Emry remembered the pull of Anwen’s magic. How it had called to her. She ran her thumb across the scar on her palm, thinking how strange it was that she’d had the same dream as Arthur back on Avalon. That the dream had followed them.

“Fine,” Arthur conceded. “I promise to inform you the next time my scabbard gets warm.”

Emry coughed. “Wow,” she said, holding back a smirk.

“Shut up,” Arthur muttered, his cheeks going pink. “I didn’t laugh about your creepy soap.”

“No. You did not.”

Sard. She hated that she was lying to him. She hadn’t realized how terrible it would feel to keep up the lie that she was her brother.

She wished she could tell him that she was really Merlin’s daughter. That she had come here in Emmett’s place, and that no one else could know. But it was unfair to ask Arthur to lie for her. To ruin all of the ways in which he trusted her. It had been bad enough to ask Master Ambrosius to keep her secret, even though he’d been doing so all along. And the old wizard was just her teacher. Arthur was more than that. He was—he was—

The door slammed open, the unexpected noise making them both jump. Gawain strolled in, taking no notice of them.

He sauntered toward the French language section, hands in the pockets of his absurd brocade jacket, whistling a tune under his breath.

“Do you mind?” Arthur asked his cousin, annoyed.

“Oh, sorry.” The whistling stopped. “Didn’t realize I was doing it.”

He ran a hand over the spines of a couple novels, pulling one from the shelf and reading the title aloud.

“This any good?” he asked.

“I’m not a librarian,” Arthur said tightly.

Emry quietly had a coughing fit.

Gawain studied Arthur, eyes narrowing.

“You’ve read it, though,” he announced. “I can tell. And you hated it.”

The whistling started up again, and Gawain put the book back on the shelf.

“You’ll like the one with the green spine,” Arthur said with a sigh. “Fourth shelf. It has pirates.”

“Merci beaucoup, cousin,” said Gawain, tucking the book under his arm. He traipsed to the door and then stopped short, as though knowing how desperate they both were for him to leave. “Did you know you’re wearing an empty scabbard?”

“It’s a—er—fashion statement,” Arthur said stiffly.

CHAPTER 22

What do you know about Anwen?” Emry asked Master Ambrosius, wiping the sweat from her brow.

The old wizard had her working on magical elixirs, which she didn’t know how anyone had the patience to brew. She’d been boiling mineral water for the past hour, and had collected only the barest amount of magnesium salts.

Master Ambrosius arched an eyebrow. “Does this have anything to do with elixirs?”

“No,” Emry admitted.