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NICK GOES VERY, very still. “How long?”

“A long time,” I say. “Decades.”

“Why?”

“To… to unmake the Order,” I whisper, “from the inside out. To get revenge on Arthur and destroy his legacy. To find me when the time came, and to consume my power when I die.”

Nick sits back on his haunches, eyes darting back and forth. “The Shadow King controls the Guard. Controls the Merlins. Erebus assigned Sel to be my Kingsmage, for God’s sake. He’s been in my home . Sat at my family’s table. He was there when they took my mother. His Mageguard killed my father and nearly killed me , under his orders. He would have killed—”

He stops himself short. Focuses on me again. His eyes grow cold, sharpening to steel.

“William told me what Erebus and the Regents did to you at the Institute. How they tortured you, drugged you. Wanted to experiment on you to find out how your Bloodcraft worked. Erebus let the Regents lock you away when he had the power to stop them. Why? Just to keep his own identity hidden? Or because he wanted to see how much you could take?”

I remember the Institute. Remember the repeated mesmers. The fear I’d felt—the hopelessness. Of that entire experience, the only face I can see in my mind’s eye is Erebus’s.

“I think”—I pick at the comforter, speaking aloud something I’ve never said before—“he wanted to do both. Preserve his identity, and then, when he could, fake my death and take me away. Hide me until he could use my power.”

“And let you suffer in the meantime?” Nick says, outraged. “Let the Regents brutalize his prized weapon?”

“Yes. And Erebus let you suffer too,” I say. “He watched you grow up, knowing all along that you weren’t the Scion of Arthur. The Order treats its Scions with cruelty. Turns them into child soldiers.”

“Oh, I know.” Nick’s eyelids flutter, lost in his own history. “There are some memories I wish I could forget. Then again, maybe I’ll get my chance to tell Erebus exactly what his manipulations have cost us all.”

“He said someone would be a nuisance to him,” I say, recalling my and Erebus’s conversation at the museum. “Maybe it was you.”

“Oh, I hope it was me.” A coiled, eager expression shifts across Nick’s features. “I’d love nothing more than to be a nuisance to Erebus Varelian, the Shadow King of Annwfyn.”

“Annwfyn?”

Nick nods. “The stories say that is where the King came from. Not the demon dimension but another place. An otherworld.”

I chew on my lip, thinking. “He’s never mentioned Annwfyn. Only the demon plane.”

Nick’s voice is a distant murmur. “Legends are born from a kernel of truth, but myths create meaning because people treat them like truth. A being that old could be one or the other—or something in between.”

As he finishes speaking, we watch my bloodmark darken and dim. When it disappears back into my skin, Nick’s gaze turns inward. “My father told me so many tales about Arthur and his great foes. At first, I believed them all. Then, I saw how much he lied and understood how those lies served him. It’s gonna take me a while to wrap my head around at least some of those stories being true.”

“Do you want to talk about him?” I ask tentatively. “Your father?”

He focuses on me. “No. But thank you for asking.”

“I mean it.”

“I know you do.”

A beat later, Nick inhales sharply, shaking his head as if to clear it. “We should get dressed. There’s another communion today.”

“Are you sure?” I ask, uncertain. “It’s okay if you need a minute to—”

He smiles. “I’m fine. I should head down anyway. I want to spend some time with the suits, see what other details I can squeeze out of them with my bro face.”

Half an hour later, we’re ready to head down to breakfast. Today, Nick’s dressed in a charcoal sweater and wool dress pants. I’ve pulled out an emerald-green pleated skirt and tights and a peach sweater, finishing it off with a green-and-cream plaid silk scarf around my neck and shoulders and pulling my hair into a high ponytail.

I don’t miss Nick’s appreciative once-over of my ensemble; I was hoping for it, honestly. He clears his throat as he meets me at the door. “Ready?”

“Ready.”

But before he can turn the knob, he pitches forward against the door with a gasp.

