A Conjuring of Light

by V. E. Schwab

  “Sanct,” swore Kell.

  “That fucking monster,” growled the prince, now at Lila’s other side, “is playing blocks with my arenas.”

  Lenos hung back, his eyes wide with either horror or awe as he stared at the incredible palace, but Hastra abandoned his place by the door, surging forward to see.

  “By the nameless saints…” he whispered.

  Lila called over her shoulder. “Alucard, come see this.”

  “A little busy,” muttered the captain without looking up. Judging by the crease between his brows, the cipher wasn’t proving quite as simple as he’d hoped. “Blasted numbers, sit still,” he muttered, leaning closer.

  Rhy kept shaking his head. “Why?” he said sadly. “Why did he have to use the arenas?”

  “You know,” said Kell, “that’s really not the most important aspect of this situation.”

  Alucard made a triumphant sound and set the quill aside. “There.”

  Everyone turned back toward the table except for Kell. He stayed by the window, visibly appalled by the shift in focus. “Are we just going to ignore the shadow palace, then?” he asked, sweeping his hand at the specter beyond the glass.

  “Not at all,” said Lila, glancing back. “In fact, shadow palaces are where I draw the line. Which is why I’m keen to find this Inheritor.” She took in the map. Frowned.

  Lenos looked down at the parchment. “Nas teras,” he said softly. I don’t see it.

  The prince cocked his head. “Neither do I.”

  Lila leaned in. “Maybe you should draw an X, for dramatic effect.”

  Alucard blew out an indignant breath. “You’re quite an ungrateful bunch, you know that?” He took up a pencil and, plucking a very expensive-looking book from a shelf, used its spine to draw a line across the map’s surface. Kell finally drifted over as Alucard drew a second, and a third, the lines intersecting at odd angles until they formed a small triangle. “There,” he said, adding a little X with a flourish at the center.

  “I think you’ve made a mistake,” said Kell dryly. The X was, after all, not on the coast, or inland, but in the Arnesian Sea.

  “Hardly,” said Alucard. “Ferase Stras is the largest black market on water.”

  Lila broke into a smile. “It’s not a market, then,” she said. “It’s a ship.”

  Alucard’s eyes were bright. “It’s both. And now,” he added, tapping the paper, “we know where to find it.”

  “I’ll summon my father,” said Rhy as the others pored over the map. According to Alucard’s calculations, the market wasn’t far this time of year, sitting somewhere between Arnes and the northwest edge of Faro.

  “How long to reach it?” asked Kell.

  “Depends on the weather,” said Alucard. “A week, perhaps. Maybe less. Assuming we don’t run into trouble.”

  “What kind of trouble?”

  “Pirates. Storms. Enemy ships.” And then, with a sapphire wink: “It is the sea, after all. Do try to keep up.”

  “We still have a problem,” said Lila, nodding at the window. “Osaron has a hold on the river. His magic is keeping the ships in their berths. Nothing in London is likely to sail, and that includes the Night Spire.”

  She saw Lenos straighten at this, the man’s thin form shifting from foot to foot.

  “Osaron’s strength isn’t infinite,” Kell was saying. “His magic has limits. And right now, his power is still focused largely on the city.”

  “Well, then,” sniped Alucard. “Can’t you magic the Spire out of London?”

  Kell rolled his eyes. “That’s not how my power works.”

  “Well what good are you, then?” muttered the captain.

  Lila watched Lenos duck out of the room. Neither Kell nor Alucard seemed to notice. They were too busy bickering.

  “Fine,” said Alucard, “I’ll need to get beyond Osaron’s sphere, and then find a ship.”

  “You?” said Kell. “I’m not leaving the fate of this city in your hands.”

  “I’m the one who found the Inheritor.”

  “And you’re the one who lost it.”

  “A trade isn’t the same thing as a—”

  “I’m not letting you—”

  Alucard leaned across the desk. “Do you even know how to sail, mas vares?” The honorific was said with serpentine sweetness. “I didn’t think so.”

  “How hard can it be,” snarled Kell, “if they let someone like you do it?”

  A glint of mischief flashed in the captain’s eyes. “I’m rather good with hard things. Just ask—”

  The blow caught Alucard across the cheek.

