Oathbound (The Legendborn Cycle #3)

Chapter 25

25

FOUR MONTHS

AFTER brIANA MATTHEWS DISAPPEARED

Bree

DAEZA’S CLUB IS a large building that sits across from the French Broad River near downtown Asheville. There’s a bouncer standing in a cone-shaped pool of light at the entrance underneath a bright sign that says ECLIPSE .

“He’s human,” Elijah observes. His eyes scan the group of people who walk down the sidewalk, laughing and talking with raised voices. “But we shouldn’t let our guard down.”

I let my left fingers fall down to my thigh, where a black-hilted dagger rests in a leather-strapped thigh holster. My own root dagger would feel more secure in my hand, but this one—from Zoe’s collection—feels good enough.

When we reach the club doors, the bouncer looks up. “Tribute?”

I nod. “We have one.”

The bouncer narrows his eyes. “What’s on offer? Humanity or aether?”

“Humanity,” Elijah supplies. “But we’re not showing you that. Daeza’s eyes only.”

The bouncer rolls his eyes and opens the door. “Your funeral if it doesn’t work out.”

A wall of sound meets us—shouting, growls, rock music. When we slip in behind Elijah, Zoe hisses, “That was easy!”

“Zoe…,” I say, staring at the scene before us, “the front door is the least of our problems.”

Before us is a brightly lit, massive room of multiple levels. In the center is a three-story silver barbed-wire cage.

And in that cage are two fully corporeal uchel, fighting to the death.

It takes Elijah several attempts to find somebody who looks like they actually work at Eclipse. We end up in a back corner in line behind a group of grungy-looking warlocks holding wads of cash. When it’s our turn at the caged window, another warlock who appears to be a bookie greets us with a bored expression.

“Current fight’s bets are closed. Next fight is at eleven thirty.” He points to a whiteboard hanging over the window. “Combatants are listed above. Place your bet.”

Elijah is supposed to take the lead here, given his familiarity with this part of the demon underground, but his eyes grow wide at the scene before him, and he hesitates for a beat too long.

I step forward. “We’re not here to bet. We’re here to see Daeza.”

The bookie’s eyes travel up and down me, then look over the twins. “Got tribute?”

“Yes,” I answer simply.

The bookie doesn’t bother asking what it is. He turns over his shoulder and shouts at someone we can’t see. Another warlock steps out from a side door and gestures over his shoulder for us to follow.

Someone in the cage match hits the ground with so much force, the floor shakes—and shakes again when the crowd boos.

The warlock leads us down a dingy hallway with sputtering lightbulbs hanging overhead, then opens a door to reveal a much smaller but more refined dimly lit space with golden tile floors, a teak bench, and dark cherrywood columns. It just fits the four of us standing side by side.

“Wait here. She’s finishing up with our first supplicant of the night.” The warlock approaches a single door on the opposite wall and knocks three times in a rapid pattern, then twice. Without waiting to be admitted, he cracks the door, barely revealing another larger space similar in design to this one, before slipping inside. The door makes a muffled whoomp sound when it closes, and our ears pop.

The room gets stuffy quickly. Especially with the heat rolling off Elijah’s nervous skin and reflecting off the soundproof paneling on the walls and ceiling. Soundproofing in the antechamber and its door? Daeza must not want any prying ears to hear what goes on back here.

Elijah paces stiffly in the tight space. “I choked,” he mutters. “Just… froze.”

“We don’t usually have to pretend to be something we’re not,” Zoe says quietly. “Not anymore.”

Elijah presses his lips into a line. “We’re bad liars, you mean.”

“I always was,” Zoe says softly. “You, too.”

“But not Bree.” Elijah looks at me. “Lies fall from your lips so easily, it’s actually kind of scary.”

I cross my arms. “The truth is valuable too. I just don’t need it here.”

“Spoken like a demon,” Elijah mutters. “At least it sounds like we’re early. Maybe she’ll be in a good mood.”

The door opens again, and the warlock pokes his head inside. “This is wrapping up. Who’s your rep?”

Elijah raises his hand. “I am.”

“State your case well, present your tribute, and Daeza will consider your request.” Elijah tugs down on his jacket and nods. The warlock disappears.

A moment later, the door opens again, and Daeza’s prior supplicant walks out.

The woman is preoccupied when she exits, her eyes unfocused. It gives me a chance to look at her before she sees me. She is tall and lithe with long black hair and pale skin. Even without seeing her eyes, I suspect that she is a Merlin.