“Nick!” My heart kicks into a sprint. I scan the room, looking for the evidence of a warlock attack, scenting the air for pact magic—or, worse, Mikael.

His eyes squeeze shut as he presses both palms against the wood. “I’m fine!”

“But—” I reach for his shoulder.

“Don’t!” he snaps, as if he can sense my nearness.

I withdraw my hand, but panic is a living thing in my throat. “What’s happening?”

“It’s Sel.” He grimaces, dipping his chin against his chest. “ Sel’s happening.”

The facts of the Kingsmage Oath pour into me. “He’s… angry?”

“Murderous,” Nick clarifies between panting breaths. “Very, very murderous.” He drops his forehead against the solid door, gritting his teeth to hold back a deep, pained groan.

I remember, then, the way he’d asked if Erebus’s call to my bloodmark hurt me. I’d waved his concern away because it never had—but now I know why he asked. “Can you do anything to stop him?”

Nick shakes his head against the door. “Doesn’t work that way.”

“He can feel your mortal fear—”

“Not if I don’t feel any fear.”

“But—”

“Wherever Sel is, he’s got plenty… of things… to worry about,” Nick grits out. “I refuse to be one of them. Not anymore.”

It takes everything in me not to reach out. Not to hold him. “How can you control your fear?”

His hands ball into fists on the wood. “With lots… of practice.”

“That’s—”

“ God , he’s pissed.” His face twists into a half smile, half grimace. “Furious.”

I wince. “Does this… does this happen a lot?”

Nick peers at me from one eye. “Daily.”

“Daily?!”

“I’m usually a lot better… at…” He groans, pressing his forehead even harder into the wood. “Hiding it.”

Then, as soon as Sel’s anger has come, it begins to fade.

I watch the effort of containing it drain from Nick’s body one muscle, one breath, at a time. It’s all I can do—be there, watch, and wait. A minute passes, then two, until finally, he releases a long, shaky breath and flips himself over to slide down the door. He lands in an exhausted heap with his arms draped over his knees, his chin tucked against his chest. When he eventually uncurls his clenched fingers from their fists, the joints crack and pop, echoing in my ears.

After a few more moments, the only evidence that anything out of the ordinary had even happened is the faint moisture curling the hair at Nick’s temples, at the nape of his neck. His breathing has evened out before I can even come up with something to say. Then, the only words I have are: “That was horrifying.”

Nick chuckles, the sound muffled beneath his arms. “They’ve been worse.”

“How much worse?”

He tips his head back against the door. “Sometimes they last longer. A few hours, one night. I think William thought I was having nightmares,” he says with a weak smile. “Nightmares would be much more pleasant, that’s for sure.”

I shake my head. “How long have you been hiding these?”

Nick tilts his head back and forth, stretching his neck. “Since Northern.”

I suck in a breath. “That’s been four months! And you’ve had them daily ?”

“They didn’t start out that bad,” Nick admits. He takes a deep breath, swiping a tongue over his dry lower lip. “They were short. Mild. Then… they got more severe. It’s the demonia, I think. We’re taught that all of a Merlin’s emotions become more extreme, even the positive ones. Heightened. It’s not his fault that I can feel it too.”

I study him and see the circles beneath his eyes. Have they always been there? Or has being here in Mikael’s house broken down his defenses? “Is that why…?” He looks at me. “You have your masks?”

He huffs a breath. “Nah. Sel’s not the reason I wear those. He sees through my masks, actually. Always has.”

I hug my knees to my chest, considering their history and Nick’s decision to hold Sel’s rage. To be a vessel for it, without complaint or blame… and still have faith that Sel will return from his demonia.

That Sel’s not gone, just absent.

I prop my chin on my knees. Nick feels me watching him. Turns to look at me. “Sorry you had to see that.”

“I’m not.” I hug my knees tighter. “Something about this place is making it harder to… hide.”

“Yeah.”

