We have caught him off guard. Good. Now he knows what it feels like.

Finally, Erebus speaks—carefully, I notice. “A public appearance of Order leadership in one place has not occurred in several years, and, of course, Arthur has not Called a Scion in two and a half centuries.”

“Does this mean all of the Mageguard has been assigned to this weekend’s event?” Sel asks, eyes traveling over the silent figures behind Erebus.

“Yes, all twenty-four will be on-site,” Erebus replies. “With a secondary support unit to follow.”

“Quite a lot of firepower for a funeral,” I murmur.

“In these times of uncertainty, with Shadowborn who could be hidden in plain sight, it is impossible to be overly cautious, my liege. Any large gathering brings with it added risk, and you are, after all”—Erebus shakes his head with a frown—“without a bonded Kingsmage.”

It is a well-aimed barb. Lines of strain pull at the outer edges of Sel’s eyes, but he remains silent.

I try to change the topic. “If you like, we can take you to the ceremony site tomorrow morning, early.”

The small look of triumph on Erebus’s face tells me that my attempt to steer clear of tension has failed. Instead, my words provided him with some opening I cannot see. “No need, Crown Scion. The other team is there now. We will remain here, because it is a Merlin’s job to ensure that the level of security you receive is unassailable, day or night, wherever you may be. Within the chapter’s Lodge, on its surrounding grounds—even at its borders.”

A Merlin’s job. He means Sel. Oh no.

“It is fortuitous that we arrived when we did”—anger simmers behind Erebus’s eyes—“if what I have witnessed here tonight is the best that the Kingsmage of the Southern Chapter can do.”

Sel stiffens. “I assure you, Seneschal Varelian—”

“You assure me not at all, Kingsmage Kane!” Erebus explodes. “Not when I arrive to see a dozen cedny uffern breaking down your ward.” He gestures to me, my face and still-healing arms. “Not when I arrive to witness the Crown Scion of Arthur, covered in soil and dust, wounded, and running for her life.”

When Sel doesn’t refute Erebus’s comment, I open my mouth to protest it myself, to say that my appearance and my wounds are not Sel’s fault. But just as I do, William’s hand is at my elbow. I don’t know if he wants me to keep quiet for my sake or Sel’s, but his grip is tight enough that I understand the warning. Don’t. They’ve each stopped me once now. Do I trust them to know what’s best, or do I challenge Erebus? There is some… procedure here, a flow of things in a certain order, a confrontation long expected, that I’m just on the outside of. So I hesitate.