A Darker Shade of Magic

by Victoria Schwab

  Kell twisted under his touch. He had to fight. He’d come so far. He couldn’t give up now.

  “It’s too late,” said Vitari. “I already have your heart.” At that, his fingertips pressed down, and Kell gasped as Vitari’s hand passed into his chest. He felt Vitari’s fingers close around his beating heart, felt it lurch, darkness spilling across his tattered shirtfront like blood.

  “It’s over, Kell,” said the magic. “You’re mine.”

  * * *

  Kell’s body shuddered on the ground. Lila took his face in her hands. It was burning up. The veins on his throat and at his temple had darkened to black, and the strain showed in the lines of his jaw, but he wasn’t moving, wouldn’t open his eyes.

  “Fight this!” she shouted as his body spasmed. “You’ve come all this way. You can’t just give up.”

  His back arched against the ground, and Lila pushed open Kell’s shirt and saw black spreading over his heart.

  “Dammit,” she swore, trying to pry the stone out of his hand. It wouldn’t budge.

  “If you die,” she snapped, “what happens to Rhy?”

  Kell’s back hit the ground, and he let out a labored breath.

  Lila had recovered her weapons, and now she freed her knife, weighing it in her palm. She didn’t want to have to kill him. But she could. And she didn’t want to cut off his hand, but she certainly would.

  A groan escaped between his lips.

  “Don’t you fucking give up, Kell. Do you hear me?”

  * * *

  Kell’s heart stuttered, skipping a beat.

  “I asked so nicely,” said Vitari, his hand still buried in Kell’s chest. “I gave you the chance to give in. You made me use force.”

  Heat spread through Kell’s limbs, leaving a strange cold in its wake. He heard Lila’s voice. Far away and stretched so thin, the words, an echo of an echo, barely reached him. But he heard a name. Rhy.

  If he died, so would Rhy. He couldn’t stop fighting.

  “I’m not going to kill you, Kell. Not exactly.”

  Kell squeezed his eyes shut, darkness folding over him.

  “Isn’t there a word for this?” Lila’s voice echoed through his head. “What is it? Come on, Kell. Say the blasted word.”

  Kell forced himself to focus. Of course. Lila was right. There was a word. Vitari was pure magic. And all magic was bound by rules. By order. Vitari was a creation, but everything that could be created could also be destroyed. Dispelled.

  “As Anasae,” said Kell. He felt a glimmer of power. But nothing happened.

  Vitari’s free hand closed around his throat.

  “Did you really think that would work?” sneered the magic in Kell’s shape, but there was something in his voice and in the way he tensed. Fear. It could work. It would work. It had to.

  But Antari magic was a verbal pact. He’d never been able to summon it with thought alone, and here, in his head, everything was thought. Kell had to say the word. He focused, reaching with his fading senses until he could feel his body, not as it was here in this illusion, this mental plane, but as it was in truth, stretched on the bitterly cold ground of the broken courtyard, Lila crouching over it. Over him. He clung to that chill, focusing on the way it pressed into his back. He struggled to feel his fingers, wrapped around the stone so hard that they ached. He focused on his mouth, clenched shut in pain, and forced it to unlock. Forced his lips to part.

  To form the words. “As An—”

  His heart faltered as Vitari’s fingers tightened around it.

  “No,” growled the magic, the fear bold now, twisting his impatience into anger. And Kell understood his fear. Vitari wasn’t simply a spell. He was the source of all the stone’s power. Dispelling him would dispel the talisman itself. It would all be over.

  Kell fought to hold on to his body. To himself. He forced air into his lungs and out his mouth.

  “As Anas—” he managed before Vitari’s hand shifted from heart to lungs, crushing the air out of them.

  “You can’t,” said the magic desperately. “I am the only thing keeping your brother alive.”

  Kell hesitated. He didn’t know if that was true, if the bond he’d made with his brother could be broken. But he did know that Rhy would never forgive him for what he’d done, and it wouldn’t even matter unless they both made it through.

