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Back Legendborn Save as PDF
Chapters (68)
  1. Dedication
  2. PROLOGUE
  3. THREE MONTHS LATER
  4. PART ONE ORDER
  5. 1
  6. 2
  7. 3
  8. 4
  9. 5
  10. 6
  11. 7
  12. 8
  13. 9
  14. PART TWO DISCORD
  15. 10
  16. 11
  17. 12
  18. 13
  19. 14
  20. 15
  21. 16
  22. 17
  23. 18
  24. 19
  25. 20
  26. 21
  27. 22
  28. 23
  29. 24
  30. 25
  31. PART THREE ROOTS
  32. 26
  33. 27
  34. 28
  35. 29
  36. 30
  37. 31
  38. 32
  39. 33
  40. 34
  41. 35
  42. 36
  43. 37
  44. 38
  45. 39
  46. 40
  47. PART FOUR SPLINTER
  48. 41
  49. 42
  50. 43
  51. 44
  52. 45
  53. 46
  54. 47
  55. 48
  56. 49
  57. 50
  58. 51
  59. 52
  60. 53
  61. 54
  62. 55
  63. 56
  64. 57
  65. 58
  66. AUTHOR’S NOTE
  67. ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
  68. ABOUT THE AUTHOR

“A fo ben bid bont.” Arthur speaks through my voice, so that his answer is both for me and every Legendborn present. “They that would be a leader, let them be a bridge.”

The king’s spirit subsides until I am myself again. Bereft, empty, and buzzing with power. I plunge Excalibur back into its stone as if to seal Arthur there.

I know it’s no use. He’s part of me now.

Realization dawns through my dizzy, floating brain: the Legendborn remain bowed, because I am the one who must release them.

“Rise,” I whisper, then collapse.

57

I WAKE TO the sun shining through the curtains. Everything, and I mean everything, hurts. I’m so weak that it takes three attempts to turn over on my side in bed. When I do, two sticky notes fall from my forehead.

You collapsed in the ogof, but not

before driving Excalibur back into

the stone. Sel carried you back

through the tunnels.

It was all very dramatic, or so

I’ve heard. I hooked you up to

an IV for fluids, (cont’d)

but I expect you’ll wake up

famished. Alice told me to put

cheesy grits on the stove.

(I like her.) Lots to talk about.

Come down to the great room

when you’re ready.

—W

I smile, grateful that Alice knows me so well. Then the memories flow back and take my breath away until my chest feels like it could collapse.

I bury my face in the pillow and cry. For Vera. For my ancestors. For my family. For my mother. For all of my people. For the thread of death and violence forcibly woven into our blood, and the resistance we had to grow to survive it.

I cry for the deaths I witnessed—and couldn’t stop—for Fitz and Whitty and Russ.

I cry for me.

I’m not Nick. I’m not some chosen one. I am the product of violence, and I am the Scion of Arthur, and I don’t want to be either. I just want to be my mother’s daughter. And my father’s. I just want to be me.

But I know it will never be that simple again. I will never be that simple again.

My lineages are bound together in inextricable, horrible truths, and there’s no untangling them from my destiny, whether I’m ready to face it or not.

Sel bursts through the doors, and I shoot upright. “Where is he?” His hair is sticking up in every direction, his yellow eyes wild, and his clothes are covered with dirt and leaves.

“Where’s who?” I croak. I finally take a hard look at my surroundings and realize I’m in Nick’s empty room.