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SARAH AND TOR are talking in the foyer when I come hurtling through the front door.

“Bree? Are you all right?” Sarah asks, taking in my disheveled appearance.

“Where’s Nick?”

Tor frowns. “Driving his dad to the airport.”

Damnit. I’d completely forgotten. Lord Davis is flying to the Northern Chapter to meet with the Regents. “When will he be back?”

“He’s meeting us at the Tap Rail tonight in an hour, newbie,” Tor says, crossing her arms. “Why?”

The bar. God, I’d forgotten that, too. Which means I can’t talk about the Gate and the mysterious figure until later. One crisis at a time, Matthews. If Nick and Lord Davis are both gone…

“I need William.”

Sarah’s brows shoot up. “Are you injured?”

“No.” I start for the hallway that leads to the elevator, but Tor steps into my path.

“Then why do you need him?”

I glare at her, too tired to play nice. Sarah steps in. “He’s downstairs in the infirmary.”

“Pages don’t go down there unless they’re told,” Tor protests. “Listen, Matthews, you can’t run around doing whatever you want—”

“Torrrrr,” Sarah groans. “Bree, go ahead.” The look Sarah gives Tor is the look you give someone who tries your very last nerve, even when you love them more than you can stand. It suddenly becomes clear who’s really calling the shots between the Scion and her Squire.

Down in the infirmary, I find William alone, sitting in a back corner behind a desk, typing on a silver laptop. He looks up when I enter, but the smile on his face disappears when he sees me. “Are you okay?” he asks, standing up, eyes already searching me for injury.

“I’m fine,” I say. “Well, no, I’m not fine.”

His face goes from relief to a wary curiosity. “What’s going on?”

A nameless red-eyed man rises up behind my eyes, followed by his amber-eyed son. “Sel isn’t human.”

William’s gray eyes widen a fraction. “Sel’s our Merlin and Kingsmage.”

“I don’t mean his titles , William!”

A muscle in his jaw twitches. “What’s this about?”

I pace as I talk. “Lord Davis made it sound like Merlins are humans who are just naturally magical. But that’s not true for Sel, is it?” When I look up, I see the subtle flex of William’s fingers, the minute jump of the pulse in his neck. My jaw clenches; I know what secrets look like by now. “You know, don’t you?”

“Know what?” he says blithely, reaching for some paperwork.

“That Sel is Shadowborn.”

“Close the door,” William orders, his voice sterner than I’ve ever heard.

How many more secrets are there? “I—”

“Please.” His lips press into a line.

I follow my friend’s command because of the “please,” but I feel my trust in him bleeding away with every step I take back to his desk.

William runs a hand through his light hair and releases a long sigh. “I apologize for my tone. This is not information that Pages generally have access to. Hard to sell someone on the war against the evil demon hordes when you have one living under your roof.” He smiles stiffly. “Yes. Selwyn is, technically, Shadowborn.”

I knew the truth before I walked in the room, but to hear it from William, to have it confirmed… “He’s a demon. How could you—”

“He’s part demon.” William sits back in his chair with his hands folded on his lap.

“How can you trust him? How can anyone trust him to—”

He cuts me off. “All Merlins are part demon, Bree. They always have been.”

This is not the conversation I thought I was going to have with him. The memory walk is fresh. Behind my eyes, I can still see Pearl’s face contorted in fear of her own child. I can still see the midwife backing away from the infant as if it were cursed. He may look like a baby, but that is their disguise. They cannot be trusted because it is in their nature to lie. You know this, Pearl. Just like his father, he will turn on you one day.… This is not a child. It is a monster. “How can the Order use monsters? Nick’s life is in danger. All of these attacks—”

William sighs heavily. “There are protections in place—”

“Protections?” How can he be so calm about this? I sputter, “But if he’s half demon… half uchel—”

“Sel’s mother was a Merlin and his father is human. You’ve heard of incubi and succubi, yes?”

I blink, head spun by the turns in this conversation. “ Sex demons?”

His mouth widens into a full, amused smile. “Did you just whisper the word ‘sex’?”

“No,” I retort, flushing around my collar. “I emphasized it.”

“Sure, we’ll say that,” he says, leaning over his desk to pull out a notebook. He grabs a pen and starts sketching a diagram, starting with two circles labeled MM and I .

I open my mouth, but he stops me again. “I need you to listen. Not talk.”

“Willia—”

“ Listen , Pageling.” He points his pen at me. “Give me five minutes.”

I take a deep breath. “Fine.”

