Gathering of Shadows (A Darker Shade of Magic)

by V. E. Schwab

  And unable to rule, for lack of magic. He more than made up for it with his military prowess and keen eye for order, but Kell knew the fact made Rhy uneasy.

  “Welcome, Lord Sol-in-Ar,” said King Maxim.

  The Faroan regent nodded, but did not smile. “Your city shines,” he said simply. His accent was heavy and smooth, like a river stone. He flicked his hand, and two attendants carried forward a pair of potted saplings, their bark an inky black. The same trees that marked the Faroan royal seal, just as the bird was the symbol of Vesk. Kell had heard of the Faroan birch, rare trees said to have medicinal—even magical—properties.

  “A gift,” he said smoothly. “So that good things may grow.”

  The king and queen bowed their heads in thanks, and Lord Sol-in-Ar’s gaze swept across the dais, passing Rhy and landing for only a moment on Kell before he bowed and stepped back. With that, the king and queen descended their thrones, taking up glasses of sparkling wine as they did. The rest of the room moved to echo the motion, and Kell sighed.

  Standing there on display was painful enough.

  Now came the truly unfortunate task of socializing.

  Rhy was clearly steeling himself against the princess, who had apparently spent their last encounter trying to steal kisses and weave flowers in his hair. But Rhy’s worrying turned out to be for nothing—she had her sights set on other prey. Kings, swore Kell in his head, gripping his wine flute as she approached.

  “Prince Kell,” she said, flashing a childlike grin. He didn’t bother to point out that she should address him as Master, not Prince. “You will dance with me, at the evening balls.”

  He wasn’t sure if her Arnesian was simply limited, or if she meant to be so direct. But Rhy shot him a look that said he’d spent months preparing for this tournament, that it was a display of politics and diplomacy, that they would all be making sacrifices, and that he’d rather stab himself than let Kell put the empire’s peace in jeopardy by denying the princess a dance.

  Kell managed a smile, and bowed. “Of course, Your Highness,” he answered, adding in Veskan, “Gradaich an’ach.”

  It is my pleasure.

  Her smile magnified as she bobbed away to one of her attendants.

  Rhy leaned over. “Looks like I’m not the one who needs protecting after all. You know …” He sipped his wine. “It would be an interesting match….”

  Kell kept his smile fixed. “I will stab you with this pin.”

  “You would suffer.”

  “It would be worth—” He was cut off by the approach of Lord Sol-in-Ar.

  “Prince Rhy,” said the regent, nodding his head. Rhy straightened, and then bowed deeply.

  “Lord Sol-in-Ar,” he said. “Hasanal rasnavoras ahas.”

  Your presence honors our kingdom.

  The regent’s eyes widened in pleased surprise. “Amun shahar,” he said before shifting back to Arnesian. “Your Faroan is excellent.”

  The prince blushed. He had always had an ear for languages. Kell knew a fair amount of Faroan, too, thanks to Rhy preferring to have someone to practice on, but he said nothing.

  “You make the effort to learn our tongue,” said Rhy. “It is only respectful to reciprocate.” And then, with a disarming smile, he added, “Besides, I’ve always found the Faroan language to be beautiful.”

  Sol-in-Ar nodded, his gaze shifting toward Kell.

  “And you,” said the regent. “You must be the Arnesian Antari.”

  Kell bowed his head, but when he looked up, Sol-in-Ar was still examining him, head to toe, as if the mark of his magic were drawn not only in his eye, but across every inch of his being. When at last his attention settled on Kell’s face, he frowned faintly, the drop of metal on his forehead glinting.

  “Namunast,” he murmured. Fascinating.

  The moment Sol-in-Ar was gone, Kell finished his wine in a single gulp, and then retreated through the open doors of the Rose Hall before anyone could stop him.

  He’d had more than enough royals for one day.

  V

  The river was turning red.

  When the Night Spire first hit the mouth of the Isle, Lila could make out only the slightest tint to the water, and that only visible at night. Now, with the city fast approaching, the water glowed like a ruby lit from within, the red light visible even at midday. It was like a beacon, leading them into London.