I suck in a quiet breath—the sound loud in this enclosed space—and her head whips around to find me. Her eyes are a deep, rich gold and framed by dark lashes.

She blinks at me, jaw slightly slack, eyes widening every second. Her gaze leaves behind sprinkled, hot embers as it trails over my face. Across my eyes and brow, along the shape of my jaw, over my mouth, my cheekbones, my hair. She is frozen, breath held.

“Do I know you?” I blurt.

The woman’s brows tighten, mouth working open and closed before she gathers herself. “No,” she says in a low, curious voice. She says the word nearly like a question, but edging toward a statement, if a cautious one. “No, I don’t think so.”

“Uh,” Zoe says, looking between us. “You sure? Because you’re looking at her like you know her.”

The Merlin woman’s eyes slide to Zoe—assessing, analytical—then slide back to me. “I don’t.” She steps closer to me, eyes boring into mine like she’s searching for something. I see the moment when she finds it, whatever she’s looking for inside me. “Oh.”

I rear back. “?‘Oh,’ what?”

She tilts her head, murmuring, “I’ve never seen anything like that before. What have you gotten yourself into?”

“Excuse me?”

Zoe scowls. “Who are you—”

The woman turns to Zoe abruptly. “Can you keep her safe?”

Zoe seems to detect that something else is going on here. Something that could be important. She shifts her weight. “Yeah?”

“ Will you keep her safe?” asks the woman. She turns to Elijah, too, who is staring at her, wide-eyed and curious.

Zoe looks to me and then back at her. “Yes.”

Elijah’s mouth gapes. “Do you know Bree?”

Without answering him, the woman’s gaze turns inward once again. Preoccupied, like she was when she entered the waiting room. “I can’t stay.” She looks at me. “This is impossible.”

“What is?” I ask.

“Looking out for you both at the same time,” she says. “I can’t be everywhere at once.”

“Um…” I wrap my arms around myself. “Okay?”

She looks as if she might reach for me but catches herself before her hand can move. “You look like her.”

Zoe’s had enough. “Bree, what the hell is this white lady talking about?”

“I’ve got to go.” The woman gives me one last look, as if to memorize my features, and steps around me, giving me as wide a berth as possible so that no parts of our bodies touch. She opens the door we used to enter and closes it quickly behind her.

“What was that?” Zoe asks.

I shake my head, dazed. Merlins don’t work with demons. “Don’t know.”

And I don’t.

Just then, the warlock opens the door and beckons us through. “Daeza will see your party now.”

I don’t know how many people Daeza has killed in her time on this plane, but one of them must have been a young, light-brown-skinned girl with pink hair, no more than twenty, because that’s how she looks right now. In a pair of flowy pants, a dark brown corset jacket, and hair pulled to the side in a thick braid.

Aside from the teak throne she is perched on, one leg crossed over the other, I’d have never known that she was over a thousand years old just by looking at her.

Unless I’d seen her eyes.

Like the Shadow King’s eyes, they are deep red. And when they find me as we walk inside the room, they feel hot on my skin, like a poker digging deep to get at my insides.

“Tribute?” Daeza asks in a low voice.

Elijah nods. “Yep. Yes.” He steps forward and produces a large wooden box.

Daeza does not budge from her throne. She points to the floor, and Elijah places it down, then moves back. After admitting us, the warlock went back to the main area of the club, leaving us with Daeza and a human attendant at her side.

With a snap of her fingers, Daeza signals the human attendant, who bends at the knee to remove the heavy-locking mechanism from the box. Once it opens, he examines it, then calls back to his leader, “It’s a reliquary, my Shade.” The man looks up at the three of us. “Origin and age?”

“France,” Elijah replies. “Eleventh century.”

Daeza’s brows lift. “Impressive. Bring it here.”

The attendant picks up the bronze box and carefully presents it to Daeza, who takes it from his grasp with careless fingers in turn. She leans forward and takes a deep breath over the box. “A relic is inside,” she murmurs. “Royal, not religious, by the scent. At least a dozen colonial blood gems set within that probably meant something to the humans who made this. And”—she takes another breath—“were painful losses to those from whom the stones were taken.” When she opens her eyes, they glow bright red. “Humanity at its worst. Delicious.”

“It pleases you?” the attendant asks.

“Yes. Toss the metal but research the item and repatriate the stones,” she says with a wave. “I’ve taken my fill. I don’t need that type of energy in my home.”

The attendant nods and rushes away, leaving us alone.

“Well done,” she murmurs. “You’ve proven that you deserve to live long enough to ask me something.”

