I look out at the forest around us and imagine how many streams are there, waiting for me. My maternal line starting with my mother’s life, my grandmother’s, all the way to Vera’s. My father’s parents’, too, I imagine. Vera beckons me closer and points to the now dry streambed. “That is Arthur’s lineage. You used intention and the king’s blood in order to access their vision on the plane here, but then you broke away”—Vera points to where I splashed down—“and brought yourself back to the center.” She opens her arm wide, gesturing to the ground all around us. “If you walk with intention and purpose on this plane, you can open the pathway to any of your ancestors. Or”—she looks at Arthur’s stream again—“you can close it.”

“I burned him away with root.” I nod, the idea growing sharper and clearer in my mind. “Never done that before. Never been able to call on your power at will. It only shows up in defense, when I’m already in danger—” A flutter of excitement interrupts me. Possibility. “But here I used it because I wanted to. Not in defense…” I step toward her. “How can I attack like that in the real world?”

“I do not know.” Her eyes drift over my shoulder, widening. “But I do know that before you learn to fight, you must first protect yourself.”

My eyes spring open.

The real world surrounds me, bright. The ogof. Where the Rite started.

Time is back and moving quickly.

There’s a sharp pinch in my right shoulder and clang! Excalibur falls from my hand to the stone below.

“Wha—” I’m stopped by the sight of a syringe sticking out of my upper arm and Emissary Theresa holding the plunger down.

Whoosh! Bright red flames erupt from my chest. Theresa screams and slips backward on the great stone, falling into the water below with a splash.

Movement below. The Regents, rushing away from the moat before my wave of root reaches them.

My crimson flames are met by a blue-and-white aether shield—the Mageguard, casting a barrier against my power. Protecting the Regents. Protecting themselves. From me.

The syringe is still there. I claw at it, pulling the needle out. Max appears at my left, teeth bared—I swing. He catches my fist easily. I crumple to the ground.

The last thing I see is his jeering face hovering above mine.

“Nighty night, Crown Scion.”

14

A FAMILIAR POP of pressure in my ears jolts me awake.

An aether barrier opening—or closing.

The thought of being trapped sends me surging upward—against leather straps. The one around my right wrist snaps.

There’s shouting. My eyes open.

“Hey!”

“Grab her!”