  At first, she’d thought the river’s light was steady, even, but she noticed now—after months of training herself to see and feel and think about magic as a living thing—that it pulsed beneath the surface, like lightning behind layers of clouds.

  She leaned on the rail and turned the shard of pale stone between her fingers. She’d only had it since facing the Dane twins in White London, but the edges were starting to wear smooth. She willed her hands to still, but there was too much nervous energy, and nowhere for it to go.

  “We’ll be there by dusk,” said Alucard beside her. Lila’s pulse fluttered. “If there’s anything you want to tell me about your departure from the city, now’s the time. Well, actually, any time over the last four months would have been the time, now is really up against a wall, but—”

  “Don’t start,” she grumbled, tucking the stone shard back into her pocket.

  “We all have demons, Bard. But if yours are waiting there—”

  “My demons are all dead.”

  “Then I envy you.” Silence fell between them. “You’re still mad at me.”

  She straightened. “You tried to seduce me, for information.”

  “You can’t hold that against me forever.”

  “It was last night.”

  “Well I was running out of options, and I figured it was worth a shot.”

  Lila rolled her eyes. “You really know how to make a girl feel special.”

  “I thought I was in trouble precisely for making you feel special.”

  Lila huffed, blowing the hair out of her eyes. She returned to watching the river, and was surprised when Alucard stayed, leaning his elbows on the rail beside her.

  “Are you excited to go back?” she asked.

  “I quite like London,” he said. Lila waited for him to go on, but he didn’t. Instead, he began to rub his wrists.

  “You do that,” said Lila, nodding at his hands, “whenever you’re thinking.”

  He stopped. “Good thing I don’t make a habit of deep thought.” Elbows still resting on the rail, he turned his hands palm up, the cuffs of his tunic riding up so Lila could see the marks across his wrists. The first time she’d noticed them, she thought they were only shadows, but up close she realized they were scars.

  He folded his arms in and drew a flask from inside his coat. It was made of glass, the pale-pink liquid sloshing inside. Alucard had never seemed all that fond of sobriety, but the closer they got to the city, the more he drank.

  “I’ll be sober again by the time we dock,” he said, reading her look. His free hand drifted toward his wrist again.

  “It’s a tell,” she said. “Your wrists. That’s why I brought it up. People should always know their tells.”

  “And what is yours, Bard?” he asked, offering her the flask.

  Lila took it but didn’t drink. Instead she cocked her head. “You tell me.”

  Alucard twisted toward her and squinted, as if he could see the answer in the air around her. His blue eyes widened in mock revelation. “You tuck your hair behind your ear,” he said. “But only on the right side. Whenever you’re nervous. I’m guessing it’s to keep yourself from fidgeting.”

  Lila gave him a grudging smile. “You got the gesture, but missed the motive.”

  “Enlighten me.”

  “People have a tendency to hide behind their features when they’re nervous,” she said. “I tuck my hair behind my ear to show my opponent—mark, adversary, what have you—that I’m not hiding. I look them in the eyes, and I let them look me in the eyes.”

  Alucard raised a brow at that. “Well,
eye.”

  The flask shattered in Lila’s hand. She hissed, first in shock, and then in pain as the liquor burned her palm. She dropped the flask and it fell in pieces to the deck.

  “What did you say?” she whispered.

  Alucard ignored the question. He tutted and flicked his wrist, the broken shards rising into the air above his fingers. Lila brought her bloody palm to her chest, but Alucard held out his other hand.

  “Let me,” he said, taking her wrist and turning it over gently to expose the shallow cuts. Glass glittered in her palm, but as his lips moved, the flecks and fragments rose to join the larger pieces in the air. With a twitch of his fingers, he brushed the shards away, and they fell soundless over the side of the boat.

  “Alucard,” she growled. “What did you say?”

  Her hand was still resting upturned in his. “Your tell,” he said, inspecting the cuts. “It’s slight. You try to pass it off by cocking your head, steadying your gaze, but you’re really doing it to make up for the gap in sight.” He drew a black swatch of fabric from his sleeve, and began to wrap her hand. She let him. “And the hair,” he added, tying the makeshift bandage in a knot. “You only tuck it behind your ear on the right side, to mislead people.” He let go of her hand. “It’s so subtle, I doubt many notice.”