After a long moment, I shrug. “Guess we all have our demons.”

He frowns—then releases a bark of warm laughter. “That is an excellent joke.”

“You like that?” I smile. “Just came up with it.”

“Please tell Sel when we find him.” He grins. “He’ll hate it.”

When we enter the dining room, Zoe and Mariah beckon us over to join them at a table tucked in a corner of the already nearly empty space.

A server comes by to take our orders, and we wait until she leaves before I fill them in. “We had some visitors last night,” I whisper.

“The kind that rhymes with the words ‘four’ and ‘clock,’?” Nick says, grabbing a muffin.

Zoe’s eyes widen. “Are y’all okay?”

“We got rid of them,” I say.

A worried expression crosses her face. “Were you injured?”

“A tiny scratch,” I assure her. “He won’t hurt Elijah over a scratch.”

She gives me a look. “The old man can’t be trusted when it comes to you, sorry.”

“Did you see their faces?” Mariah asks.

“No,” I say. “They wore ski masks.”

“So they could be any warlock here?” Zoe asks. “Like Bianca’s favorites, Lawson and Santiago?”

“Whoever they are, they were enchanted somehow,” Nick says. “On top of their pact magic. We got rid of them, but that doesn’t mean we’re safe. We need to be more careful than ever now.” He looks at the clock in the dining room. “I’ve got to go. Time to catch up with the snakes before the communion.”

I lean back in my chair to watch the same group of wealthy, masked guests hovering at the door with to-go coffees in paper cups. “I sort of hate that you running off and leaving your fiancée behind with the womenfolk is actually a great cover in this situation.”

Nick squeezes my shoulder. “Agreed. But it’ll be worth it if I can come back with info we can use about our own communions tomorrow. I’ll meet y’all later.” He heads off with his hands in his pockets, his mask firmly back in place.

I shake my head, a new worry making itself known.“I don’t know if I can play along well enough for Mikael. What if he notices something’s different about me?”

Instead of responding right away, Mariah surprises me by calling the server back to ask if we can get our meals to go. Then she says, “I hope Nick finds out something we can use, but we should talk about a backup plan to protect you from Mikael tomorrow. Privately.”

We carry our meals carefully through the hidden corridor that leads from Zoe and Mariah’s room to the sanctuary of the abandoned library. After we finish eating, Mariah claps her hands together.

“No other way to say this, I suppose, but what’s wrong with your branch?”

I blink. “My root’s fine—”

“No, it’s not,” Mariah says. “First of all, it’s the wrong color, but that’s your Bloodcraft. I’m talking about you being a Medium. Something’s off.” She pulls her necklace out from beneath her shirt collar, holding the black stone in front of us. “This is the Heart of a Grand Dame. It enhances the wearer’s natural branch of root. In my case, it enhances my Medium abilities. And I can see that your connection to the dead is broken.”

I freeze like she’s accused me of something. Like I’ve been caught.

Mariah steps forward, covering my hands with her own. “What happened? You know I’ll help if I can.”

Her support hurts to hear, for some reason. Maybe because it’s just so… simple?

I’d believed Erebus when he told me that my loved ones would reject me when they realized that I no longer knew them. I shouldn’t have.

I feel a sudden urge to share every bit of knowledge I do possess so that I’m not as alone as he wanted me to be.

“I… tried to save the world,” I whisper. “Tried to be everything to everyone. Do everything my ancestors asked me to do, even when I didn’t understand it. Even when it didn’t make sense. I wanted to be like my mom, or like I thought she was, or how she’d want me to…”

Mariah squeezes my hand. “No one person can save the world, Bree. Not even you.”

“I know, but I want you to know what I tried to do… and what I did when I failed.”

And then, I tell her and Zoe everything. About believing that I could handle Arthur—and how he took advantage of me. How I remember hurting people because of it. How Erebus told me that Sel sacrificed himself for me—and now Sel’s angry and hurting Nick at the same time. How I know that I have a father, but I don’t know what he looks like. How the only people who still live inside me are the dead… even though I can no longer speak to them.