“Thank you,” he says primly, and taps the first circle. “Way back in the sixth century, Merlin’s mother was a human woman who fell into bed with a powerful goruchel incubus. A little bump, a little grind, and you get a cambion. A child who is part human and part demon.” He draws a line between the two circles and a perpendicular line down to another circle, M . “Aether affinity in demon blood is dominant. Like, break your Punnett square dominant. Which means that all of Merlin’s descendants are cambions too. The people we have come to call Merlins can draw on and use aether almost as well as Merlin himself could, even with only a single drop of his demon blood—no Legendborn Awakening spell needed.”

I stare blankly. “All Merlins are part sex demon.”

He smirks. “Technically, yes, but at this level of genetic distance, their seductive traits are… passive.” He waves his hand dismissively. “Nothing that normal human genes couldn’t produce, eye color aside. Unnatural beauty, distinctive voice, et cetera. Passive, but still effective. One minute you’re taking bloodwork, the next you’re wondering if the infirmary bed will hold two people. Don’t believe me?” His eyes sparkle as he leans in close. “Just ask Tor.”

My stomach flips a bit at his teased revelation. Tor and Sel dated? Or, if not dated, they’d… I push it from my mind. “So, he’s not… evil ?”

“Volatile, like I said, but not evil.” William scratches his chin in thought. “From both a medical and military perspective, Merlins are perfect warriors: hearts like long-distance runners, pumping a leisurely thirty beats per minute; core temps a toasty one hundred and ten degrees Fahrenheit—hot enough to cook a human brain like chicken fried steak, but it means they burn away any human viruses or bugs. Enhanced metabolism, speed, strength, vision—”

“ And hearing !” The door slams open behind us and Sel sweeps in, yellow eyes blazing.

William bolts out of his chair, hands up. “Sel, calm down!”

I back away as Sel bears down on me, the tips of his hair smoking. “Snooping about me now, are you? Looking for information you can use against me?”

Even though the details of Sel’s physiology are still echoing in my ears, after all I’ve experienced today, I can’t stand the idea of letting even Sel, with his superhuman physiology, make me cower. “This is getting real old, Kingsmage. You need new tricks.”

Before Sel can respond, William steps in between us in a way I’ve only ever seen Nick do. “You need to cool down. Bree wasn’t snooping. If you’re going to get angry at anyone, get angry at me for telling her.”

“Oh, I am,” Sel growls. His golden eyes rain hot sparks all over me.

“Throwing a temper tantrum, crossroads child ?” I spit. Both of Sel’s dark brows fly up to his hairline, and red spots appear on his cheeks. Direct hit.

“Stop it! Both of you!” William orders. He presses his back against me, crowding me into the wall. “If you’re going to hurt Bree, you’ll have to go through me to do it, which your Oath of Service won’t allow. So instead of making a fool of yourself, just walk.” He jerks his head toward the door. “Shoo.”

Sel glances between the two of us a final time, then leaves the room in an angry blur. In the distance, another door slams, marking his exit.

“Oath of Service?” How many Oaths are there? And how many has Sel sworn?

William sighs, still facing the open door and hallway. “Sel’s primary Oath is to Nick. His second is to the Legendborn.” He turns around to wag a finger in my face. “But he’s right about one thing. You’re trouble, aren’t you?”

At this point, I can’t say I disagree.

It’s way too easy to convince the bouncer at Tap Rail that I am a twenty-one-year-old Black woman named Monica Staten. I blink down at the NC driver’s license in my hand, stunned.

“I can’t believe that worked,” I say.

Greer winks. “Got it off my roommate, Les. She got it off a girl who graduated last year. When Whitty came by my room earlier and said we were going out, I remembered you’re only sixteen. I figure Les uses it all the time, so it was worth a shot.”

“Yeah, but this is really bad,” I say, shaking my head. “It says right here that Monica Staten is like six inches shorter than I am! And she wears glasses.”

“What can I say?” They shrug. “White folks’ face-blindness for different races is a thing!”

The only thing Monica Staten and I have in common is our taste in fashion; I’d sent Alice a selfie of my red halter top and jeans, and she’d approved, so that’s what I’m wearing.

The chapter has commandeered the entire back wooden porch of Tap Rail, the streetcar turned biergarten on the far end of Franklin Street, Chapel Hill’s downtown drag. Two long wooden tables have been pushed together to seat all of us. Nick’s last text said he’d be here soon. William had other plans. Sel’s nowhere to be found.

I check my phone while I wait. Patricia’s called me eight times. I’d sent her a text on the way over saying that I needed to take care of something, and that I’d explain later. Her warnings echo in my mind—Bloodcrafters, curses come to life. I don’t doubt that there’s truth to what she said. Abatement is evidence enough. But right now I need to talk to Nick and tell him about the Gate.

