“Again, because you’ve never dedicated your whole being to someone or some cause greater than yourself. You don’t understand what Oaths feel like, fulfilled or unfulfilled.”

“Maybe I don’t, but”—I step closer, even though I don’t think William or Alice are listening to us—“I told you what I saw in my vision in the ogof. In the memories, your mother didn’t succumb to her blood. So, you won’t either. And even if you do, you’ll still be you.”

His eyes find mine in the mirror. “How do you know I haven’t started to already?”

“Because I do. I have faith.” I pause for a moment, then add, “And so does Nick.”

His eyes widen. “What do you—”

“He said so,” I murmur, “in the blood walk. He said you’d remove yourself from the situation before you hurt me.”

Some emotion I can’t catch crosses his face. “So you really did see him.” He opens his mouth, closes it. Looks away. “How is he?”

“Okay, considering. He asked about you, too,” I say. Sel’s brows draw together, half-surprise and half-frown. “And yes it was really him. I could even touch him, somehow.”

Sel turns back to study me, his brow softening. When he speaks again, his voice is quiet, almost hesitant. “Even if we do depose the Regents, what the two of you have…”

“The Order won’t let us keep,” I finish. “I know.”

He holds my gaze for a moment, then turns back to his injury to examine the wound before covering it. From this close, I can see the shape of it, a deep incision about an inch wide, clean edges, but right below his collarbone and above the swell of muscle in his chest.

He presses the bandage in place, then pulls out the medical tape. Watching Selwyn Kane tear off a piece and struggle valiantly to apply it with one hand so that it stays taut is one of the most awkward things I’ve ever seen. So awkward I can’t watch it without secondhand embarrassment. I step forward between him and the sink without thinking.

“Let me do it.” I take the roll from his hand, and realize a second too late that we’ve both frozen in place.

This close, I can feel the heat radiating off his skin. Smell the hint of copper from his injury, like fresh pennies. The fading, muted smell of shampoo. Crisp fall air from the forest and pine sap on his skin from his patrol through the trees. I’ve never really known what Sel smells like underneath his magic. Or been close enough to see the detailing on the tattoo across his sternum. The Celtic knot is dark in the middle, with curled edges giving way to gray.

Oh God.