Oathbound (The Legendborn Cycle #3)

Chapter 41

41

THE FIRST SET of communions takes place after dinner, on the other side of the estate, in a ground-floor auditorium. Unlike the ballroom, which is two stories high, wide and long, this room is set up as a proscenium-style theater, with rows of audience seats rising high in the air at an angle and a wooden stage sitting opposite. Mariah, Zoe, and I take seats closer to the top of the seating area so we can watch the Collectors seated in the rows below us—and get a better view of the activity on the stage.

Before Nick went off to gather his “intel” with the snakes in suits, he’d shared one more detail that Ava had learned in her own time gathering intel—there will only be five communions a day, and they will all be conducted by Mikael himself. Nick and I are scheduled for the last day.

My leg bounces. Nick’s not back yet, and the first person is being led up to the stage under the bright golden lights.

Without warning, Mikael enters the stage from behind a curtain. The low murmurs of the masked audience disappear as soon as the houselights lower, leaving just the Shade and the masked human man in the chair at center stage. While there is a small mic stand near the seated guest, Mikael turns to the audience, projecting his voice high into the room without the need of a mic at all.

“Welcome, fellow Collectors,” he says. “Today, we will reaffirm our creed of discretion and truth with offered tribute.”

I stiffen in my chair—as does Zoe. We only know tributes as physical gifts. But the masked man on the stage before us is visibly trembling in his seat—and empty-handed.

Mikael sits down across from the man, opening his black suit jacket as he settles. “I will ask each of our fellow guests five questions. Nothing that will break our code of anonymity, of course, as our true identities are sacred, but these questions will help us understand whether our community member can be trusted. If someone resists their natural inclination to tell the truth of things, I will know—and there will be a punishment.” Mikael turns to the audience. “Are we in agreement?”

“Discretion and truth,” the audience intones.

“Truth”—Mikael turns back to the shaking man—“and discretion.”

The man in the chair nods quickly. “D-discretion. And t-t-truth.”

The electric snap of Mikael’s illusion mesmer buzzes up the back of my skull before he even opens his mouth. Beside me, Mariah’s and Zoe’s eyes both narrow. We’d discussed Mikael’s illusion with Mariah, who had never heard of such a thing either. This time, I’m determined to find out what the Nightshade is making his Collectors see—or what he’s taking extra care to hide. I move to bite the inside of my cheek to break the mesmer, but then the communion begins.

“Did you attack and wound my guard?” When Mikael speaks, glowing green aether exits his mouth. No one else in the audience can detect the aether, much less track the way it floats and curls across the stage, because Mikael’s power is only visible to those with the Sight. No one else but me, Zoe, and Mariah would know that Mikael’s aether is unspooling toward the human man in the chair. Targeting him, even though he can’t even see it himself. This spellcraft, whatever it is, is not Mikael’s illusion mesmer, but something different. Something… invasive. Because once Mikael’s aether reaches its target, it curls around the man’s skull like a caress—before soaking into his eyes, his mouth, his ears, and his skin.

When the man speaks, he shudders from the effort. “No.”

“Did you attempt to break into the outbuilding on the grounds of Penumbra?” Mikael asks, and again the green aether drifts toward the man, coating him until his body shakes, twisting in the chair.

With visible confusion, the man sits back up to answer. “No.”

They are six feet apart, but Mikael shifts in his chair to lean closer. “Three questions remain. These three shall serve as tribute. A sign of your loyalty.”

The man nods frantically. “Yes, of course.”

“When did you commit your last crime?”

The man winces in his seat. “Two months ago.”

Mikael lifts his nose and inhales deeply—and the glowing green smoke he laid upon the man returns to him, tinged a deep, dull emerald.

That’s when I realize that the tribute is not an object… but a confession. And with that confession, buried, painful human emotions—rich food for a demon. Fresh from the source. Erebus’s disgust for what his Nightshade has become rises in my memory: Mikael’s original demonic nature has been altered. His ability to detect humanity’s worst instincts has sharpened impressively, but at great cost. Aether no longer sustains his physical form, so he must fortify himself almost entirely off human energy.

Mikael himself shudders as he feeds before asking his next question. “And what did you do?”

“I… stole something.”

Mikael’s chin lifts. “And what was it? Be detailed. Tell us the how and the why.”

The man shudders. “I altered my father’s will before he died.”

The audience murmurs, intrigued and pleased by this revelation.

“Go on…,” Mikael says, eyes lidded and voice sonorous.

