Before Sel can protest further, Douglas takes two quick steps and leaps swiftly to a branch below me, then the next, until suddenly he’s right back where he started. I step back—and my foot slips on crumbling bark. Douglas catches me at the elbow. “Steady there, m’liege.”

Now that his hood is back, I can see that Guard Douglas has deep-set sun-gold eyes, brighter than Sel’s. This close, they cast a warm glow on my face. Like Sel, this Merlin has tattoos, but his crawl like vines up the side of his neck, sprout wild from his collar, and trail down the pale knuckles exposed from his gloves.

Cognizant of the eyes below us—and indignant on Sel’s behalf—I carefully extract myself from his grip. “Just get me down already.”

His eyes twinkle. “Yes, m’liege.” He steps forward slowly, forecasting his movements this time so that I can see his approach. When I nod, he dips down, slipping one arm behind my knees and the other behind my shoulders to lift me easily. Without losing balance, he turns, steps off of the branch with me in his arms, and lands so softly that I barely feel the impact when we meet the ground.

I do, however, hear the faint murmur of voices rise up from the earth the moment I get my own feet beneath me. Quiet protests from ancestors I don’t recognize. That display of root was minimal, compared to what I did in the cave… but it was enough. Enough that the dead are complaining.

I swallow. I’ll need to reach out to Mariah as soon as I can. Check to see if any living felt my root, too.

Douglas notices my discomfort. “Are you all right?”

I meet Sel’s eyes, see the tension in his jaw. He’s fuming for every other reason in the world right now, but there’s recognition there too. He knows exactly what I’m worried about with the Rootcraft community, and he knows exactly why I can’t say a word about it in front of the Mageguard.

“I’m fine.” I slip out of Douglas’s grip and come face to face with the waiting crowd of Merlins—and a Seneschal of the High Council of Regents.

Erebus’s eyes are the darkest red I’ve ever seen. They are the color of thick heart-blood, on the razor’s edge of black. His face is emotionless, but his attention—the very act of his consideration—scorches the tender skin of my cheeks. Before this moment, I’d have claimed Isaac Sorenson to be the most overwhelming Merlin I’d ever met, but Erebus Varelian’s scrutiny would turn Isaac’s regard into a hollow threat. My heart thunders in my ears. Fear splinters through my nerves—When the time comes, if it comes, don’t be scared.

I am my mother’s daughter.

I am also… covered in dirt.