“It takes more blood, here,” Emry said, bringing her palm to the altar. Mentally, she traced the Greek letters that she’d spoken back on Avalon to open the doorway. “And that’s it.”

“But you didn’t say any words. You didn’t cast a spell,” Morgana scolded.

“There isn’t a spell,” Emry lied. “It’s like Excalibur. It works for those it chooses.”

Please work, Emry thought. Please don’t make me say it aloud.

“You’re hiding something from me,” Morgana accused.

For an awful moment, nothing happened. Then the stone beneath her palm pressed back, and the cave began to tremble. Emry gasped as magic flowed out of her, flooding into the stone. It wasn’t like before, on Avalon. It was a hundred times worse. The pain was excruciating as it shot through her.

It felt as though the stone was drinking her blood. Not her blood, she realized. Her magic. And by extension, her very soul.

The stone sucked greedily at her power, taking too much too fast, and Emry screamed. For an instant, everything went dark. Then her vision returned, thick and slow, and she bit back another scream, tasting blood.

The air between the standing stones shimmered and lit with a faint glow.

“It’s working,” Morgana said breathlessly.

All around them, the stones trembled. Emry had the strangest sensation that she had come untethered from the world, and was now tethered to the stone. She felt stuck. Trapped. Spots danced at the corner of her vision again, and when she looked down, she saw far too much blood on the altar.

She felt like she was going to pass out. And she was terrified what might happen if she did.

“I can’t—” Emry cried, trying to pull away.

But the greedy stone wouldn’t let her.

“κλείσε την πόρτα!” she gasped, trying to close the doorway, not caring that she’d spoken the spell aloud.

But it didn’t work.

Why hadn’t it worked?

And then Emry saw the third symbol Morgana had drawn, at the farthest edge of the altar. The one she’d been hiding, after she learned that Emry knew their meaning.

δεσμεύω.

To bind.

Morgana had bound her to the stones, with no intention of ever letting her go.

CHAPTER 46

Arthur arrived just in time to see Emry collapse to her knees. She was pale, her right hand pressed against a strange stone that was wet with her blood. Her shoulders trembled, and she looked so drained, and so defeated, that his chest tightened with pain at the sight of her.

She didn’t glance at him, just gritted her teeth in agony, her head bowed.

She’s alive, he told himself. That’s what matters.

Arthur tore his gaze away from Emry, taking in the ancient stone arch that shimmered with magic, and the familiar figure dressed elegantly in black.