“I have three siblings. My father’s estate…” The man groans, as if dragging the truth out of himself. “It was meant to go to all four of us, equally split. I altered the will. Forged my father’s handwriting. Left it all, all of it, to me. And gave my siblings nothing.”

Mikael’s head tips back, his mouth open and panting lightly at the consumption of the man’s deepest confession. Mikael smiles as he looks back at the man across from him. “Thank you.”

The Nightshade’s aether rises, releasing the man from his hold. The man falls forward out of the chair, cracking his knees against the wooden floor and breaking the awed silence of the room.

Mikael crosses one knee over the other and beckons to someone offstage. “Next participant, please?”

The next four communions go much the same way, with Mikael feeding off every deep and salacious secret revealed. We hear about two attempted murders. A family betrayal. Ill-gotten profits. In the very last one, the attendee nearly resists Mikael’s influence—and Mikael delivers a stark warning.

“Resistance is a confession, my friend,” he says, standing over the struggling woman.

Finally, she reveals her truth. “I destroyed my own company… for the insurance money,” she says, gasping. “Three hundred jobs, gone. Made it look like an accident. Some employees never recovered. They lost healthcare. Got sick. Died, destitute and in pain.” The flood of deep green from her confession blankets Mikael, covering him until he cannot seem to speak.

“Guilt. Regret. Shame,” he mutters, head lolling on his shoulders. “And then, deeper, your most guarded truth: pleasure. You liked watching their pain. Liked knowing you caused it.” He shudders—and that’s the moment his illusion thins enough that I can see through it. See him. Mikaelaz the Nightshade breaks through, if only for a fraction of a second.

Dull, emerald ichor dripping from great wings—a shadow, melting on the stage beneath his feet—red eyes in elongated sockets—fangs as long as my arm—

And then the illusion is back. Electricity along my skull. Mikael the gentleman straightens his jacket in his chair, a satisfied smile on his face as he regards the stunned executive. “Thank you for your tribute.”

When Zoe and Mariah and I exit the theater, Mariah tugs on my sleeve. “There’s Benedict,” she whispers in a trembling voice. I’m not the only one shaken by what we’ve just witnessed. Zoe, for her part, seems rattled but unsurprised.

When we look up, Nick is exiting from one of the side doors alone. As most of the audience spills out around us, heading off to an open bar in one of the salons or back to their rooms, he moves between them in order to reach us.

“Where were you?” I whisper when he draws close.

“I came in late from talking with the suits,” he says. “Took a seat close to the stage so I could see what Mikael’s doing to get these confessions.”

“What did you see?” Mariah asks.

Nick’s lips press into a displeased line. “More than I wanted to.” We’re not the only audience members who have remained hovering in the large hall outside the auditorium. It’s getting louder where we stand as the Collectors speak excitedly about all that they’ve just heard. The hunger in their eyes is evident, even behind their satin and lace masks. They may not be able to feed on the emotions that Mikael is eliciting or see the magic, but they are enjoying the confessions. Savoring them. Judging them. And they are eager for more. Nick looks just as disturbed by them as I feel. “We should talk. Somewhere private.”

After everything we’ve just witnessed, the secret library, even with its dusty tomes and floating cobwebs, feels like a safe reprieve. But as soon as we enter, the dark sky outside the windows opens up, and rain pours down to lash against the forgotten windows.

“This whole thing is…,” Mariah says, eyes wide.

“Really, really disturbing,” I say. “And confirms that Mikael’s not mesmering the Collectors into supporting public executions. They do that all on their own.”

“Also disturbing,” she says, “just in a different way.”

We take seats around the room on top of the dusty desks while Nick paces. “Mikael’s illusion is only hiding his true form. The layer is thick enough to work on nonmagical eyes, but thin enough that we can See it when he loses control. It’s almost like his stolen human body doesn’t work like it should anymore. But the magic he’s using to feed off their emotions?” He shakes his head. “I’ve never seen or heard of anything like it.”

“That’s because Mikael’s a Nightshade,” Zoe says, pulling one knee up on the desk. “One of the original demon knights of the Shadow Court. They’re not like goruchels. They’re a tier higher with their own talents. The only demon more powerful than a Shade is the King.”

Nick stops pacing. “What did you just say?”

Zoe stammers. “I… uh, the King. The one everyone says is dead?”

“No.” Nick eyes her. “You said ‘the only demon more powerful than a Shade is the King.’ ‘Is,’ not ‘was.’?”

“Did I?” Zoe says.

