Oathbound (The Legendborn Cycle #3)

Chapter 37

37

A WARLOCK ESCORTS us to our room, leading us up a flight of stairs until we reach the center of a long hallway lit by antique crystal chandeliers. Nick strolls in front of me with his hands in both pockets while I trail behind with my small bag.

I’m not sure how I’ll find Zoe, but I know I need to speak with her, and soon. Then again, Erebus is the one who told us to pack bags in case the rules changed. And the rules have definitely changed.

When we arrive at a door with a plaque that reads THE CHAMBORD SUITE , Nick stops the warlock to ask about the clothing Mikael said he’d provide. Bianca had asked for our clothing sizes, but that doesn’t mean we’ll have things that fit us tonight.

“Expect garment deliveries in the morning. The basics are already inside” is all the warlock says before handing Nick an antique bronze key. When he walks away down the hall, Nick hands the key to me.

“Why are you giving me this?”

“Because there’s only one key, and I don’t want you to feel beholden to me.”

“Oh,” I mumble. “But why would I—”

Nick turns back to me. “I have to play the obnoxious, overbearing fiancé in front of our hosts. I know more about our history than you do. I shouldn’t also control when and how you come and go from your only refuge over the next three days.”

I take his comment in for a beat, closing my hand over the key. “Thank you. But we can share it. If you need it, I’ll give it to you and vice versa.”

“Okay,” he says.

After I open the door, Nick searches the wall for a light switch. When he finally finds and flips it, four standing lamps around the room light up simultaneously—and I can’t stifle my gasp.

Downstairs, I’d thought that the ballroom and foyer and hallways were overly ornate. The bedroom puts them all to shame.

The suite we’ve been assigned is large enough to include its own spacious sitting area near the door, complete with a deep-green upholstered chaise lounge, two tall-backed chairs, and a marble-inlaid coffee table on a large rug in front of a black iron fireplace. The damask-patterned wallpaper turns the enormous room with its tall ceilings and wide-planked hardwood floors into a warm red-and-brown Gilded Age cocoon. The furnishings and upholstery are all covered in soft materials like silk, chintz, and velvet.

As the warlock said, a small pile of folded pajamas with drawstrings sits on a low dresser beneath a heavy gold-framed mirror. Those clothes can’t possibly be perfect fits, but I’ll be glad to get out of my dress and heels.

“Great,” Nick says, shaking his head. “Juuust great.”

“What?” I ask—then follow the direction of his gaze.

Deeper in the room, set on a separate raised platform, is a single large, curtained four-poster king bed.

“Oh.”

He assesses the chaise quickly. “Guess that’ll have to do.”

“What will have to do?”

He jerks his chin to the chaise. “I’ll sleep there. It’s fine.”

“That is comically inaccurate. It’s barely six feet long, and you’re…” I look at the lounge skeptically, then gesture up and down at his—well, his all of him. “A walking tree. Like a redwood. Huge for no reason.”

He turns back with a twisted frown. “I’m not that tall.”

“Have you seen you?” I exclaim. “You’re a giant .”

“A giant.”

“Enormous.”

“Enormous?” He crosses his arms. “Relative to what?”

“Relative to… everything,” I sputter. “Including that lounge.”

Nick rolls his eyes and walks farther into the suite, attention fixed on the windows. “We have more critical concerns than how enormous I am. Starting with securing this room—don’t say or do anything unexplainable by science until I clear it.”

“Clear it for what?”

He gives me a pointed look. “Bugs. Cameras. Any recording device that might give Mikael dirt on his Collectors. This house might be over a century old and purposefully designed to appear as it did in the early 1900s when it was built, but Mikael would be foolish not to use modern security measures—especially since his guards are humans or warlocks. I know his type; they want information. Secrets. Leverage on anyone and anything.” He takes his tuxedo jacket off and tosses it onto the window seat, then gets to work on his dress shirt sleeves, unbuttoning one before rolling it up over a muscled forearm. “Give me twenty or thirty minutes.…”

I watch Nick roll his second sleeve up for reasons I choose not to examine too closely, then turn away to let him inspect the rest of the room. His discarded jacket reminds me that we’re both still in uncomfortable formal wear. I tug my mask up and over my curls. At this point, I have every reason to believe that Nick knows what I look like; exposing my full face to him inside this room is the least of my worries.