  “You did,” she muttered.

  Alucard reached out, tipped her chin up with his knuckle, and looked her in the eyes. Eye.

  “I’m extraordinarily perceptive,” he said.

  Lila clenched her fists, focusing on the pain that blossomed there.

  “You’re an incredible thief, Lila,” he said, “especially con—”

  “Don’t you dare say considering,” she snapped, pulling out of his grip. He respected her enough not to look away. “I am an incredible thief, Alucard. This,” she said, gesturing to her eye, “is not a weakness. It hasn’t been for a very long time. And even if it were, I more than make up for it.”

  Alucard smiled. A small, genuine smile. “We all have scars,” he said, and before she could stop herself, she glanced at his wrists. “Yes,” he said, catching the look, “even charming captains.” He pushed up his cuffs again, revealing smooth, tan skin interrupted only by the silvered bands around both wrists. They were strangely uniform. In fact, they almost looked like—

  “Manacles,” he confirmed.

  Lila frowned. “From what?”

  Alucard shrugged. “A bad day.” He took a step away, and leaned back against a stack of crates. “Do you know what Arnesians do to the pirates they catch?” he asked casually. “The ones who try to escape?”

  Lila crossed her arms. “I thought you said you weren’t a pirate.”

  “I’m not.” He waved his hand. “Not anymore. But youth makes fools of us all. Let’s just say I was in the wrong place at the wrong time on the wrong side.”

  “What do they do …?” asked Lila, curious despite herself.

  Alucard’s gaze drifted toward the river. “The jailers use an efficient system of dissuasion. They keep all the prisoners in manacles, put them on before even hearing your plea. They’re heavy things, fused together at the wrist, but not so bad, as irons go. But if you make too much of a fuss, or put up a fight, then they simply heat the metal up. Not too much. The first time it’s really just a warning. But if it’s your second or third offense, or if you’re foolish enough to try to escape, it’s much worse.” Alucard’s eyes had somehow gone sharp and empty at the same time, as if he were focusing, just on something else, something far away. His voice had a strangely even quality as he spoke. “It’s a simple enough method. They take a metal bar from the fires, and touch it to the iron cuff until it gets hot. The worse the offense, the longer they hold the rod to the cuffs. Most of the time they stop when you start screaming, or when they see the skin begin to burn….”

  In Lila’s mind, she saw Alucard Emery, not in his polished captain’s coat, but bruised and beaten, his brown hair plastered to his face with sweat, hands bound as he tried to pull back from the heated iron. Tried to charm his way out of the mess. But it obviously hadn’t worked, and she imagined the sound of him begging, the smell of charred flesh, the scream….

  “The trouble is,” Alucard was saying, “that metal heats much faster than it cools, so the punishment doesn’t end when they take away the rod.”

  Lila felt ill. “I’m sorry,” she said, even though she hated those words, hated the pity that went with them.

  “I’m not,” he said, simply. “Every good captain needs his scars. Keeps the men in line.”

  He said it so casually, but she could see the strains of memory on his face. She had the strangest urge to reach out and touch his wrist, as if heat might still be rising from the skin.

  Instead she asked, “Why did you become a pirate?”

  He shot her that coy smile. “Well, it seemed like the best of several bad ideas.”

  “But it didn’t work.”

  “How perceptive.”

  “Then how did you escape?”

  The sapphire winked above his eye. “Who says I did?”

  Just then, the call went through the crew.

  “London!”

  Lila twisted, and saw the city rising like a fire in the fading light.

  Her heart raced, and Alucard stood up straight, the tunic sleeves sliding down over his wrists.

  “Well then,” he said, his rakish smile back in place. “It seems we have arrived.”

  VI

  The Night Spire docked at dusk.

  Lila helped tie off the lines and settle the ramps, her attention straying to the dozens of elegant ships that filled the Isle’s banks. The Red London berths were a tangle of energy and people, chaos and magic, laughter and twilight. Despite the February chill, the city radiated warmth. In the distance, the royal palace rose like a second sun over the settling dark.