“You did,” Nick insists. “Are you saying the Shadow King is alive ?”

“I…” Zoe looks everywhere but at Nick. “No, that’s just a rumor.”

I notice that Mariah doesn’t look surprised to hear that name or to hear about the Nightshades and the Court. I sigh. “Zoe, we may as well tell him.”

Zoe leans back. “I’m not telling anyone anything!”

Nick looks at all three of us, then just at me. “The King was destroyed fifteen hundred years ago. We saw Arthur announce it at Camelot in a blood walk.”

“He’s alive,” I admit quietly. “Weaker without his crown, but alive.”

“His crown? Wait, that’s what you—we—” His mouth clamps shut. “And you want his crown, why?” Nick’s eyes narrow. “To give it back to him?”

I swallow. “It’s not that simple. If he has it, he won’t have to feed. He won’t be the Hunter anymore. He can leave Rootcrafters alone—”

“Wait.” Mariah stops me with a raised hand. “Did you say you can stop him from taking Rootcrafters?”

I nod. “Yes, if he doesn’t need to feed anymore, he won’t hunt them—us.”

“There are other girls missing right now,” Mariah says. “Have you seen them?”

“Just one.” I share a look with Zoe, who answers for us both. “We didn’t know there are others.”

“There are missing girls?” Nick asks, alarmed.

“Yeah,” I say. I think of the girl in the bathroom, the one who was both frightened and brave. “I saw a girl with a kidnapper, a warlock. We think the old man was behind it. He’s behind a lot of things. More than we know.”

“Wait, sorry.” Nick shakes his head in confusion. “Is ‘the old man’ also the Shadow King? And is that the demon you ran away with?”

Tears burn at my eyes, but I refuse to shed them. “It’s not what you think—”

“What exactly is it, then?” Nick demands. “Please tell me, because everything I’ve ever heard about the Shadow King is that he’s a bloodthirsty tyrant. Something more than a demon, something greater. Nearly a god! The Order barely teaches us anything about him because he’s so ancient, he might as well be a myth—”

“That’s because the Order and the Legendborn are arrogant, self-obsessed, elitist assholes.”

Nick, Zoe, and I pivot in a flash, power erupting from our palms. Silver-blue, green, and purple flames burst against the walls of the darkened library to reveal Ava emerging from the shadowed passageway. She steps forward in a long skirt and high-necked sweater, looking for all the world like a wealthy woman on vacation. “Weren’t you going to invite me to your little club?”

“Applications are closed,” I snap. “Sorry.”

Ava’s eyes flash as she stares at me. “You’d know something about that, wouldn’t you, little Scion who shouldn’t be?”

I grin. “I’m the Scion who chose not to be, thanks.”

She rolls her eyes. “Keep telling yourself that.” She comes to a stop in the room with her hands on her hips. “Are y’all gonna keep calling on all that power when Mikael might still be on the premises?”

Immediately, we douse our hands. Ava laughs. “So gullible. He left twenty minutes ago, and his aether sense is so dulled he can barely detect it unless it’s right in front of him.”

Zoe groans. “You are the least fun person I’ve ever met.”

“Thank you.” Ava looks around at the room we’ve taken refuge in and frowns. Outside, lightning flashes—splitting the sky open in silver and gray. “You’re never going to find the crown hiding out in here.”

“Where would we find the crown, Ava?” Nick says coldly. “Because I don’t think it was ever in the basement, was it?”

Ava’s eyes grow comically wide as she shrugs. “Oopsie. Did I point you in the wrong direction?”

“Wait,” Zoe says. “We were told it was in the basement too. You saying that was wrong?”

“I don’t know who told you it was there,” Nick says, glaring at Ava as he speaks, “but that tip was either old or planted to get you caught. Just like mine was.”

Ava waves at him, laughing. “Oh, Nickie, I didn’t want to get you caught . I wanted to get you killed . That would have truly been a hat trick.” She counts off her fingers one at a time. “One, create a big enough distraction that the crown in the outbuilding would be left unguarded. Two, get rid of you since you frankly know too much. And, three, hopefully escalate Camlann even further by starting a mini war between a Nightshade and the Round Table.”

“You wanted a Scion to get themselves killed trying to steal something from a Shade. Of course. And you just so happened to neglect to tell me whose crown I was stealing.” Nick groans between his teeth. “William and Lark were right about not trusting you.”

“Don’t tell me you trusted me?” Ava drawls. “I did try to get you killed once already, remember?”