I take a second look at our surroundings myself, since it looks like we’re going to be here awhile. The tray ceiling overhead is painted with a stormy seascape set ablaze with the bright wash of a blush-and-blue sunset, and thick, gilded crown moldings create a border where the walls meet the painting. To our right, there’s a paneled door leading to what I assume is a small en suite bathroom.

I walk through the room while Nick searches for whatever he’s hoping to discover and find myself touching everything, just to feel the textures beneath my fingers. Every item looks like an antique, but there’s very little antique smell, very little of the dusty scent of age and wear one might find in a historic home. There are light switches everywhere, lamps that may have run on gas in the past but are electric now, and modern water pipes in the sink and shower. Mikael, it seems, likes this period of time but enjoys the updated luxuries of the twenty-first century.

Nick works through the room for a long time without speaking. I end up standing at the back windows that stretch nearly from one end of the suite to the other, bordered by twenty-foot-long floor-to-ceiling navy curtains that match the color of the seascape painting overhead. A seat stretches the full length of the window, topped by a tufted cushion.

We have a view of the maze in the rear of the property, although the hedges are so high, I’m not sure I could navigate it even visually from this angle.

As I gaze out the window, a pang of worry for Zoe—and Mariah—circles up from my stomach to my throat. Zoe can handle herself just fine, but she won’t do well if she’s not able to contact Elijah and tell him what’s happened so her brother can report back to Erebus. Without her phone, we have no way to communicate with either Elijah or Erebus. No way to let them know that we’re still in the mission, even if said mission has taken several completely unexpected turns.

On the other hand, maybe it’s best that Zoe can’t contact them. I’m not sure what Erebus would do if he found out that the very first mission he sent me on as his protégé resulted in me running—or fighting—right into the arms of a Legendborn.

I don’t know how Mariah knows me, but I wonder if she’s one of the Rootcrafters I used to spend time with. I can’t place names and faces together, but I know there were several women in my life who I trusted and who trusted me. It would be just my luck if Mariah was one of the ’Crafters who witnessed the destruction I brought to Volition… but the look in her eyes when she saw me in the hall outside the ballroom wasn’t one of judgment or anger. It was hope—and triumph. Like she’d been looking for me. Like she’d found me.

A girl missing, a girl recovered. I am the first, but not the second. Just like the Rootcrafter girls the King takes. I remember the scent of root that lingered around him when he returned home and, not for the first time, imagine him feeding on one of those girls until her power snaps in half. What’s the point of becoming untouchable and unstoppable and impervious if I can’t use my own power to save others? After seeing Mikael and his followers use their riches for such frivolous and self-serving ends, the idea of using what I’ve gained solely on myself feels… uncomfortable. Like a shoe that doesn’t fit. Dress-up doll clothes that I could never live in, given to me by a demon.

My forehead thunks against the cold glass window as I spiral deeper in thought. If Zoe and I can steal the King’s crown from Mikael like we’ve planned, then our secret, shared mission to stop the King from hurting Rootcrafters will be one step closer to being complete. As for my personal mission, well. Killing my mentor one day will be harder if the crown eliminates his weakness. Then again, it was never going to be easy.

But now that I know just how closely we’re being watched, I don’t see how we can make another attempt to steal the crown without risking our lives. Mikael had the auction items moved to a secure location after tonight’s attempts, making Elijah’s maps and instructions useless.

Nick is right. I need to prioritize more “critical concerns” at the moment. The true dangers of Penumbra, the Collectors and their easy violence, could get us killed before Sunday’s auction. We need to make it through the weekend. Just three days.

There’s no way in hell I can be around you for that long.

“Found a camera.” Nick’s voice interrupts me.