At the bar inside, Greer chooses a local craft beer right away but changes their mind when Felicity points out that the bar makes a mean Cheerwine and bourbon. The surly bartender mixes a shot of bourbon with soda until it’s a deep red-purple and smells like spiked candy.

Felicity hands me a gin and tonic. “Tastes kinda like Sprite.”

I almost refuse, but then I think of the conversation I need to have with Nick and suddenly alcohol sounds like a good idea. I take a sip and cough at the burn. “Sprite’s a stretch,” I say hoarsely.

She shrugs. “I could take it off your hands. How ’bout a whiskey and Coke?”

I choke, mind spinning with thoughts of the occasional scent I pick up in Sel’s castings. “No! No whiskey.”

Felicity laughs and leans a hip against the bar. “So what are y’all wearing to the Selection Gala?”

I hold up a hand. “Say what now?”

“Oh no.” Felicity sets her drink down. “Did no one tell you? I’m so sorry. I guess I thought everyone knew…”

Greer grimaces. “Sorry.”

I purse my lips. “It’s fine.”

Felicity is quick to fill me in. “The gala is a big formal event at one of the campus clubs. Dinner, dancing, champagne everywhere. Every year, Vassal families come and schmooze with Page and Legendborn families to celebrate the end of the tournament. After dinner, the Scions who need Squires announce which Page they’ve chosen. But shopping for dresses is the best part! The Order of the Rose even sends professional hair stylists…”

Felicity’s voice fades away. I can’t wrap my head around a formal dinner party. Or formal wear. Or dancing. Maybe it’s the alcohol, but suddenly all I can think of is Nick, standing in front of everyone and announcing his chosen Squire who isn’t me.

Felicity’s voice returns. “I like an updo, but I think Bree should wear her hair loose. I mean, look at these curls!”

Someone—no, two someones—tug gently at my hair.

I yank my head away. “What the hell ?” Both Greer and Felicity have their hands up, surprise clear on their faces. “Don’t touch my hair.”

Greer looks chagrined. Felicity stammers, “I—I was just telling Greer about the stylist that comes to the Lodge, and your hair—”

“Is different than yours?” I snap. “Is curly? Big? Sure, but that doesn’t mean you get to touch it whenever you want. I’m not a petting zoo.”

“Sorry, Bree,” Greer says, flushing.

Felicity blinks, almost starts speaking again, then stops herself. Nods. “Sorry. I didn’t realize…”

“Yeah.” I take a deep breath, nodding. “Well, now you do.”

Back at the porch, the group has split into two. The raucous crowd at the table is working on second and third rounds. Someone ordered pitchers. From the lawn comes the irregular thunk, ga-thunk, thunk of cornhole. To any outside observer, they’re all just a table of college students out for drinks. Not descendants of ancient bloodlines, not healers, or speedsters, or strong women, or warriors. Just kids. To any outside observer, I’m one of them.

Pete is just starting a story about his father hunting a demon on the Appalachian Trail when Nick and Sel walk out onto the porch. It looks like the Kingsmage is taking his job as Nick’s personal guard more seriously after Wednesday night’s attack. It’s the first time I’ve ever seen them arrive somewhere together, or even stand next to each other without fighting. Sel’s in dour black, as always, but Nick’s in a comfortable-looking X-Men tee and a pair of old jeans. After the day I’ve had, it takes everything in me not to run into his arms, but Russ jumps up instead, clapping Nick on the back and shoving a drink into his hand.

After a few hellos, Nick spots me and makes a beeline toward the end of the table. He drops down on my other side, laundry and cedar on max, and shoves a red-and-white checkered paper basket of bacon-cheddar tater tots in front of me. “Hey.”

“Hey.” I try not to focus on the way Nick sits so close to me. Or how, after he settles, he doesn’t move his body away from mine. Or how warm his bicep and hip are through his clothing. But it’s difficult. Suddenly, my low halter-top back feels too low. My skin too exposed. I’d just spent the last twenty-four hours obsessing over every text, every emoji, but now I’m so attuned to him that his very closeness makes me want to run far, far away? What the hell, Matthews? Get it together.

Sel takes a spot across from us, tucked back under the overhang, and balances against the wall on the back legs of a chair. He seems plenty happy to keep his eyes on me and doesn’t look interested in budging. After our confrontation and the revelation about his heritage, half of me is screaming to look away, and the other half wants to keep an eye on him . The left side of his mouth curls upward in a smirk, like he knows what I’m thinking and finds it amusing.

Ass.

Beside me, Nick tilts his head with a frown, eyes drawn to my mouth. “No smile. Everything okay?”

