I remember Nick’s warm smile on the walk through campus, then the terror branded on his face tonight in the woods. I brought that sequence of expressions to his face. Even if no one can control their knight’s Call, I brought Nick closer to something he’d never wanted. Guilt settles heavy in my belly.

I look back up at Nick’s star and think of him fighting, graceful like a dancer, feet light, body twisting. Swinging his sword with confidence and determination. Driving his blade through the hellhound. I can’t think of him falling in battle. My brain can’t imagine it.

“When was the last time Arthur Called his Scion?”

William cocks his head to the side. “Almost two hundred and fifty years ago? 1775, I think?”

“What? That’s—”

“The Revolutionary War.” One side of his mouth draws down in a tight frown. “Depends on who you ask, but in my opinion, that war would have happened anyway. And war is war, whether the Shadowborn incite it, prolong it, or use it as a feeding ground. People died by tens of thousands. Who cares what it’s called.”

I agree. My eyes are drawn to Nick’s star again.

And I notice something beside it that I hadn’t seen before. I stand and walk closer—yes, there’s something there, connected to Nick’s star by a shimmering dash.

“What is it?” William reaches my side, searching for what’s grabbed my attention.

I point to the small, dark marble stuck in the slab directly beside Nick’s name. It’s so black it seems to absorb light. “That marble. What is that?”

“Ah.” For the first time, he hesitates before he speaks. “Only the most powerful Merlin child in a generation is Selected to take the Kingsmage Oath. The child is taken from their family and bound here, in a formal ceremony before the chapter, to a child Scion of Arthur. For the rest of that Merlin’s life, they are the Scion’s sworn protector until death.”

My stomach twists. Taken from their family. A child—and a childhood—sacrificed to protect another. “No child could possibly comprehend what it means to make an Oath like that.”

“Like I said,” he murmurs, “none of us have a choice.”

My heart aches for both of them. Even for Sel, who is magically bound forever to a Scion who has never wanted his title. I may not like him and he sure seems to hate me, but I feel compelled to examine Sel’s marble and read the script beside it:

Selwyn Emrys Kane.

William hums thoughtfully. “Ready to go back? I need to check on my patients.”

I nod, ready to leave this place that feels more filled with death and loss than life.