the wrong reasons. That I didn’t tell it for Nick at all, but for myself.

Lark’s voice, when it comes, is low and contemplative. “Merlins have our own burdens, but I’ve been a Guard long enough to see that suffering takes many shapes. And Davis isn’t the only Scion who needs and deserves healing from what the Order’s done to him. From what he has endured in its name.”

My voice cracks when I answer. “Oh?”

“Aye,” he says quietly, and drops his left knee until it knocks against my right—as warm and certain and solid as his voice in the night. “You do too, Will. You do too.”