  Lila hadn’t even seen Kell move, but the captain’s jaw was marked with red.

  It was an insult, she knew, for one magician to strike another with a bare fist.

  As if they weren’t worth the use of power.

  Alucard flashed a feral grin, blood staining his teeth.

  The air hummed with magic and—

  The doors swung open, and they all turned, expecting the king or the prince returning. Instead there was Lenos, holding a woman by the elbow, which made a strange picture, since the woman was twice his weight and didn’t look the type to be easily led. Lila recognized her as the captain who’d greeted them on the docks before the tournament.

  Jasta.

  She had to be half Veskan, broad as she was. Her hair plumed in two massive braids around her face, dark eyes threaded with gold, and despite the winter cold she wore nothing but trousers and a light tunic rolled to the elbows, revealing the silver lines of fresh scars along her skin. She’d survived the fog.

  Alucard and Kell trailed off at the sight of her.

  “Casero Jasta Felis,” said the woman, by way of grudging introduction.

  “Van nes,” said Lenos, nudging the captain forward. Tell them.

  She shot him a look Lila recognized—one she’d doled out a dozen times. A look that said, quite simply, that the next time the sailor laid a hand on her, he’d lose a finger.

  “Kers la?” demanded Kell.

  Jasta crossed her arms, scars flashing in the light. “Some of us are wanting to leave the city.” She spoke the common tongue, and her accent had the rumble of a big cat, dropping letters and slurring syllables so that Lila missed every third word if she wasn’t careful. “I might have mentioned something about a ship, down in the gallery. Your fellow heard me, and now I am here.”

  “The ships in London will not sail,” said the king, appearing behind her, Rhy at his side. He spoke the captain’s tongue like a man who’d mastered Arnesian but did not relish the taste. Jasta took a formal step to the side, bowing her head a fraction. “Anesh,” she said, “but then, my ship is not here. It is docked at Tanek, Your Majesty.”

  Alucard and Lila both straightened at that. Tanek was the mouth of the Isle, the last port before the open sea.

  “Why wouldn’t you sail it into London?” asked Rhy.

  Jasta shot the prince a wary look. “She is a sensitive skiff. Private-like.”

  “A pirate ship,” said Kell, bluntly.

  Jasta flashed a sharp-toothed grin. “Your words, Prince, not mine. My ship, she carries all kinds. Fastest skiff on the open seas. To Vesk and back in nine days flat. But if you are asking, no, she does not sail the red and gold.”

  “Now she does,” said the king pointedly.

  After a moment, the captain nodded. “It is dangerous, but I could lead them to the ship.…” She trailed off.

  For a moment Maxim looked irritated. Then his gaze narrowed and his demeanor cooled. “What is it you want?”

  Jasta gave a short bow. “The favor of the crown, Your Majesty … and a hundred lish.”

  Alucard hissed through his teeth at the sum, and Kell glowered, but the king was evidently not in the mood to negotiate. “Done.”

  The woman raised a brow. “I should have asked for more.”

  “You should have asked for none,” said Kell. The pirate ignored him, dark eyes sweeping the
room. “How many will go?”

  Lila wasn’t about to miss this. She raised her hand.

  So did Alucard and Lenos.

  And so did Kell.

  He did this while holding the king’s gaze, as if daring the monarch to say no. But the king said nothing, and neither did Rhy. The prince only stared at his brother’s raised hand, his face unreadable. Across the room, Alucard folded his arms and scowled at Kell.

  “This can’t possibly go wrong,” he muttered.

  “You could stay behind,” snapped Kell.

  Alucard snorted, Kell seethed, Jasta watched, amused, and Lila poured herself another drink.

  She had a feeling she was going to need it.

  IX

  Rhy heard Kell coming.

  One moment he was alone, staring out at the ghostly mirage of the shadow palace—the strange impostor of his home—and the next he found his brother’s reflection in the glass. Kell’s coat was no longer royal red but black and high-collared, silver buttons running down the front. It was the coat he wore whenever he carried messages to other Londons. A coat meant for traveling. For leaving.

  “You always wanted to travel beyond the city,” said Rhy.

