I slump back in the seat. “And then he ran.”

Lark nods. “Then he ran.”

“And Erebus is hunting him?”

“Aye.” He smiles slightly and turns the ignition. “But Kane’s too good and too smart to leave a trail.”

He pulls the car around and begins the drive back to the Lodge. When he turns the wheel, I notice that his left forearm bears the familiar mark of the Legendborn, but with the additional detail of black and gray mage flames pouring from the center of the four-pointed star. I’ve seen the same tattoo on Selwyn’s left forearm, but thought nothing of it. It never occurred to me that there might be a tattoo shared by all Merlins. A sigil of their own.

We ride in silence until Lark speaks again. “Ye nervous about tonight?”

“No,” I lie. “I just want it to be over.”

“I have a question.” Lark glances at me.

“Okay.”

“Do ye truly think Lord Davis abducted his own son? Risked Onceborns by opening Gates on purpose?”

“I don’t think, I know.” I tap my fingers impatiently on the seat’s black leather. “He gloated about it to my face.”

“Davis is a well-respected man,” he begins. “A lifetime of service to the Order. Lots of allies, inside and out…”

I groan, irritated. “You don’t believe people can lie? Hide their true nature?”

“Oh, I believe that.” Lark chuckles. “Trust, but verify, princess.”

I gnaw on my thumb. “Not your princess.”

“King then.”

“Not that either.”

A crooked smile flashes across his face. “If that’s the case, gonna be awkward being yer Kingsmage.”

I lift a shoulder. “Maybe I don’t need a Kingsmage.”

Lark raises a brow in the mirror, but instead of pushing the topic, he changes it. “Got something for ye.” My eyebrows raise. “Look in the center armrest.”

I frown. I didn’t think we were at the “gift” stage of friendship. Especially not after all the bone-breaking and lies. I dig into the center armrest and pull out a large leather pouch with drawstrings on the end. I feel something stiff but pliant in the middle. “What’s this?”

He laughs. “That’s the thing about gifts. Ye find out what they are when ye open them.”

I bite back a retort and pull on the strings, tipping the bag over and into my lap. A pair of fingerless gauntlets spills out. The smell of fresh leather fills the cabin. There are straps up and down to adjust the circumference, and thick braces around the wrists. “Gauntlets?”

Lark glances up in the mirror. “A long line of Merlins in my family. Ma da makes leather armor and things, pieces we can wear under our clothes if we need to go hunting in public.”

I gape at the gauntlets, taken aback at the craftmanship, the thoughtfulness…. “I didn’t even know Merlins wore armor.”