  Kell summoned the last of his strength and focused not on Vitari trying to crush his life, or on the darkness sweeping through him, but on Lila’s voice and the cold ground and his aching fingers and his bloody lips as they formed the words.

  “As Anasae.”

  VI

  Across Red London, the bodies fell.

  Men and women who’d been kissed or taken, wooed or forced, those who had let the magic in and those who had had it thrust upon them, all of them fell as the black flame inside them gutted and went out. Dispelled.

  Everywhere, the magic left a trail of bodies.

  In the streets, they staggered and collapsed. Some crumbled to ash, all burned up, and some were reduced to husks, empty inside, and a lucky few crumpled, gasping and weak but still alive.

  In the palace, the magic dressed as Gen had just reached the royal chambers, his blackening hand on the door, when the darkness died and took him with it.

  And in the sanctuary, far from the castle walls, on a bare cot in a candlelit room, the prince of Red London shivered and fell still.

  XIV

  THE FINAL DOOR

  I

  Kell opened his eyes and saw stars.

  They floated high above the castle walls, nothing but pricks of pale white light in the distance.

  The stone slipped from his fingers, hitting the ground with a dull clink. There was nothing to it now, no hum, no urge, no promise. It was just a piece of rock.

  Lila was saying something, and for once she didn’t sound angry, not as angry as usual, but he couldn’t hear her over the pounding of his heart as he brought one shaking hand to the collar of his shirt. He didn’t really want to see. Didn’t want to know. But he tugged his collar down anyway and looked at the skin over his heart, the place where the seal had bonded Rhy’s life to his own.

  The black tracery of the magic was gone.

  But the scar of it wasn’t. The seal itself was still intact. Which meant it hadn’t only been tethered to Vitari. It had been tethered to him.

  Kell let out a small sobbing sound of relief.

  And finally, the world around him came back into focus. The cold stone of the courtyard and Athos’s corpse and the shards of Astrid, and Lila, with her arms flung around his shoulders for an instant—and only an instant, gone before he could appreciate their presence.

  “Miss me?” whispered Kell, his throat raw.

  “Sure,” she said, her eyes red. She toed the talisman with her boot. “Is it dead?” she asked.

  Kell picked up the stone, feeling nothing but its weight.

  “You can’t kill magic,” said Kell, getting slowly to his feet. “Only dispel it. But it’s gone.”

  Lila chewed her lip. “Do you still have to send it back?”

  Kell considered the hollow rock and nodded slowly. “To be safe,” he said. But maybe, now that he was finally free of its grip, he didn’t have to be the one to go with it. Kell scanned the courtyard until he saw Holland’s body. In the fight the Antari had fallen from the stone bench, and now lay stretched on the ground, his blood-soaked cloak the only sign that Holland wasn’t merely sleeping.

  Kell got to his feet, every inch of him protesting, and went to Holland’s side. He knelt and took one of the Antari’s hands in his. Holland’s skin was going cold, the pulse at his wrist weak, and getting weaker, his heart dragging itself through the final beats. But he was still alive.

  It’s really quite hard to kill Antari, he had once said. It appeared he was right.

  Kell felt Lila hovering behind him. He didn’t know if this would work, if one Antari could command for another, but he pressed his
fingers to the wound at Holland’s chest and drew a single line on the ground beside his body. And then he touched the hollow stone to the blood and set it on the line, bringing Holland’s hand to rest on top of it.

  “Peace,” he said softly, a parting word for a broken man. And then he pressed his hand on top of Holland’s and said, “As Travars.”

  The ground beneath the Antari gave way, bending into shadow. Kell pulled back as the darkness, and whatever lay beyond, swallowed Holland’s body and the stone, leaving only blood-streaked ground behind.

  Kell stared at the stained earth, unwilling to believe that it had actually worked. That he had been spared. That he was alive. That he could go home.

  He swayed on his feet, and Lila caught him.

  “Stay with me,” she said.

  Kell nodded, dizzy. The stone had masked the pain, but in its absence, his vision blurred with it. Rhy’s wounds layered on top of his own, and when he tried to bite back a groan, he tasted blood.