“Not exactly.” How do I talk about what I saw on the memory walk? I witnessed something no one I know has ever seen. How would I even begin to talk about it with a blond-haired, blue-eyed boy who would have never been on the receiving end of Carr’s whip? Would Cecilia and Ruth even want me to share their memories? They hadn’t shown them to Patricia.

I don’t know how to carry the borrowed images that still feel alive and raw in my body. How does Patricia do it?

“You said you wanted to talk?”

I gesture off to the side of the porch where we can have some privacy. He catches my drift and shoves up from the table, grabbing a tot on the way. Before we can untangle our legs from the picnic table, Vaughn strolls by. Without preamble, he asks, “So, is the Table being reunited or what?”

A beat of silence.

Nick regards the other boy quietly before he answers. “If you’re asking if Arthur has Called me yet…” He looks down the table at the other listening faces. “If any of you are wondering that, the answer is no. Not yet.”

“I got a friend up at Western.” Whitty shoves his hands in his pockets beside Evan. “Said they’ve seen six Shadowborn up there in the last week.”

Nick sighs so quietly that only I can hear it. He drops his half-eaten tater tot into the basket and wipes his fingertips. “My dad is talking it over with the Regents tonight and tomorrow. If Tor is Called”—he looks down the table where Sar is perched on Tor’s lap—“the plan may change, but for now, we’re to sit tight, keep training, and keep our eyes open.”

“Here, here!” Evan calls, and those with drinks raise their glasses. Some of the Legendborn toast to their Lines or the Order itself.

Nick and I take the opportunity to slip away and head down the steps to the empty lawn and abandoned cornhole tables. Once we reach the bottom of the stairs, he tugs me into the dark nook underneath the porch and leans down to my ear. “You look great tonight.”

I shiver even though the night is hot and muggy. “Thank you.”

He laces our fingers together and flashes a small, secret smile. “So, about yesterday morning…”

“What about yesterday morning?” I ask, the fresh thrill of being in his orbit returning in a single rush.

That smile stretches into a grin as he shakes his head. “You forget already, B?” He slides one palm up my shoulder to my neck, caresses my collarbone with his thumb. Draws me in until our foreheads touch. “Must have been an awful kiss,” he murmurs.

“Terrible,” I breathe, and the coiled tension of the day releases by a thread.

“I knew it,” he says, then angles his mouth to meet mine—and the sound of a throat clearing beside us breaks us apart.

Sel stands at Nick’s elbow. “The drive to the airport was one thing, but now that you’re back, I need you to stay in sight.”

Nick sighs and releases me. “We need to talk in private for a few minutes, Sel. We aren’t leaving.” He moves to step around Sel, but Sel follows, stopping us.

The Kingsmage’s eyes flick down to our joined hands. “This is a bad idea.”

I can’t tell if he means our leaving the porch or our holding hands, and Nick’s stormy expression says he notices the ambiguity too, and doesn’t appreciate it. I didn’t realize I’d started to pull away until Nick’s hand tightens around mine. “Leave us.”

Sel’s eyes slide to the crowd over Nick’s shoulder, then back. “Is that an order?”

“It is.”

Sel’s mouth curves into a sardonic smile. “Cute. But your father left me in charge while he’s gone, and you’re staying here. The Shadowborn want you, and I’m not going to make their job easier.”

Nick is so incensed I can hear his teeth grinding together. “Sel…”

“Don’t make a scene, Nicholas.”

I chance a quick look over my shoulder. Tor’s watching our exchange, and so are a few others. Sarah, Russ, Vaughn, Fitz. I tug on Nick’s hand, and his eyes drop to mine. I try to communicate with my eyes that I don’t want an audience. The look on his face says he understands, but he’s still not happy. He lets me lead him back to the tables. He sits close again, so that our shoulders and hips are snug, but this time I can feel his entire body shaking in impotent rage.

Back in my room, I miss Alice already, but I also feel a guilty sort of relief that she’s gone; all of this lying and hiding is wearing me thin.

“How did you find this out again?” Nick asks, the confusion in his voice clear over the phone. I’d spent the last twenty minutes pacing the length of our room, filling him in on the mysterious figure on campus who opened a Gate twenty-five years ago.

“Are you sure Sel can’t hear you?”

“I told you, he’s on patrol with Tor and Sar and ordered me to stay inside the Lodge’s wards.” I remember the aether shield I’d touched that first time I visited the Lodge and how it ripples against my skin whenever I walk through it. Sarah had explained that the wards will keep out anyone—or anything—who hasn’t been invited. I hate to say it, but I agree with Sel; Nick should stay inside for now.

“Bree?” Nick prompts, then repeats, “Who told you about this other Gate opening?”

