“I was just thinking the same thing!” said Guinevere.

“Really? It looks the same to me,” said Arthur.

Lance raised an eyebrow, and Emry watched a silent communication pass between the two of them. Emry had told Emmett everything, of course. And she’d assumed Arthur had done the same for Lance.

But apparently not, as Lance had barely escaped his squire’s duties in time to join them. He still smelled of steel and the stables. Lance finished dealing their round, and Percival went first, grimacing at his luck to draw the low card.

As the game progressed, Emry glared down at her cards, positive Emmett was cheating. She just couldn’t figure out how.

Arthur, across the table, chewed his lip, looking equally distressed.

Lance, meanwhile, tossed another coin into the center of the mess.

“Can I bid yet?” Guinevere asked eagerly.

“It’s bet,” Emmett told her, with surprising patience. “And no, Perce goes next.”

“She can have my turn. I’d rather spend my coin than lose it.” Percival threw down his cards, sauntering off to the bar for a refill. Emry watched how Lance’s eyes followed after him, and how, when Perce returned to the table, he’d bought another round of ale for everyone.

Emry accepted the drink with a smile, though she had barely touched her first.

Her magic still felt wrong. Twisted. Like a blade that had been honed and sharpened so much that it would never quite balance the same. She worried what might happen if she lost control.

Emmett tossed a queen onto the pile and leaned back in his chair with a smirk.

“You promised not to cheat,” Lance accused, “but that’s the fifth queen in this round.”

“I’m sure if you check the deck, you’ll only find four,” Emmett said innocently. He shrugged and added, “You have to admit, it’s more interesting when the cards change.”

Emry glared at her brother. “Change them back,” she threatened. “Now.”

“Okay, okay,” he muttered. “ρέστα.”

She flinched, forgetting that he would use Greek. The sound of it threw her, and suddenly she was back in the crypt, losing herself in the torrent of magic.

“Emry, it’s your turn,” prompted Arthur.

“Sorry,” she said. She stared at her hand of cards, trying to think. When she glanced up, she caught Arthur watching her with concern.

“Sorry,” she apologized again, laying her cards on the table. “I need some air.”

“I’ll join you,” Arthur said, pushing to his feet.

They fell into step as they walked into the courtyard. Arthur said nothing for a long while, just remained silently at her side, staring out at the block of empty marble, and beyond, to the cathedral that really did look a little unbalanced. It had rained earlier, and the scent of damp earth filled the air, reminding Emry of being underground.

She breathed deeply, closing her eyes. Reminding herself where she was. Trying to quiet the magic that roiled within her.