“Er, thank you?” I reply. Elijah shoots me a glare, but Daeza chuckles.

“Who are you?” she asks.

This is where things get… tricky. “My name is Bree.”

Daeza blinks. “I don’t care about your name, child. Who do you represent?”

Tricky again. Elijah clears his throat. “My employer sends me out for certain intel. One of my informants tells me that you might know of the location of something we need.”

“Vague.” Daeza makes a hmm sound and sits back. She taps her fingers on the armrest and looks at each of us, one at a time. “An evasion.”

Zoe steps forward. “We just need information. We heard you have that information.”

Daeza ignores her. “You say you are supplicants, but I’ve never seen you before. You bring an ancient tribute of a kind most goruchel could never procure, and you aren’t human”—she points at the two cambions beside me—“even if she is.”

“We never said we were human,” Elijah replies.

“You’re balanced cambions. Rare these days.” Daeza’s eyes darken. “Who is your Shadowborn parent?”

“We don’t know,” Zoe says.

Daeza smirks. “Yes, you do. Tell me. And don’t lie to me again.” She looks at Elijah. “You’re quite bad at it.”

Zoe rolls her eyes. “We’re just nervous. We—”

“We are the children of Ozyrus,” Elijah says loudly.

Daeza speeds off her throne and blurs to us in a blink, raising Elijah off the ground in a single motion, her hand on his throat. “In that case, I have to kill you after all.”

“Elijah!” Zoe runs to Daeza, who kicks her in the chest—sending her flying back to the other side of the room to hit the wall with a loud grunt.

“Let him go!” I step back, opening my palms.

Daeza looks at me. “Why?”

“We brought you tribute; you’re supposed to hear us out!” I shout.

She shrugs. “Rules can change.”

“These rules should stick. It’s better for your health,” I snap.

She grins wide, black-tipped fangs long in her mouth. “Oh, you’re a mouthy little human!” She drops Elijah, then steps back to regard us both. “I’ll let you live a little longer just to see what else you might say.”

Elijah rolls to his feet, voice hoarse. “You’d be smart to keep your hands off all of us.”

Daeza throws her head back to laugh. “You certainly are the progeny of Ozyrus! Arrogant, just as he is. Speaking of, seen your father lately?”

“No,” Zoe grits out, making her way back over to us as she rubs a bruised hip.

“Mm.” Daeza turns to walk away, back up to her throne. “Me neither. Ozyrus and I had a falling-out.”

“So I’ve heard. If you kill us, I have a feeling he won’t be happy about that,” Elijah replies.

“No, I suppose not.” Daeza settles back on her throne, this time leaning forward with both elbows on her knees. “Now why would Ozyrus’s offspring bring tribute to me?”

“We heard you know where the King’s crown is.” Elijah takes a bold step closer to Daeza to make his case. “We bring tribute so that you may understand how badly we would like to find it and so that you will tell us where it is.”

Daeza raises both brows. “Ozyrus turned on the old man?” She cackles. “Fucking finally.”

We don’t respond. She thinks the twins’ father sent them here for the crown?

“You know, I am glad for Ozyrus,” Daeza says. “Being a Nightshade to a king without his crown is not being a Nightshade at all. Without that crown, the King is as bound to feeding from humans and scrounging for aether as we all are.”

I bite my tongue so that I don’t make a sound. This is what Zoe told me that morning at Erebus’s house. The real reason I broke into the King’s warded barn: if he gets the crown, he won’t have to feed any longer. He’ll stop hunting Rootcrafters. It won’t stop him from seeking his revenge on Arthur, but this? This is something that has to end. And if we get it to him in time, maybe we can save the girl from the bathroom.

“If you don’t want to be on his Court,” I begin, “why don’t you just go back to the other side? You won’t need to feed there.”

Daeza laughs again. “I hate being hungry all the time, but I like the chaos here. I like the humans. They are awful, messy creatures, and their every negative whim and motivation tastes delectable.” She waves her hand at the building around her. “Plus, I have my freedom. I’ve built my freedom.”

“So you won’t tell us where the crown is, I’m guessing,” I say, frustrated.

“No.” She smirks. “I’m going to kill you in a few minutes, before the other supplicants arrive.”

“Before you do that,” I warn her, “you should know we aren’t here for Ozyrus.”

Zoe grabs my arm. “Bree… bad idea…”

“Bree!” Elijah warns.

I pull my arm free and walk forward. “You should know who we really work for.”

Daeza considers this. “Who?”