  “We have to go,” said Kell. Now that the city was absent a ruler—or two—the fighting would start again. Someone would claw their bloody way to the throne. They always did.

  “Let’s get you home,” said Lila. Relief poured over him in a wave before the hard reality caught up.

  “Lila,” he said, stiffening. “I don’t know if I can take you with me.” The stone had guaranteed her passage through the worlds, made a door for her where none should be. Without it, the chances of the world allowing her through …

  Lila seemed to understand. She looked around and wrapped her arms around herself. She was bruised and bleeding. How long would she last here alone? Then again, it was Lila. She’d probably survive anything.

  “Well,” she said. “We can try.”

  Kell swallowed.

  “What’s the worst that could happen?” she added as they made their way to the courtyard wall. “I get pulled into a hundred little pieces between worlds?” She said it with a wry smile, but he could see the fear in her eyes. “I’m prepared to stay. But I want to try and leave.”

  “If it doesn’t work—”

  “Then I’ll find my way,” said Lila.

  Kell nodded and led her to the courtyard wall. He made a mark on the pale stones and dug the Red London coin from his pocket. And then he pulled Lila close, wrapped his broken body around hers, and tipped his forehead against hers.

  “Hey, Lila,” he said softly into the space between them.

  “Yeah?”

  He pressed his mouth to hers for one brief moment, the warmth there and then gone. She frowned up at him, but did not pull away.

  “What was that for?” she asked.

  “For luck,” he said. “Not that you need it.”

  And then he pressed his hand against the wall and thought of home.

  II

  Red London took shape around Kell, heavy with night. It smelled of earth and fire, of blooming flowers and spiced tea, and underneath it all, of home. Kell had never been so happy to be back. But his heart sank when he realized that his arms were empty.

  Lila wasn’t with him.

  She hadn’t made it back.

  Kell swallowed and looked down at the token in his bloody hand. And then he threw it as hard as he could. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, trying to steady himself.

  And then he heard a voice. Her voice.

  “Never thought I’d be so happy to smell the flowers.”

  Kell blinked and spun to see Lila standing there. Alive, and in one piece.

  “It’s not possible,” he said.

  The edge of her mouth quirked up. “It’s nice to see you, too.”

  Kell threw his arms around her. And for a second, only a second, she didn’t pull away, didn’t threaten to stab him. For a second, and only a second, she hugged him back.

  “What are you?” he asked, amazed.

  Lila only shrugged. “Stubborn.”

  They stood there a moment, leaning on each other, one keeping the other on their feet, though neither was sure which needed more supporting. Both knew only that they were happy to be here, to be alive.

  And then he heard the sounds of boots and swords, and saw the flares of light.

  “I think we’re being attacked,” whispered Lila into the collar of his coat.

  Kell lifted his head from her shoulder to see a dozen members of the guard surrounding them, blades drawn. Through their helmets, their eyes looked at him with fear and rage. He could feel Lila tense against him, feel her itching to reach for a pistol or a knife.

  “Don’t fight,” he whispered as he slid his arms slowly from her back. He took her hand and turned toward his family’s men. “We surrender.”

  * * *

  The guards forced Kell and Lila to their knees before the king and queen, and held them there despite Lila’s muttered oaths. Their wrists were bound in metal behind them, the way Kell’s had been earlier that night in Rhy’s chambers. Had it really been only hours? They weighed on Kell like years.

  “Leave us,” ordered King Maxim.

  “Sir,” protested one of the royal guard, shooting a glance at Kell. “It is not safe to—”

  “I said get out,” he boomed.

  The guard withdrew, leaving only Kell and Lila on their knees in the emptied ballroom, the king and queen looming over them. King Maxim’s eyes were feverish, his skin blotching with anger. At his side, Queen Emira looked deathly pale.

  “What have you done?” demanded the king.