When I look back, I find him standing in the center of the room holding a small round black box. As I walk closer to examine it, his hand erupts in faint silver-blue aether, coating his palm in a glove of magic. He squeezes the camera in his dimly glowing fist, crushing it into plastic dust. He brushes his palms off while talking, brow furrowed in thought. “If Mikael has one of these in every room, it’s unlikely they’re being monitored all at once. And, with this crowd, I doubt we’re the only guests who are sweeping for bugs. He’ll expect to lose some of the feeds—”

“You’re a Scion,” I gasp.

Nick looks up at me, and recognition sparks in his eyes as they trail over my facial features, exposed in full for the first time. He may not be a cambion or a demon, but I very nearly sense it when his gaze lingers on my mouth, my brow, my cheekbones. “So are you.”

“Which one?” I ask.

Instead of answering me directly, Nick clenches his fist, sending the shining glow of aether rippling up his wrist, building gauntlets around his forearms, and streaming to his shoulders. It builds in layers upon layers, slowly, forming a breastplate and pauldrons. As I watch, he forges two shining swords into existence, their blades gleaming in the center of the suite. When I meet his gaze through the sparks and swirling smoke of his magic, I’m struck by the mixture of emotions that cross his face. Determination, focus… and regret.

“Lancelot,” I whisper. “You’re the Scion of Lancelot.”

He releases his fists, and the weapons and armor fall away. Glowing bits of shining metal fall into the thick navy-and-gold woven rug at his feet. He pulls his mask away and runs a hand through his hair with a sigh. “Yes.”

I’m not prepared for the moment when I finally see Nick’s face in full. I find myself stumbling close to him, my feet sending the remnants of silver-blue aether swirling up and around my ankles as I go, until we are only a foot apart. He lets me study him, taking in the totality of his features and how familiar he feels even when I don’t know all of him.

I know that the Scion of Lancelot of the Southern Chapter was raised to believe he was the Scion of Arthur—and that when I pulled Excalibur from its stone, I realigned not only my destiny, but his.

My hand drifts up, palm seeking his jaw and cheek—but he catches my wrist before I can make contact. “Stop.”

I blink, flushing. “Sorry. I—”

“It’s—” His fingers are tight around my wrist, nearly painful… but they’re also trembling. And we both notice it at the same time. He releases me with a gasp. Drops his hands. Steps back without finishing his sentence. “Just—don’t.”

His mouth twists, and the cords in his neck draw tight, pulling my heart with them. I only just found him, someone from my past. But why does it feel like I’ve lost him all over again? Nick is standing right in front of me, whole and real and alive, but why does he feel more like the gray mist than ever? I barely recognize my own voice when I reply, “Okay.”

The tension flows out of his shoulders, telling me more about his feelings toward kissing me than his words ever could. It won’t happen again . It’s not just that he won’t kiss me again—he won’t touch me again either. He doesn’t want to, and I have to respect that. You weren’t supposed to be here. An hour or two, I could handle. But three days?

I step backward—an experiment—and the rigid line of his neck loosens immediately. His breath comes easier.

And yet I could cry. I look away to hide my disappointment. I shouldn’t feel rejected by someone I just met. It’s ridiculous. Selfish. And devastating for no good reason.

Nick’s voice draws me back. “You really don’t recognize me, do you?”

“No.” Still, I examine his face once more, taking each of his features in one at a time, further. Just as I go to shake my head, a faint snap in my mind makes my eyelids flutter in pain.

“Bree?”

The stinging pain dissipates, replaced with a single emotion: longing.

“It was you,” I whisper.

“What was—?”

“ You chased after me,” I manage to say. “ You tried to stop me from leaving.”

Nick grows still. “Yes.”

I shake my head. “I knew a boy had come after me, but I didn’t know his name or what he looked like. Didn’t know it was… you.”

Didn’t know you were who I longed for.

Nick swipes his tongue across his lip. “Why did you connect that boy to me now and not earlier? We touched before. We…”

“We did more than touch,” I murmur, flushing.

“I’m aware.” His eyes narrow as he looks me over. “But why now?”

“I don’t know how it works. Maybe because I saw your face, fully?”

He looks down at his mask, clenching it in his hands. “Do you know anything else about me?”

