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.

“I’ve been having nightmares about it, too,” Arthur said quietly. “Probably will, for a while. Something like that, you don’t get over it in a day.”

Emry bit her lip. “I don’t know how to go back to the way things were,” she admitted.

“I’m not sure we’re supposed to,” said Arthur. “It feels like everything is changing, whether we like it or not.”

He was right. Things did feel different. Even the air carried with it a cool, crisp promise of fall. Of change.

“We don’t know for sure what happened to Morgana,” Emry pointed out. “Or my father.” She couldn’t explain it, but she felt as though he was still alive.

“And then there’s Yurien,” Arthur said grimly. “With an army at his disposal, and an enchantment that makes him unkillable.”

“We’ll fix it,” Emry promised. “We’ll prevent a war, and unite the kingdoms.”

“We can certainly try,” said Arthur, bending down to examine a spray of wild foxglove that had sprung up next to the tavern’s steps.

He reached into his jacket for a small scrap of linen, and pinched off a flower, carefully wrapping the blossom inside.