Erebus escorts me to the door alone, then walks down the steps so that he can confer with the Mageguard stationed around the perimeter. As I hover in the doorway, I feel the ripple of freshly layered protective wards, thicker and stronger than I’ve ever felt them before.

The Regents’ motorcade arrives, three cars rolling to a crunching stop on the gravel driveway. As if choreographed, the front passenger side door of each car opens at once. Cestra emerges from the rear vehicle, still in her funeral wear, but with lower heels. Smart choice for the walk to the ogof.

Then comes Regent Gabriel and his Mage Seneschal, a tall, handsome white Merlin with dark hair, rust-colored eyes, and long fingers in a dark gray robe. Erebus is at my elbow, voice a low murmur. “Seneschal Tacitus, Master of Mesmer, born in Italy.”

The one who can offer forgetting as if it were bliss. Oblivion as if it were mercy. I resist the urge to shudder, and fail. Tacitus grins—and I immediately despise him. He is cunning and charm personified. Sel’s voice still rings in my ears, and I wonder if Tacitus could be the true traitor in our midst. When I glance up at Erebus, his furrowed brow tells me he is wondering the same thing.

If everyone is playing shadow games, then who can anyone trust?

Finally, Aldrich steps from his car. His Seneschal is a short, wide-framed, bronze-skinned Merlin whose fingertips glow a pure diamond-white, edged with a faint line of deep blue flames. The signature from his hands is a heavy, unsettling smell and his eyes are of the deepest orange.

“Seneschal Serren, Master of Constructs,” Erebus supplies. “A powerful aethersmith from the Pacific Northwest, here in the States. The flames at his fingertips never go dark. He can change the form of his aether constructs without recasting them, and they are always unbreakable.”

Erebus steps down and the six members of the Council look up to me with curious and expectant gazes. I wonder what they see. Arthur’s Onceborn-raised Scion or the sixteen-year-old Black girl whom they never expected to pull the sword from its stone. Whatever they see, I need them to understand one thing: after tonight, I am their king.

“Honored Regents and Seneschals,” I say, my voice clear as I recite the formal greeting. “I declare myself eligible for the Rite of Kings by way of bloodline, and invite you to bear witness to the return of our king, Arthur Pendragon, once again Awakened to lead our Table and Order to victory in the Shadowborn Holy War.”

12

TWO OF THE Mageguard go into the tunnels to do a final sweep of the closed Gates before allowing all of the Order’s leadership—current and future—to enter the underground cave. While we wait, the Council turns to me expectantly.