Oathbound (Legendborn, #3)

by Tracy Deonn

I have lived beneath your violence; I have seen what you seek to hide, not just here but everywhere. And in my time away from this court, I have seen and felt your truths more clearly than ever.” “What truths?” “Your supremacy,” Nick says, brows tight. “Your misogyny. Your racism. Your cowardice.” Aldrich snarls. “Scion Davis—” “I only state out loud that which you enact in plain sight. That which we can all see, if we can stand to bear witness.” Nick seethes. “Will you punish me for doing so? Your chosen son?” The Regents are silent. “Briana Matthews cannot be the only voice that speaks against you.” Nick’s face turns derisive. A bright fury, rising beneath his skin. “Not when she bears our burdens for us and goes so unprotected. Not when you erase her humanity to guard your own power and protect your own whiteness.” Aldrich and Gabriel both sputter, while Cestra’s face turns red. The High Regent shoots to his feet. “Scion Davis—!” “I’m not done!” Nick roars back. “And I wasn’t just talking to you.” Nick turns to the room, to the other Scions and Squires, to the Lieges up above. “We have to know these sins. We have to name them. Not only in Bree’s presence”—at this, Nick looks at the Southern Chapter, at me—“but in her absence, too.”

Over the centuries, the Order has applied a layer of what I might call religious moral values to the progressive stages of an imbalanced cambion’s “demonic” development. This externally applied ideology has made Merlin’s descendants mutual participants in their own Oathings—and in their own eventual incarceration. We may progress in a way that the Order does not deem suitable, and certainly we may progress in a way that could harm the human beings around us if we are not properly supported, but what if we cast this progression as a naturally occurring development rather than a “succumbing”? What if “succumbing” is the language of those who most benefit from our ignorance about our own natures? I posit that even the term “demonic” is value neutral. I do not believe an overabundance of desires, impulses, and hungers is inherently immoral, but I do believe those drives do not fit the Order’s grand design.

Mariah deeply mm-hmms into her mug again, and I glare at her. “Your contributions aren’t helping.” “I’m just offering affirmations, that’s all,” Mariah says, pushing her glasses up against her mask. “Besides, your love life remains unmatchedly messy. First it’s the Golden Boy, then it’s Grumpy Wizard, and now it’s back to the Golden Boy, but instead of a normal, happy reunion, you’re accidentally brawling in the basement? Girl.” She tuts as she puts her mug down. “Messy.” “You know what? Forget the other stuff,” Zoe declares. “Now I’m mad you had all this drama and kept it from me.” “I didn’t know I had all this drama!” I hiss across the table. “Can we stick to the most pressing issue, like how we’re going to handle being”—I look around, lowering my voice—“trapped in this house? And these security ‘communions’ Mikael talked about? And maybe skip over my situation?” “Her whole situation is confusing,” Zoe says, shaking her head at Mariah. “I’m gonna need, like, a flowchart or something.”

We follow his gaze to see Mariah standing on the balcony with her arms outstretched and eyes filled with root, fingertips lit with glowing light. Her brows are knit with the effort, but she’s holding the warlocks in her grip—all of them. Whatever body part they’ve transformed with undead demon power seemingly pulling them to the ground while the rest of their human bodies struggle to get away. She groans and curves her fingers downward, and the warlocks’ bodies hit the floor all at once. She flattens her palms, pressing, and a chorus of groans and growls tells us that she’s holding them in place wherever they’ve fallen.

4th level turn the undead