“I don’t know if I can say,” I say with a sigh.

He chuckles. “Okay…”

I plop down on my comforter. “I don’t want to betray this person’s trust or put them at risk. You’re the one who told me that the Regents are severely anti–aether users they don’t control.”

“I did. So this person is an aether user? On campus?”

I hesitate. But this is Nick. I can tell him at least that much. “Yes.”

“An aether user you found? Or one that found you?”

“A bit of both?”

“Are they safe?” The concern in his voice is clear.

“Yes. They want to help me. And they were here when my mom was here, although they didn’t know her well. They… keep a low profile.”

He takes this news surprisingly well. “Probably best I don’t know who they are, then. Are they like you?”

I fall back on my pillow. “I don’t think so.”

“Ah. But you believe them?”

I gnaw on my lip, trying to think of the phrasing that will keep Rootcraft and memory walks and Patricia out of the conversation. “I believe what they showed me. Why? You don’t believe me?”

He sighs, and I imagine him in his room, lying back on his bed too. The thought—and the memory of sleeping there with him—makes something warm curl up in a ball in my belly. “Oh, I believe you, but I’ve never heard of anything like that happening. Dad’s never said anything about it and neither has Sel, and as Kingsmage for this chapter he has access to all the records of Shadowborn Gate crossings, appearances, and attacks. I don’t think even the eighth- ranked Scion was Called back then, so it was peacetime as far as Camlann is concerned. As far as I know, only demon blood can open Gates, so maybe it was an uchel in human form?”

I chew on my cheek, parsing through all that I’ve seen and learned today. “Or a Merlin?”

“They’re bound by Oaths.”

“What about a human holding a vial of demon blood?”

“Where’d you get that idea?”

“Something William said earlier about taking Sel’s bloodwork.”

“Sel’s—” A pause. A sigh. “He told you about Sel?”

I scrunch up my face. “I guessed.”

“Why am I not surprised?”

“Because I’m clever.”

“That you are.” Affection and pride bloom in his voice. “Well, Sel’s a cambion, so theoretically even his blood could work. But that’s still casting beyond anything I’ve ever heard of. Dark casting.”

The chanting sounded dark. “The Line of Morgaine?”

“Possibly. And this person just so happened to open this Gate and release partial-corp hellhounds at the time you think your mother was enrolled?”

“I’m positive it’s when she was here. It’s too much of a coincidence. The question is, if the Regents found out about the Gate opening, would they have kept it secret?”

“Partial-corp hounds aren’t visible to Onceborns. The Merlin would have detected the pack and sent the chapter to kill them. No need to involve the Regents.”

“But if the demons consumed enough aether to go full-corp?”

A pause.

“If Onceborns witnessed and were attacked by a corporeal pack, the Regents would do everything in their power to bury it. Work with the Vassals or former Pages in the university’s administration to keep it quiet on campus. Facilitate bribes to any outsiders in the town’s government to keep it off the news. Pay off any Onceborn families if their children were injured or killed. Mesmer them if they had to.”

“What about sending a Merlin to chase down a Onceborn witness?” I ask. “Even if it’s almost three decades later?”

“Without question.” He blows out a long, low stream of air. “I don’t trust the Order to always use the best methods, but the mission is protecting Onceborns, not murdering them.”

“Yes, but maybe the mesmer didn’t take and they found out she was like me.”

We both sit in silence for a moment. I can hear the gears turning in his head. His voice is wary, low. “If you accuse the High Council of Regents of murdering your mother, then you’ll expose yourself in the process. It won’t matter if you’re right or wrong.”

For the second time today, it feels like I’ve been punched by someone’s words. “Of course it matters if I’m right!”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that.” He sighs. “I just—I don’t want anything to happen to you. I of all people know how it feels to want to go after the Regents for their sins, but I can’t protect you from them and the Merlins. Not on this. No one can, not even my dad. The only way…”

I grip the phone tight. “The only way what?”

When Nick speaks again, the familiar heaviness is threaded through his voice. “The only way I could stand between you and the Regents is if Arthur Calls me and I’m fully Awakened. As king, I’d control the whole of the Order, the Regents included. But if Arthur Calls me…”

“Camlann.”

“Camlann.”

“So we just let them get away with this?”

“No, we keep looking for proof, and when we find it, I bring it to my father. He never got over what they did to my mom. I think he’d help with this. And who knows, the way things are going, I might be king in a few weeks. Having proof in hand will only make it easier for me to find out who’s responsible.”

“And punish them for what they did?”

A long pause.

“Punish them how, Bree? What would you have me do?”

I don’t respond, but it’s not because I don’t know the answer.