But their castings, their chants, their hand movements… they are a form of magic that I have not seen in a very, very long time.

I see now that these “Squires” that Briana did not recognize were not Squires at all, and that this clandestine meeting the Council interrupted was not solely a gathering of members of the Round Table. These four aether-users were invited too, and in their squabble with the Legendborn children the Council had not realized that the outsiders had been watching, waiting.

“Who the hell are y’all?” Victoria demands. It seems that the Council’s mole, Victoria, was not privy to all.

“Victoria?” Cestra shouts. “What is this?”

“Not what,” a new voice says. “Who.”

Three of the newcomers break away to absorb the work of the prison casting, leaving their final member free to move. She is a young woman with short brown hair wearing brown leathers and boots.

I suck in a breath when our eyes meet.

It cannot be. It should not be.

In this moment, the war, the Shadow King, the foolish Regents all fade to lesser matters. Even Caledfwlch is forgotten beneath the roar of blood in my ears, the heartbeat hammering against Briana’s chest.

The young woman’s gaze slides away from mine and to the Regents as she continues talking. “We have watched, we have listened, and we have simply, finally had enough.”

The mischief in her eyes has dimmed, but it is still there. Her face is shaped differently, her hair, but unlike when gazing upon my knights, I can see her spirit hovering around her. I do not know why it is different with her than the others, but I know I recognize her and feel her before me.

I know my sister.

“Morgaine?”

The young woman’s gaze snaps back to mine, as fiery as ever. “Do not speak to me.”

I swallow past the shock and pain, stumble forward on Briana’s shaking legs. “Is it truly you, sister?” I whisper. “My Morgaine?”

The woman’s eyes flash. “I am not your sister,” she says with unnerving stillness. “But we are her descendants. And it is time for the Regents and the Order to come to an end.”

“To… an end?” I stammer. “Morgaine…”

“My name is Ava,” the girl corrects. Her eyes are twin daggers, aiming right toward me.

This girl says she is not Morgaine and her features are different, but I cannot shake the feeling that I am standing before my very own sister, my flesh and blood.

“Your reign, your Order, is what eventually drove your sister to exile,” Ava shouts, “or did that history get lost beneath your many wars?”

I dig through what Briana knows of my sister’s descendants. There is frustratingly little. “The Order… accused her descendants of treachery….” Anger floods me. “No, that was a mistake,” I say. “I will make this right. I swear it.”