By the end, Zoe is seated cross-legged on top of a desk across from us, jaw completely slack.

Mariah has long since let go of my hands, growing stiller and more somber by the minute. Apprehension churns low in my gut before she asks the question I know is coming. “Bree,” she says, “what did you do to your ancestral plane?”

I look between her and Zoe, and think of this bubble of safety the three of us have built. How limited it is, and what’s on the other side of the doors waiting for us when we leave.

“I burned it. Scorched it with my root. Cut myself off from Arthur, from Vera, from… everyone. Even my mother.”

Mariah sucks in a breath. “How could you?” She stumbles back, distancing herself from me. “Bree, how could you?”

And suddenly, there it is. The afterimage feeling, the deep gut echo, the single resonant emotion that my mind has assigned to Mariah: shame.

Deep, world-stopping, blanketing shame. Shame that slices. That makes one feel impossibly small and permanently suspended, in space, in time, in life. That makes me wonder if I’m worth other people’s worry. Shame so consuming, it paralyzes my heart, my voice, my mouth. It takes a few attempts to start talking again, for thoughts to become words, for words to become sound.

“After the revival at Volition, I felt so… so abandoned. My mom was gone, and my ancestors couldn’t help me, and I—” My eyes prick, turn hot with unshed tears. “I know it’s not their fault they couldn’t help me harness my root. Some didn’t use it, didn’t know how, or were too scared to expose themselves and risk the little they had. By the time Vera appeared, I thought she’d be the one, you know? The one who could help me. But she couldn’t.”

“She made a desperate decision during an impossible time, Bree,” Mariah cries. “If she hadn’t made the choices she did, you wouldn’t exist . You owe her respect .”

“I don’t blame her for her choices.”

“Then how could you—” She shakes her head. “You were their chosen one!”

“I never asked to be chosen! Being open to everyone meant being vulnerable to Arthur!” I say, pulling on the silver curl at my temple.

“You were the most powerful Medium I’d ever met!” Mariah says. “You were the culmination of it all. The answer. The plan.”

My heart crumples inside my chest. “But I’m just one person, Mariah. I can’t be everyone’s answer. I can’t be everyone’s plan.”

She shakes her head again, like my story isn’t enough. And maybe it isn’t, but it’s what I have and I know it’s true.

They let me gather myself, but even then, the words are hard.

“Vera had no idea that the Hunter, the Shadow King, had piggybacked on her bargain and marked her Line. When I told her what her descendants had been through carrying this power and this mark… it just felt like she didn’t care . Like she didn’t care that we had all lost our mothers because of this gift that we didn’t ask for. That we haven’t been able to stop running for our lives long enough, or even live long enough, to try and stop our own deaths. That we can’t even save ourselves . If I have a daughter, she’ll die young just like I’ll die young and just like my mom died young—” My breath is a ragged, tearing thing from my lungs. “Our Bloodcraft, our weapon, kills us. Steals time. Steals life.”

Mariah and Zoe sit and watch me breathe and cry. The sun passes behind a cloud, dimming the late-morning light in the library, turning its far corners into deep shadows. Mariah speaks in the silence. “I didn’t realize. Didn’t know your deaths are… a cycle.”

“I wanted to become what they asked. The tip of the spear, the point of the arrow. The wound turned weapon,” I say, voice catching on my clogged throat. “I still want to be their chosen one, but I just… I don’t know how.”

“Maybe…,” Mariah begins slowly, tentatively, her fingers twining around the leather cord of the Heart, “maybe it’s not that Vera didn’t care. Maybe she also just… didn’t know how.”

The shame bubbles up again. “I shouldn’t have yelled at her.”

“Why wouldn’t you?” Zoe demands, jolting us both. “You’d been tortured and hunted like prey.”

