“And here I was, planning to go for the father! Then precious Nickie asks for you at the gala”—his lips curl in a mocking smile, and he clasps his hands to his chest—“declaring to all that he wants you as his Squire. That’s when I realized that foolish boy would do anything to keep you unharmed. Fight a horde of my demon comrades. Take up Excalibur. Expose Arthur. I had to take you”—he grins—“so Fitz the meathead got kebabed.”

My stomach turns. Bile rises in my throat.

“My mistress, Morgaine, will love hearing how I found the Scion of Arthur’s weakness.” He considers this. “Well, love is the wrong word. She’ll be quite jealous, actually. She adores torture.”

I shuffle backward, but he moves faster than my eyes can track, grabbing both of my ankles this time. “Rude!” he hisses.

My fingers dig into the gravel behind me. My only thought is to grab it and throw it into his eyes, but when my fingertips hit the soil and roots below, the doors inside me snap open.

‘The cave is right behind you. Just ten more steps, Bree.’ My grandmother’s voice urges me forward. I feel her hands, warm and soft, wrap around my heart and hold it in her palm.

Rhaz registers something in my face. His eyes narrow—and I wrench my legs from his grip with frightening speed. Pull my knees tight to my chest, and kick both feet upward to send him flying into the ravine.

53

MY GRANDMOTHER WAS exactly right about the cave. I reach it in ten limping steps.

I turn a corner onto an overhang—and look down into chaos.

Rhaz meant what he said: he’d called his brethren. And they were doing his bidding, fighting Scions and Squires who’d reached the cave before me.

Tor and Sarah zip around the room like streaks of silver aether, shooting arrows at hellhounds and foxes from every angle.

Felicity and Russ are on the floor, each brawling with enormous green hellbears.

Pete and Greer are back-to-back, facing a pack of hounds closing in all sides. Two glowing lions take on one hound, jaws clamped at its haunches and throat.

Vaughn hacks at a fox of his own and seems to be keeping it at bay.

And in the middle of it all, on a small island surrounded by black water, is Nick. Buckled over on his knees with the effort of resisting Arthur’s Call.

My heart leaps into my throat at the sight of him, scratched and bloodied, but alive. Above Nick, his father slashes at circling imps, barely keeping them at bay. There are too many demons here. Whatever Davis had in mind, the goruchel was never part of his plan.

Behind them is a bright sword sticking out of a boulder at an angle. Even at this distance, the clear diamond of Arthur gleams from its pommel.

Excalibur.