“The King himself,” I say.

Daeza’s face stills. “The old man needs more than the crown to win the Court back. He knows it too. The Merlins and the Table are too strong, the Order too widespread, too tapped into the human network. The Scion of Arthur is afoot.”

“He has more ammunition than you think. A weapon the other side doesn’t have.”

“And what would that weapon be, little human?”

I inhale and exhale, letting purple root spill from my mouth and palms. It spreads along the floor not like flames but like smoke. Rolling, creeping smoke that crawls toward her feet—like a shadow. “Me.”

Daeza’s eyes widen as my root flows across the floor of her chamber and up her steps, stretching toward her ankles. She backs away. “What is this?”

With a snap of my wrist, the purple smoke turns to flame, then solid bands. They wrap around her chest and arms, holding her up in the air as she held Elijah.

Daeza screams, fighting against the restraints and cursing, but she can’t break free. “Let me go! Now!”

“Tell us where the crown is, Daeza.” My band of root tightens. “Then we’ll leave you alone.”

She growls low in her throat before she answers. “Another Shade has it,” she gasps. “Mikaelaz.”

“Mikaelaz?” Elijah says slowly behind me. “As in, Mikael, the broker?”

Daeza nods stiffly, growling between jagged breaths. “Yes. But he—he hates the old man—even more than—than I do.”

I freeze at this revelation. I knew a broker once. Not this one. Another.

And that is the exact moment when the Shadow King pulls on my bloodmark.

The crimson light glows under my shirt, but this time, a burning sensation takes me down to the floor. I grunt, collapsing. Zoe catches me, barely, before my skull tips backward on the tile.

“The actual worst timing,” Zoe mutters.

The King’s burnt ember signature fills my nose. Spices, charred and furious.

I speak between gritted teeth. “Feels like the old man finally discovered his broken ward.” I wince at the light, turning my eyes away. “Took him long enough.”

Daeza stands at her throne, shaking off her restraints until they fall into loose sparks, dissipating on the steps. “That’s a bloodmark,” she declares, staring at me as I writhe on the floor. Her eyes flash to Elijah. “Whose?”

“It’s his.” Elijah swallows. “The King’s.”

Daeza’s eyes dart from me to Elijah, then back. “She really is his weapon, then,” she says, half to herself. She gnaws on her lower lip. “Her power, it belongs to him?”

“As good as,” Elijah says.

Daeza’s eyes grow wild for a moment. “With her, and the children of Ozyrus, and the crown…” She paces away, nodding to herself excitedly now as I groan. The mark begins to die down but still shines bright beneath my clothing. She paces back to us, a sly smile on her face. “I’ll help get you to Mikael. Help you get the old man his crown.”

“Why?” I croak, pushing to my feet.

Daeza grins, red eyes bright. “Because if he has you on his side, we might be able to take the Table. End the Legendborn bloodlines by killing this new Scion of Arthur, once and for all.”

“Yes,” I say with a steady voice, even though my heart is racing. “That’s the plan. Kill the Scion of Arthur, once and for all.”

The King calls on my bloodmark three more times before we make it back to the house. It leaves a constant, low-level burn against my skin, even when it finally dies down and turns invisible again.

As soon as we step through the wards and into the house, the heat of his anger scalds my cheeks.

He is pacing the floor half as Erebus, half as the Shadow King, and fully made of fury. “Where were you three?” he says, snarling at us all as we stand in the foyer. “And why is my ward destroyed?”

I don’t bother to equivocate. “We know who has your crown.”

His eyes widen, then flash to Zoe and Elijah on either side of me, who are struggling to contain their excitement while still showing the proper decorum of bowed heads. “Elijah? Zoelle?”

“It’s true,” Elijah says, breathless. “We defied your wishes, but—”

“You went to Daeza?” Erebus’s nostrils flare wide in his anger. “I explicitly told you—”

“It was my idea,” I interrupt. “I broke the affective ward. I took a tribute from your collection. I told the twins I wanted to go to Daeza to confirm what we’d heard, and now we know where the crown is.”

Erebus seems torn between a desire to discipline us for everything I’ve just shared and the ancient, eternal wish to retrieve his precious crown. I sort of enjoy the turmoil and half-hide the smile from my face.

“Don’t enjoy this too much, Briana,” Erebus snaps. “The crown is still at large.”

Silence. We just need to wait. Then—

“Well?” he demands. “Where is it?”

“Mikaelaz holds it, sire,” Elijah says.