  Kell ducked his head. “This isn’t what I had in mind.”

  Rhy turned toward him. Kell was standing before the mirror, so Rhy could see his own face repeated. He tried—and failed—to force his features smooth, tried—and failed—to keep the sadness from his voice. “We were supposed to go together.”

  “And one day we will,” said Kell, “but right now, I can’t stop Osaron by sitting here, and if there’s a chance that he’s after the Antari instead of the city, if there’s a chance we can draw him away—”

  “I know,” said Rhy, in a way that said Stop. In a way that said I trust you. He slumped into a chair. “I know you thought it was just a line, but I had it all planned out. We could have left after the season’s end, toured the island first, gone from the mist-strewn valleys up to Orten and down through the Stasina forests to the cliffs at Astor, then taken a ship over to the mainland.” He leaned back, let his gaze escape to the ceiling with its folds of color. “Once we landed, we’d have hit Hanas first, then gone by carriage to Linar—I heard the capital there will one day rival London—and the market in Nesto, near the Faroan border, is said to be made of glass. I figured we’d pick up a ship there, stop at the point of Sheran, where the water’s barely a seam between Arnes and Vesk—so narrow you can walk across it—and we’d be back in time for the dawn of summer.”

  “Sounds like quite an adventure,” said Kell.

  “You’re not the only restless soul,” said Rhy, getting to his feet. “I suppose it’s time now?”

  Kell nodded. “But I brought you something.” He dug a hand into his pocket and came up with two gold pins, each emblazoned with the chalice and rising sun of the House Maresh. The same pins they’d worn during the tournament—Rhy with pride, and Kell under duress. The same pin Rhy had used to carve a word into his arm, its twin the one Kell had used to bring Rhy and Alucard back from the Night Spire.

  “I’ve done my best to spell the two together,” explained his brother. “The bond should hold, no matter the distance.”

  “I thought my way was rather clever,” said Rhy, rubbing his forearm, where he’d carved the word into his skin.

  “This one requires far less blood.” Kell came forward, and fastened the pin over his brother’s heart. “If something worrisome happens, and you need me to come back, simply take hold of the pin and say ‘tol.’”

  Tol.

  Brother.

  Rhy managed a rueful smile. “And what if I get lonely?”

  Kell rolled his eyes, pinning the second pendant to the front of his coat.

  Rhy’s chest tightened.

  Don’t go, he wanted to say, even though that wasn’t fair, wasn’t right, wasn’t princely. He swallowed. “If you don’t come back, I’ll have to save the day without you and steal all the glory for myself.”

  A short laugh, a ghost of a smile, but then Kell brought a hand to Rhy’s shoulder. It was so light. So heavy. He could feel the tether tighten, the shadows lap at his heels, the darkness whisper through his head.

  “Listen to me,” said his brother. “Promise me you won’t go after Osaron. Not until we’re back.”

  Rhy frowned. “You can’t expect me to hide in the palace until it’s over.”

  “I don’t,” said Kell. “But I expect you to be smart. And I expect you to trust me when I say I have a plan.”

  “It would help if you shared it.”

  Kell chewed his lip. A dreadful habit. Hardly princely. “Osaron can’t see us coming,” he said. “If we go storming in, demanding a fight, he’ll know we’ve got a card to play. But if we come to save one of ours—”

  “I’m to be a lure?” said Rhy, pretending to be aghast.

  “What?” teased Kell. “You’ve always liked people fighting for you.”

  “Actually,” said the prince, “I prefer people fighting over me.”

  Kell’s grip tightened on his sleeve, and the humor died on the air. “Four days, Rhy. We’ll make it back in that. And then you can get yourself into trouble, and—”

  Behind them someone cleared their throat.

  Kell’s eyes narrowed. His hand fell from Rhy’s arm.

  Alucard Emery was waiting in the doorway, his hair pinned back, a blue traveling cloak fastened around his shoulders. Rhy’s body ached at the sight of him. Standing there, Alucard didn’t look like a nobleman, or a triad magician, or even the captain of a ship. He looked like a stranger, like someone who could slip into a crowd, and disappear. Is this what he looked like that night? wondered Rhy. When he snuck out of my bed, out of the palace, out of the city?

