Erebus turns to me, sighing low. “I apologize, Crown Scion, but if the High Council reveals that Lord Davis betrayed the Order and that Morgaines and demons may have aligned to send a goruchel assassin to kill both Legendborn children and the Scion of Arthur, there will be panic and unrest. We cannot afford widespread destabilization during a time of war and during your transition to king. The public, even that of the Order, wants their bread and circuses, and this fabricated reason for Selwyn’s arrest gives them that while we take care of the reality of things like your Rite, like the search for Nicholas… discreetly.”

“Fine, play your games. But why are you still arresting Sel?”

“Because we must arrest him. On the very real charges for a case we have been building for weeks, based on all that Selwyn and you and the other members of the chapter have told us about his actions leading up to the events of the cave. He must be held accountable.”

I gape. “Negligence? Attempted murder? Are you kidding me? None of that is true….”

Erebus’s brows furrow as he produces his tablet from his breast pocket. After a few moments of swiping, he reads, “ ‘At first, Sel thought I was a goruchel. He attacked me in the graveyard with his hounds, nearly killed me….’ ”

Those are my words. What I reported to Theresa in the days following Nick’s disappearance. “No, that’s—that’s not how it was.”

Erebus puts his tablet away. “Your words tell a story, Crown Scion. Are you saying you lied to the investigators?”

“No, I’m—” I grit my teeth. “He attacked me because he thought there was a mimic among us, which ended up being true—Rhaz. And even if Sel wanted to murder me, I wasn’t the Scion of Arthur then!”

As soon as the words leave my mouth, shock travels through each of the Merlins around me. Sel’s gaze snaps up, brows furrowed. Ramirez and Olsen blink rapidly, amber eyes wide. Several emotions race across Erebus’s face, one after the other: confusion, displeasure, annoyance, then pity.

It’s the pity that creeps into my throat, makes it tight.

“Crown Scion Matthews”—Erebus’s voice turns oddly gentle—“you have always been the Scion of Arthur. It was always you.”

For a moment, I feel bare beneath their attention. Silly. Foolish in front of them, once again. I clear my throat. Try to regain my footing. “And as the Crown Scion, I order you to release Selwyn.”

Erebus draws his head back, appraising. “I’m sorry, but Order law only recognizes those who have formally claimed their title before a governing body.” He frowns. “You cannot stop due process.”