Legendborn: Chapters 10–18

“Both Legendborn. They wear matching sigils because Felicity is a Scion, born with the title like me, and Russ is her chosen Squire.”

I gesture over his shoulder to the undergraduates chatting around us, then to the opulent foyer.

Nick starts to reply—to assuage our fears or to counter Whitty’s casual prediction of violence?—but stops when a tall boy with brown curly hair appears at his elbow.

“He’s probably happy you’re not one of these.” They point their chin discreetly in Craig’s direction.

Legendborn acolyte. Fundamentalist Line worshippers. Craig there wants Nick to choose him before the Trials’ve even started.

Greer says the name without pause or inflection. Like King Arthur is some guy who could walk through the door at any moment.

They had a hand in most of the stories about Arthur that spread beyond Wales and a pen in every text from Geoffrey of Monmouth to Tennyson. Vassal clerics, writers, archivists worked on misinformation campaigns to keep Onceborns from the truth.

Rows of bookshelves are filled with great tomes bound in worn browns and blues and green leather.

Green-and-black gore runs down the center of the blade he brandishes, and his bright, cyan-blue eyes glitter beneath a medieval helmet.

Felicity and the others walk over to the case to examine what I’ve found: a chained pair of dented, silver bands resting on a black velvet stand. The info card beneath them reads: MERLIN JACKSON’S MANACLES, SALEM, MASSACHUSETTS.

“Tonight begins the annual initiation process for our hallowed Order.”

Pages, tonight you will take the Oath of Fealty. If the Oath finds you worthy, you will officially become a member of the Southern Chapter and be granted Sight, the ability to see aether.

Sel's terse response comes through clenched teeth. “There is always that risk, Lord Davis.”

When he speaks, his voice is sonorous and steady.

Merlins are the first of many revelations only privy to Oathed members of the Order.

Do not fall prey to hubris.

I say a silent “thanks” to Nick’s father, whose imperious glare has cowed even Vaughn.

The penalty for breaking this vow is total mesmer and excommunication to the darkness of unknowing, never to return to the light.

I meet his eyes and he nods imperceptibly, urging me to focus on the blunt pressure of his nails.

Aether crawls up their throats and falls across their sternums until it becomes chainmail. On their arms, the smoke hardens into terrifying gauntlets.

An iridescent, shiny green liquid pours out of open gashes on mottled skin.

A pair of strong arms loop under my armpits and haul me up and away from the fray.

“You’ll get to Bree’s face, won’t you, William?”
“Of course,” William mutters, his head bent low over Evan’s forehead. “Let me triage, Squire Griffiths...”

Even in chastisement, amusement colors the healer’s words.

“No need for subterfuge. I’m a healer by inheritance and by nature. I genuinely want to know how your wounds are doing.”

When I swallow down bile, William’s shrewd eyes narrow minutely.

“I was going to say volatile. I think he’s wrong to antagonize you.”

I stare down at it, puzzled at the alarmingly bright fabric. I hear the smile in his voice. “It was my father’s. The Line of Gawain is what discerning people call ‘ostentatious.’”

I stare down at it, puzzled at the alarmingly bright fabric. I hear the smile in his voice. “It was my father’s. The Line of Gawain is what discerning people call ‘ostentatious.’”

He’s imperious without being arrogant, and has an uncanny knack for being right.

As long as the king’s spirit remains dormant, the spell is safe. This is why Arthur, the first knight, calls on his Scion last, and only when ‘the demon scourge’ becomes so powerful and so rampant, that the Round Table must be reunited under his leadership to fight it back.

“Nice car.”
She shrugs. “Not mine. The Order has a bunch we can use.”
My eyes widen. “Wow. That’s—”
“Pretentious.”

“Sar, what’s the Abatement?”

Even though the Merlin is the superior opponent with a foot of height on her, the pint-size girl glares up at him poised for a fight.

Uchel stench wafts around me in a noxious steam until vanilla body wash chases it away.

A cold spear of resentment drives through me from head to toe, but it fades some when she throws her hands up and screeches, “You scared me!” at the same time my dad admonishes me with, “Don’t get mad at Alice now! That’s a good friend you got there.”

I wait until Alice waves goodbye to go through the deluge of notifications from last night.

Sure, we need a private place in the secret society’s semisecret house to talk about our supersecret infiltration and reconnaissance partnership.

“Nice to meet you, Bree.” She actually refrained from a platitude. An adult who definitely knows that my mother is dead. I’m stunned.

Oh, you know, events like secret feudal rituals.