  Kell cringed, but he told them the truth. Of Astrid’s possession charm, and the Dane twins’ plan, but also of the stone, and of the way he came by it (and of its preceding habit). He told them of its discovery, and of trying to return it to the only place it would be safe. And the king and queen listened, less with disbelief than with horror, the king growing redder and the queen growing paler with every explanation.

  “The stone is gone now,” finished Kell. “And the magic with it.”

  The king slammed his fist against a banister. “The Danes will pay for what they’ve—”

  “The Danes are dead,” said Kell. “I killed them myself.”

  Lila cleared her throat.

  Kell rolled his eyes. “With Lila’s help.”

  The king seemed to notice Lila for the first time. “Who are you? What madness have you added to these plots?”

  “My name is Delilah Bard,” she shot back. “We met, just earlier this evening. When I was trying to save your city, and you were standing there, all blank-eyed under some kind of spell.”

  “Lila,” snapped Kell in horror.

  “I’m half the reason your city is still standing.”

  “Our city?” questioned the queen. “You’re not from here, then?”

  Kell tensed. Lila opened her mouth, but before she could answer, he said, “No. She’s from afar.”

  The king’s brow furrowed. “How far afar?”

  And before Kell could answer, Lila threw her shoulders back. “My ship docked a few days ago,” she announced. “I came to London because I heard that your son’s festivities were not to be missed, and because I had business with a merchant named Calla in the market on the river. Kell and I have crossed paths once or twice before, and when it was clear that he needed help, I gave it.” Kell stared at Lila. She gave him a single raised a brow and added, “He promised me a reward, of course.”

  The king and queen stared at Lila, too, as if trying to decide which piece of her story sounded least plausible (it was either the fact that she owned a ship, or the fact that a foreigner spoke such flawless English), but at last the queen’s composure faltered.

  “Where is our son?” she pleaded. The way she said it, as if they had only one, made Kell flinch.

  “Is Rhy alive?” demanded the king.

  “Thanks to Kell,” cut in Lila. “We’ve spent the last day trying to save your kingdom, and you don’t even—”

  “He’s alive,” said Kell, cutting her off. “And he will live,” he added,
holding the king’s gaze. “As long as I do.” There was a faint challenge in the line.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Sir,” said Kell, breaking the gaze. “I did only what I had to do. If I could have given him my life, I would have. Instead, I could only share it.” He twisted in his bonds, the edge of the scar visible under his collar. The queen drew in a breath. The king’s face darkened.

  “Where is he, Kell?” asked the king, his voice softening.

  Kell’s shoulders loosened, the weight sliding from them. “Release us,” he said. “And I will bring him home.”

  III

  “Come in.”

  Kell had never been so glad to hear his brother’s voice. He opened the door and stepped into Rhy’s room, trying not to picture the way it had been when he last left it, the prince’s blood streaked across the floor.

  It had been three days since that night, and all signs of the chaos had since been erased. The balcony had been repaired, the blood polished out of the inlaid wood, the furniture and fabrics made new.

  Now Rhy lay propped up in his bed. There were circles under his eyes, but he looked more bored than ill, and that was progress. The healers had fixed him up as best they could (they’d fixed Kell and Lila, too), but the prince wasn’t mending as quickly as he should have been. Kell knew why, of course. Rhy hadn’t simply been wounded, as they had been told. He’d been dead.

  Two attendants stood at a table nearby, and a guard sat in a chair beside the door, and all three watched Kell as he entered. Part of Rhy’s dark mood came from the fact that the guard was neither Parrish nor Gen. Both had been found dead—one by sword, and the other by the black fever, as it was quickly named, that had raged through the city—a fact that troubled Rhy as much as his own condition.

  The attendants and the guard watched Kell with new caution as he approached the prince’s bed.

  “They will not let me up, the bastards,” grumbled Rhy, glaring at them. “If I cannot leave,” he said to them, “then be so kind as to leave yourselves.” The weight of loss and guilt, paired with the nuisance of injury and confinement, had put Rhy in a foul humor. “By all means,” he added as his servants rose, “stand guard outside. Make me feel like more of a prisoner than I already do.”