  “Welcome back,” said Alucard, brushing his shoulder against hers as he hauled a chest onto the dock. She started when she saw Esa sitting on top, purple eyes wide, tail flicking.

  “Shouldn’t she stay on the boat?” The cat’s ear twitched, and Lila felt that whatever pleasant inclinations the cat was forming toward her, she’d just lost them.

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” said Alucard. “The ship’s no place for a cat.” Lila was about to point out that the cat had been aboard the ship as long as she had when he added, “I believe in keeping my valuables with me.”

  Lila perked up. Were cats so precious here? Or rare? She hadn’t ever seen another one, but in the little time she was ashore, she hadn’t exactly been looking. “Oh yeah?”

  “I don’t like that look,” Alucard said, twisting chest and cat away.

  “What look?” asked Lila innocently.

  “The look that says Esa might conveniently go missing if I tell you what she’s worth.” Lila snorted. “But if you must know, she’s only priceless because I keep my heart inside her, so no one can steal it.” He smiled when he said it, but Esa didn’t even blink.

  “Is that so?”

  “In truth,” he said, setting the chest onto a cart, “she was a gift.”

  “From who?” asked Lila before she could catch herself.

  Alucard smirked. “Oh, are you suddenly ready to share? Shall we begin trading questions and answers?”

  Lila rolled her eyes and went to help the men haul more chests ashore. A couple of hands would stay with the Spire, while the rest took up at an inn. The cart loaded, Alucard presented his papers to a guard in gleaming armor, and Lila let her gaze wander over the other ships. Some were intricate, others simple, but all were, in their way, impressive.

  And then, two boats down, she saw a figure descend from an Arnesian rig. A woman. And not the kind Lila knew to frequent ships. She was dressed in trousers and a collarless coat, a sword slung on a belt at her waist.

  The woman began to make her way down the dock toward the Spire, and there was something animal about the way she moved. Prowled. She was taller than Lila, ta
ller than Alucard for that matter, with features as pointed as a fox’s and a mane—there was no better word for it—of wild auburn hair, large chunks not braided exactly but twisted around themselves so she looked half lion and half snake. Perhaps Lila should have felt threatened, but she was too busy being awestruck.

  “Now there’s a captain not to cross,” Alucard whispered in her ear.

  “Alucard Emery,” said the woman when she reached them. Her voice had a slight sea rasp, and her Arnesian was full of edges. “Haven’t seen you on London land in quite a while. Here for the tournament, I assume.”

  “You know me, Jasta. Can’t turn down the chance to make a fool of myself.”

  She chuckled, a sound like rusted bells. “Some things never change.”

  He flashed a mock frown. “Does that mean you won’t be betting on me?”

  “I’ll see if I can spare a few coins,” she said. And with that, Jasta continued on, weapons chiming like coins.

  Alucard leaned on Lila. “Word of advice, Bard. Never challenge that one to a drinking contest. Or a sword fight. Or anything you might lose. Because you will.”

  But Lila was barely listening. She couldn’t tear her gaze from Jasta as the woman stalked away down the docks, a handful of wolfish men falling in step behind her.

  “I’ve never seen a female captain.”

  “Not many in Ames proper, but it’s a big world,” said Alucard. “It’s more common where she’s from.”

  “And where’s that?”

  “Jasta? She’s from Sonal. Eastern side of the empire. Up against the Veskan edge, which is why she looks …”

  “Larger than life.”

  “Exactly. And don’t you go looking for a new rig. If you’d pulled the stunt you did to get onto her ship, she would have cut your throat and dumped you overboard.”

  Lila smiled. “Sounds like my kind of captain.”

  * * *

  “Here we are,” said Alucard when they reached the inn.

  The name of the place was Is Vesnara Shast, which translated to The Wandering Road. What Lila didn’t know, not until she saw Lenos’s unease, was that the Arnesian word for road—shast—was the same as the word for soul. She found the alternate name a bit unsettling, and the inn’s atmosphere did nothing to ease the feeling.