“How could I forget?” Nick says. “And, no, I didn’t trust you.”

“That’s right,” Ava says. “You just needed me.”

Nick’s eyes turn stony. “Ava… don’t.”

Ava’s eyes slide over to me as she answers Nick. “Don’t worry, little Lancelot. Unlike the fools onstage today, I can keep a secret.”

“What’s she talking about, Nick?” I ask.

Ava smiles. “He was desperate to find you and the missing Kingsmage, you know. So desperate that I sort of wished I did know where you were, just so I could string him along for a little bit.”

“Ava,” Nick warns.

“Nicholas really is built for a mission like this, don’t you think, Bree?” She lifts a hand, gesturing at Nick where he stands. “You couldn’t design a better companion for a place filled with people who either believe they’re kings or think they’re kingmakers.”

“Which one are you?” Mariah asks, crossing her arms. “You came here because you want the crown, don’t you?”

“I don’t want the crown,” Ava says. “I want it back. The Morgaines have held it in our possession for over fifteen centuries, until three months ago when someone’s little warlock servant stole it from a Morgaine stronghold. It’s my duty to bring it back—it’s safer with us than out in the world. We have been its caretaker from the moment Arthur took it from the fallen King’s head. We have used our mistress Morgaine’s spellcraft to keep it out of demon hands, and I will do everything in my power to return it to her protection.”

“You speak as if Morgaine is still alive,” I say.

Ava looks at me. “Aren’t they all alive, little Scion?”

“But what do you get out of keeping it?” Zoe asks. “You Morgaines enchanted the crown so that no demon can sense it or touch it. And even if the crown weren’t enchanted by y’all, it’s not like the power is useful to you. The King forged it for himself. You can’t bear it, and it’ll obliterate anyone who tries. Mikael can auction it off this weekend and it’ll just end up rusting in a dusty old gallery in some rich dude’s second home!”

“Why keep anything potent close by?” Ava asks. “The same reason anyone wants anything—power. Over our enemies. Over our allies. Even over ourselves, if needed.”

I frown. “That doesn’t make any sense—”

“Then let me keep this simple,” Ava says. “Stay out of my way.”

With that, she pivots on her heel and heads back toward the corridor, illuminating her journey with a handful of blue aether and walking until she disappears into the distance. The sound of the rain outside the windows drowns out her quiet footsteps.

Nick stares after her, his fists balled tight. “She’s got something up her sleeve.”

“Does it have to do with whatever agreement you have with her?” I ask, shocked at the heat and irritation in my voice.

He grits his teeth. “Maybe. I don’t know. Possibly.”

“Each of those answers was, like, successively less helpful,” Zoe says.

“You’re telling me.”

“What did you agree to do?” I ask.

“I told her I would help her find a crown. I didn’t know the King survived,” Nick whispers. “If I knew he could actually get his hands on it and wear it one day…”

“You wouldn’t have helped her?” I ask.

He stares at me without answering, which is how I hear the answer anyway:

I don’t know.

I ask the next question, even though doing so makes my stomach twist. “You said you sought Ava for information on me and Sel, but she didn’t have it. But you’re still with her—”

“I’m not with her!” he shouts.

“You’re working with her!” I insist. “You have an arrangement. A bargain . You agreed to help her steal the crown. Why? What did she offer you in return?”

Nick’s jaw works back and forth. “I can’t… explain it.”

“Can’t?” I say. “Or won’t?”

“Both.” He meets my eyes. “Even before tonight, I didn’t know if I ever could, but now that you’re telling me that you left to go work for the Shadow King ? On purpose ? Bree, I just—” He runs both hands through his hair, pacing away, then back. “I don’t know what to say to you right now. What I can say. Please just… don’t ask me.”

My mouth opens and closes, confusion spearing me through. “I…” But then I think of all I’ve kept from people. All this life has demanded I keep locked away. The decisions I’ve made and the people I’ve lost—and what it means to let people become lost, if that’s their choice. “Okay. I won’t ask.”

“Thank you. I know that’s… not easy.” He releases a low, ragged breath. “I’ll… I’ll be in the room.”

When he leaves, I don’t follow. Instead, I collapse back against the desk, fall into myself, and shut my eyes against the day. Against Ava. Against secrets and truths.

Zoe’s arm slides around my shoulders first. I feel her soft curls drop against my shoulder, her heavy sigh against my cheek. Mariah’s arm loops around my waist from the other side, her own sigh quiet and long. They don’t speak, because they don’t have to.