The King’s laughter rolls past in a wave from one direction, then returns in another. It could be real, or it could be my memory, tricking my ears and Briana’s both.

He could be anywhere. Any shape.

And now, he is gone.

But we have visitors. Vehicles approach, their sounds grow louder—the reason why the King departed, perhaps? I turn to meet the three metal beasts rolling closer on the gravel—and without warning, I feel Briana’s arms wrenched behind her in a powerful grip. A flood of magic fills her nose: resin-soaked heartwoods set aflame, myrrh and oud.

“Arthur, isn’t it?” A harsh voice whispers in Briana’s ear, filled with venom. “My liege.”

I recognize the wheeze of a man whose breaths are hindered by broken ribs. The aether signature and injuries alone identify our captor. “I do not think we have formally met. Is this how you treat your king, Seneschal Varelian?”

Erebus yanks Briana to his side with one hand clamped around an elbow. I allow it, curious to mark his injuries: his chest, held tight on one side with his left hand; his gait, slow with an injured leg. “Your arrival complicates things,” he grits out, wincing as he speaks.

“Because your Oaths keep you from truly harming Briana?” I ask, smiling. “That’s unfortunate. For you.” I pull against his hold and am pleased when it takes both of his hands to keep me in place.

We reach the vehicles, and their doors slide open. Four Mageguard emerge from each car, blurring into place around us.

“Bree?” one of them calls. Ah, the young Merlin who helped Briana escape.

“Hello, Larkin Douglas,” I say.

His eyes widen in surprise, then dart between me and his Seneschal commander, concern warring with duty. “Seneschal Varelian… what is going on?”

“Take heed, all of you,” Erebus announces. “This individual is no longer Crown Scion Briana Matthews. She has been possessed by the spirit of Arthur Pendragon, and it is he who attacked the squadron behind me.”

“Bree!” Erebus turns us both around. Behind us, the root barrier has come down just long enough to permit its occupants to leave.

The three figures still remain on the ground: the Scion of Gawain, bent over Selwyn and the Onceborn girl, Alice. But now, standing guard between the healer and us are the Rootcrafters that accompanied Briana. Their names come back to me from her memories: Mariah, the young one. Lucille and Patricia, the elders.

This ought to be interesting.

It is Mariah who stares at the Merlin entourage, eyes blazing. “Let Bree go.”

“This isn’t Briana, Rootcrafter,” Erebus replies. “I think you know that.”

“It is Bree’s body. Bree’s. She is still inside,” one of the elders responds. Patricia, recovered from her abduction. “We will exorcise the spirit. You don’t know how.”