How can I tell him that I missed him when I didn’t know him? I can’t. How do I explain the clear resonant bell of my own longing? I don’t. “No.”

Nick looks like he might ask me another question.

“What?”

“With so much missing,” he begins cautiously, “I assume that you don’t know who or where Sel is?”

My fingers spasm at my sides as I make a leap that, in truth, doesn’t feel like a leap at all. “Is he the Kingsmage? Yours from… before?”

Before either of you knew that you weren’t the Scion of Arthur, and I was.

“Yes.” Nick nods. “Selwyn.”

My chest tightens. “I knew there was a Merlin boy who…”

“A Merlin boy who what?”

“Who sacrificed himself for me.” I release a rushed breath. “When I think of him, I feel guilty. So, so guilty.”

Nick’s face softens. “I don’t think he’d want you to feel that way.”

“That’s not how guilt works,” I snap.

“You’re right.”

“I was told that he’s… he’s gone?”

Nick shakes his head slowly. “No. He’s not gone.”

“How do you know?” I ask. “Through the Kingsmage bond?”

“Not the bond.” He taps his chest. “I feel him. Here. Don’t you?”

I close my eyes and inhale, imagining this Merlin, this Kingsmage, even if I don’t know what he looks like or know his voice. I remember the hope I felt rise within me outside of Erebus’s training warehouse, and how easily I’d assigned it to him. To Selwyn. When I open my eyes, Nick is watching me. Waiting. Knowing my answer before I speak it aloud. “Yes.”

I see the questions in his eyes. They’re piling up every time he looks at me. “Then that’s where we’ll hold him until we find him.”

Before I can ask him about this boy who we both know, my bloodmark pulses once—illuminating the room in bright, furious crimson. Nick’s at my side in a blink, eyes wide. “Your bloodmark?”

I wince, turning my head away from the glow and the charred spice scent. The King is angry. I wonder if he’s somehow found out about the rules changing at Mikael’s. He’ll have to adapt, just like me and Zoe. “You know about my bloodmark?”

“Yeah.” Nick’s eyes follow the branching shape of it across my collarbone, down my sternum and both arms. “I know an ancient demon marked your ancestor and what it does… but I’ve never seen it light up like this. Does it hurt?”

“ This is a fun new feature,” I say dryly. “It’s a call. And, no, it doesn’t hurt.”

“A call?” His eyes snap to mine. “The way we call aether?”

I nod. “Except it’s—” I break off, stopping myself before I say too much.

But Nick is quick. “It’s him, isn’t it? The demon who took you.”

It’s not my fault that the Shadow King marked my ancestor. It’s not my fault that he chooses to call on my power like this, but right now, I feel ashamed about the mark in a way that I never have before. “Yes.”

The mark begins to fade, the red glimmer growing smaller in Nick’s watchful eyes. He is silent as it disappears and still when it leaves nothing behind but unbroken, smooth brown skin. He looks up at me then. “Can he locate you through his mark?”

I shake my head weakly. “It’s his way of checking on my power. Gauging how strong I’ve become under his training. And… reminding me that my power is his to consume.”

I wait for Nick’s judgment about my choosing to go with the demon who marked my bloodline, for his interrogation about why I left in the first place. But instead, Nick sighs. “Well, the thing about making people like us stronger is that, given enough freedom, we’ll find a way to use that strength against the very assholes who wish to control it.” His eyes pin me. “Right?”

My heart blooms beneath his gaze. “Right.”

Knock. Knock.

Both of us whip around at the deep sound of a knuckle against wood.

Knock. Knock.

We exchange glances. Nick sets the index finger of one hand against his lips while pointing to the wall in the corner by the four-poster bed. I roll my eyes. Obviously, I’ll be quiet—I’ve been living with demons for the past four months. I make an effort to put every layer of my annoyance into my expression, and it must work, because he shoots me a sardonic look back before he moves closer to the bed. I nod and follow, extending my palms to my sides to call root if necessary.

Nick reaches the wall before I do, leaning closer just as a voice whispers harshly from the other side, “Iris and Benedict?”

My face breaks open into a wide smile. “Zoe.”