“No, I… I could have taken a beat—”

“I don’t get it.” Zoe says, shaking her head. “Y’all are both trying to be picture-perfect descendants, even though you’ve only ever lived your life once. And that life has only just gotten started. Talk about an impossible standard.”

Mariah hedges. “As Rootcrafters, we’re taught to defer—”

“No, you’re not,” Zoe says abruptly. “Or at least the ones I know aren’t. We’ve got Rootcrafters in our family too, me and Elijah. They’re taught to commune with the dead, not worship them. Truly commune, not that crap Mikael’s doing with the Collectors.”

Mariah’s mouth snaps shut.

Zoe points at me. “Fix your ancestral-plane thingy and apologize to Vera for yelling if you want, but, goddamn, are you gonna punish yourself forever?” Then she looks at us both. “Who does that benefit, huh? Who?”

Mariah blinks, clearly as taken aback as I am by Zoe’s clarity.

Zoe pulls her knees to her chest on the desk. “Look, Bree. You lost all your people, right? Well, in the middle of living with that, you made me realize the crown could be more than just the King’s prize. That night at the Rat, you reminded me that the crown could be a way to stop him from hurting Rootcrafters. A way to stop other folks from losing their people. We’re trapped in this nightmare mansion where we might slip up and get murdered, sure, but we’re here because you cared about a girl you’d never even met before! About Rootcrafter girls that other people might forget about. That the news might forget about. That may not be Vera’s mission for you or whatever, but I think it counts for somethin’.” She shrugs. “Vera mighta had a vision for your life, but don’t you deserve a chance to update her on the reality of your life? And petition for her help with that ?”

Mariah’s eyes widen at us both. “That… makes a ton of sense.”

“I’m just saying, Vera never coulda known what Bree would be up against.” Zoe lifts a shoulder. “I don’t expect or need all of my ancestors to understand my life, but I think I deserve to live it. I deserve to figure it out.”

Mariah considers Zoe, then turns back to me, nodding slowly. “Zoe’s right. Vera couldn’t have known, but neither could I. I haven’t been through what you’ve been through, Bree. No one has. You’ve been alone in so much of this.”

My eyes burn when she steps closer to me again. Takes my hands again.

“I don’t think I want to be,” I admit. “Not anymore.”

“What do you want to be?”

It’s only six words. One single question. But it feels impossible to answer.

We hear Nick’s steps coming down the corridor before we see him. He walks in preoccupied, then pauses when he senses the energy in the room. His eyes take in each of us in a single scan, then land on me—and the tears on my cheeks.

He’s at my side in a blink. “What’s wrong?”

I wipe at my face. “Noth—”

“Don’t say ‘nothing.’?”

“Um—”

“Bree just told us all about how she burned her ancestral plane,” Zoe says, hopping down from her desk.

Mariah frowns at her. “That’s not your story to share.”

Zoe shrugs. Nick examines my face. “What does that mean, exactly?”

“I destroyed my own Medium powers.” I sigh, puffing my cheeks out. “I can’t speak to any of my ancestors anymore. Can’t sense the dead. Can’t blood walk. Can’t be possessed.”

Nick’s brows rise. “You can’t be possessed?”

“No. Not by Arthur. Not by anyone.”

His eyes unfocus briefly, a strange expression passing over his face before it disappears. “Do you… want to reverse it?”

I look at him, then Mariah, then Zoe. Think about the silence in my heart and mind, not just from the people I’ve missed but from the people who have departed. My own mother. The ability to speak with her—something most human beings can never do, no matter how much they want to. I swallow around the lump in my throat. “Yes.”

Nick’s face is a mixture of emotions—affection and sadness. Pride. “Then you will.”

“?’Course she will,” Zoe says. She turns to Nick. “Did you find anything else out about today’s communion?”

Nick’s eyes sharpen, back to the task at hand. “Yes. And we need to go, now.”

“What’s the urgency?” I ask.

“They think they’ve found the third thief.”