  Alucard stepped forward into the room, those thin silver scars dancing in the light.

  “Are the horses ready?” asked Kell coolly.

  “Almost,” answered the captain, plucking at his gloves.

  A brief silence fell as Kell waited for Alucard to leave, and while Alucard did not.

  “I was hoping,” the captain said at last, “to have a word with the prince.”

  “We need to go,” said Kell.

  “I won’t be long.”

  “We don’t—”

  “Kell,” said Rhy, giving his brother a short, gentle nudge toward the door. “Go on. I’ll be here when you get back.”

  Kell’s arms were a sudden circle around Rhy’s shoulders, and then, just as quickly, they were gone, and Rhy was left dizzy from their weight, and then the loss of it. A flutter of black fabric, and the door was swinging shut behind Kell. A strange, irrational panic rose in Rhy’s throat, and he had to fight the urge to call his brother back or run after him. He held his ground.

  Alucard was watching the place where Kell had been as if the Antari had left his shadow behind. Some visible trace now lingering between them.

  “I always hated how close you two were,” he murmured. “Now I suppose I should be thankful for it.”

  Rhy swallowed, dragging his gaze from the door. “I suppose I should be, too.” His attention fell on the captain. For all their time together in the last few days, they’d hardly spoken. There was Alucard’s delirium aboard the ship, and the flickering memories of Alucard’s hand, his voice a tether in the dark. The Essen Tasch had been a flurry of witty quips and stolen looks, but the last time they’d been together in this room, alone in this room, Rhy’s back had been up against the mirror, the captain’s lips against his throat. And before that … before that …

  “Rhy—”

  “Leaving?” he cut in, straining to keep the words light. “At least this time you came to say good-bye.”

  Alucard winced at the jab, but didn’t retreat. Instead, he closed the gap between them, Rhy fighting back a shiver as the captain’s fingers found his skin. “You were with me, in the dark.”

  “I was returning a favor.” Rhy held his gaze. “I believe we’re even now.
”

  Alucard’s eyes were searching his face, and Rhy felt himself flush, his body singing with the urge to pull Alucard’s mouth to his, to let the world beyond this room disappear.

  “You’d better go,” he said breathlessly.

  But Alucard didn’t pull away. A shadow had crossed the captain’s face, something like sadness in his eyes. “You haven’t asked me.”

  The words sank like a stone in Rhy’s chest, and he staggered under the weight. A too-heavy reminder of what had happened three summers ago. Of going to bed in Alucard’s arms, and waking up alone. Alucard gone from the palace, from the city, from his life.

  “What?” he said, his voice cool, but his face burning. “You want me to ask you why you left? Why you chose the open sea over my bed? A criminal’s brand over my touch? I didn’t ask you, Alucard, because I don’t want to hear them.”

  “Hear what?” asked Alucard, cupping Rhy’s cheek.

  He knocked the hand away. “The excuses.” Alucard drew breath to speak, but Rhy cut him off. “I know what I was to you—a piece of fruit to be picked, a summer fling.”

  “You were more than that. You are—”

  “It was only a season.”

  “That’s not—”

  “Stop,” said Rhy with all the quiet force of a royal. “Just. Stop. I’ve never cared for liars, Luc, and I care even less for fools, so don’t make me feel like more of one. You caught me off guard on the Banner Night. What happened between us, happened…” Rhy tried to steady his breathing, then sliced a hand through the air dismissively. “But now it’s done.”

  Alucard caught Rhy’s wrist, head bowed to hide those storm blue eyes as he said, under his breath, “What if I don’t want it to be done?”

  The words landed like a blow, the air leaving his lungs in a jagged exhale. Something burned through him, and it took Rhy a moment to realize what it was. Anger.

  “What right have you,” he said softly, imperiously, “to want anything of me?”

  His hand splayed across Alucard’s chest, a touch once warm, now full of force as he pushed Alucard away. The captain caught himself and looked up, startled, but made no motion to advance. Alucard was standing on the wrong side of the line. He might have been a noble, but Rhy was a prince, untouchable unless he wanted to be touched, and he’d just made it clear that he didn’t.