“Another of my rogue Shades.” He turns away with a groan. “And yet between Mikaelaz and Daeza, he is the worse of the two. Mikael brokers with humans for… any number of riches. Every Nightshade has specific appetites and preferred feeding grounds. They manufacture the environments that will best attract the prey they desire. Daeza surrounds herself with chance and chaos, which invites a certain type of clientele to her business. Mikael, however, thrives where there is both human devotion and human greed. He pretends to be one of them, but remains elusive in order to foster allure and aspiration. He flaunts his wealth and access to rare artifacts, but only enough to nurture his followers’ elitism and hunger for exclusivity. He knows how to lure in a particular kind of human and, with them, particular kinds of emotions.” The disdain is evident on the King’s face. “All is a game with him. Always has been.”

“Mikael’s estate is not far,” Elijah says eagerly, his eyes bright. “He is hosting some sort of party. Daeza says he’ll auction off the crown to a crowd of wealthy bidders—”

“Oh, I’m sure he will,” Erebus says, the last of the fury—against us, anyway—flowing out of him. “Mikael is deeply enamored with pomp and circumstance. One of his so-called Collectors’ Galas will make a perfect opportunity for him to dress up his human followers and toy with them like dolls. Ferreting my crown away to the private collection of a greedy human buyer at an auction would keep it out of my hands and allow Mikael to continue his… enterprise.” He pauses, shaking his head. “But we cannot trust the source of this information. Disloyal Shades like Daeza or Mikael would never help me seek the crown or its disenchantment—”

“Daeza was swayed to your cause,” I offer mildly. “She is willing to help us get into Mikael’s auction.”

Erebus turns to me, eyes narrowing. “Swayed? How? Speak plainly.”

I cross my arms. “I gave her a taste of what I can do. What you can do with me at your side.”

“You revealed your power in front of a Shade , in a lair full of demons?” he hisses.

“Her chamber was warded to contain anything that happened inside it,” I counter. “I made my point, and she saw the bloodmark, realized it was yours, and didn’t even bother to try and feed from me. Now, she believes that you have a chance of winning the war with or without the crown. I’d call that teamwork.”

Erebus takes a deep breath, then scowls, turning away. “I am displeased.”

I roll my eyes. “Do you want your crown or not?”

Beside me, the twins hold their breaths.

Erebus turns back to us. “I cannot confront Mikael. He will have the crown moved as soon as he senses my presence.”

“We’ll go, sire,” Elijah says. “Daeza says she can get an invitation for two. Zoelle and I will take the mission—”

“No,” Erebus cuts him off. “It is too dangerous.”

“I know the rules of an auction!” Elijah protests.

“Rules can change !” Erebus reminds him.

Silence. Erebus’s stony gaze is on us all. Then—

“Briana and Zoelle will go. You will stay here, Elijah.”

“What?” Zoe exclaims. “Why?”

“Three reasons,” Erebus replies. “First, Briana is somewhat protected by my bloodmark in the house of a Shade—they would think twice before attempting to pursue her power, as Daeza did. Second, Zoelle, should the rules change, your casting and forging abilities are stronger than Elijah’s—”

“Elijah has to go,” I protest. “It was his work that led us to Reggie in the first place—”

“And the third reason,” Erebus continues, “is that I would like collateral.”

“Collateral?” Zoe cries. “For what?”

Erebus’s eyes slide to Elijah. “Care to hazard a guess, Elijah?”

Elijah’s hands are fisted tight at his sides. “If Bree does not return safely…”

“I will ensure that Elijah’s time here will come to an end,” Erebus finishes coldly, “in one way or another.”

A beat of horrifying silence as his words settle across both twins. I feel my chest tighten like one of the bands I used against Daeza is around me instead, squeezing the breath out of me.

“No!” Zoe hisses. “You can’t—”

“I can.”

“Our father—”

“Understood the risks of leaving his children with me.”

As I listen to her shout and rail against her mentor, her guardian, and her king, I feel nothing but an icy resolve wrap my heart. As the King calmly refutes her every suggestion and as Elijah turns to stomp up the stairs, that ice hardens. When his door slams in the distance, shaking the entire house, I don’t even jump.

All I can do is watch Erebus, watch the Shadow King, and think of his downfall. Not my escape or my own power, but the end of him and the end of the suffering he causes so easily, so swiftly.

Like the pain of others is nothing.

First, I decide, I’ll find the crown. Next, I’ll save the kidnapped girl and any other Rootcrafters he could hunt.

Then, I’m going to kill the Shadow King.