by V. E. Schwab
And then, as suddenly as the girl had launched herself forward, she pulled away, affecting the mock frown Lila had seen on Alucard’s own mouth so many times.
“Where is Esa?” demanded the girl, and Lila tensed, not at the question itself, but the fact she’d asked it in English. No one spoke that tongue in Red London, not unless they were trying to impress the royalty. Or they were royalty.
Alucard chuckled. “Of course,” he said, crossing the threshold. “Three years away from home, and your first question is about the cat….” They disappeared inside, and Lila found herself staring at the front door as it closed.
Alucard Emery, captain of the Night Spire, tournament magician, and … Red London royal? Did anyone know? Did everyone know? Lila knew she should be surprised, but she wasn’t. She’d known from the moment she met Alucard aboard the Night Spire that he was playing a part; it was just a matter of uncovering the man behind it. Now she knew the truth, and the truth gave her a card to play. And when it came to men like Alucard Emery, any advantage was worth taking.
A decorative wall circled the house, and Lila managed to hoist herself up with the help of a low branch. Perched on top, she could see through the great glass windows, many of which were unshuttered. Her silhouette blended into the tracery of trees at her back as she skirted the house, following the glimpses of Alucard and his sister as they made their way into a grand room with tall windows and a blazing hearth, and a pair of glass doors on the far wall leading to an expansive garden. She dropped into a crouch atop the wall as a man came into view. He had Alucard’s coloring, and his jaw was the same square cut, but it looked hard without Alucard’s smile. The man looked older by several years.
“Berras,” said Alucard by way of greeting. The windows were cracked open, and the word reached Lila through the parted glass.
The man, Berras, strode forward, and for an instant it looked as though he might strike Alucard, but before he could, the girl lunged in front of her brother like a shield—there was something terribly practiced about the gesture, as if she’d done it many times before—and Berras stilled his hand in midair. On one of his fingers Lila saw a duplicate of Alucard’s feather ring before his hand fell back to his side.
“Go, Anisa,” he ordered.
The girl hesitated, but Alucard gave her a gentle smile and a nod, and she backed out of the room. The moment they were alone, Berras snapped.
“Where is Kobis?”
“I pushed him overboard,” said Alucard. Disgust spilled across the man’s face, and Alucard rolled his eyes. “Saints, Berras, it was a joke. Your moody little spy is safely housed at an inn with the rest of my crew.”
Berras sneered faintly at the mention of the Spire’s men.
“That look does nothing for you, Brother,” said the captain. “And the Night Spire sails for the crown. To insult my post is to insult House Maresh, and we wouldn’t want to do that.”
“Why are you here?” growled Berras, taking up a goblet. But before he could drink, Alucard flicked his wrist and the wine abandoned its cup, rising in a ribbon, coiling in on itself as it did. Between one instant and the next, it had hardened into a block of ruby-colored ice.
Alucard plucked the crystal from the air and considered it absently. “I’m in town for the tournament. I only came to make sure my family was well. How foolish of me to think I’d find a welcome.” He tossed the frozen cube into the hearth, and turned to go.
Berras didn’t speak, not until Alucard was at the garden doors.
“I would have let you rot in that jail.”
A small, bitter smile touched the edge of Alucard’s mouth. “Good thing it wasn’t up to you.”
With that, he stormed out. Lila straightened atop the wall, and rounded the perimeter to find Alucard standing on a broad balcony overlooking the grounds. Beyond the wall she could make out the arc of the palace, the diffused glow of the river.
Alucard’s face was a mask of icy calm, bordering on disinterest, but his fingers gripped the balcony’s edge, knuckles white.
Lila didn’t make a sound, and yet Alucard sighed and said, “It isn’t polite to spy.”
Dammit. She’d forgotten about his gift for seeing the magic in people. It would make a handy skill for a thief, and Lila wondered, not for the first time, if there was a way to steal talents the way one did trinkets.
She stepped off the low wall onto the edge of the patio rail before dropping soundlessly to the terrace beside him.
“Captain,” she said, half greeting and half apology.
“Still simply looking after your interests?” he asked. But he didn’t sound angry.
“You’re not upset,” she observed.
Alucard raised a brow, and she found herself missing the familiar wink of blue. “I suppose not. Besides, my excursions were fairly innocuous compared to yours.”
“You followed me?” snapped Lila.
Alucard chuckled. “You hardly have a right to sound affronted.”
Lila shook her head, silently grateful she hadn’t decided to march into the palace and surprise Kell. Truth be told, she still hadn’t decided when she would see him. If she would see him. But when—and if—she did, she certainly didn’t want Alucard there spying on them. Kell was somebody here, a royal, a saint, even if she could only think of him as the silly smuggler who frowned too much and nearly got them both killed.
“What are you grinning about?”
“Nothing,” said Lila, leveling her expression. “So … Luc, huh?”
“It’s a nickname. Surely they have those, wherever you’re from. And for the record, I prefer Alucard. Or Captain Emery.”
“Does the crew know?”
“Know what?”
“That you’re …” She gestured to the estate, searching for the word.
“It’s hardly a secret, Bard. Most Arnesians have heard of the House of Emery.”
He gave her a look that said, Odd, isn’t it, that you haven’t.
“Haven’t you heard them calling me vestra?”
Lila had. “I just assumed it was a slur. Like pilse.”
Alucard laughed soundlessly. “Maybe it is, to them. It means royal.”
“Like a prince?”
He gave a humorless laugh. “What a disappointment I must be to you. I know you wanted a pirate. You should have conned your way aboard a different ship. But don’t worry. There are many doors between my person and the throne. And I have no desire to see them opened.”
Lila chewed her lip. “But if everyone knows, then why sneak about like a thief?”
His gaze drifted back to the garden wall. “Because there are other people in this city, Bard. Some I don’t care to see. And some I’d rather not see me.”
“What’s this?” she teased. “The great Alucard Emery has enemies?”
“Comes with the trade, I fear.”
“It’s hard to imagine you meeting someone you couldn’t charm.”
His eyes narrowed. “You say that like it’s not a compliment.”
“Perhaps it’s not.”
An uncomfortable silence began to settle.
“Nice house,” said Lila.
It was the wrong thing to have said. His expression hardened. “I hope you’ll forgive me for not inviting you in and introducing you to my esteemed family. It might be tricky to explain the sudden presence of a girl in a man’s suit with the ability to speak the royal tongue but not the grace to use the front door.”
Lila bit back a reply. She felt dismissed, but as she stepped up onto the balcony’s edge, Alucard said, “Wait,” and there was something in his voice that she barely recognized, because she’d never heard it from him before. Sincerity. She twisted back, and she saw him haloed by the light from the room behind, framed by the doorway. He was little more than a silhouette, a simplified portrait of a nobleman.
A picture of what someone should be, not what they were.
Then Alucard stepped forward, away from the light and into the shadows with h
er. This version of him looked real. Looked right. And Lila understood—when he said Wait, what he meant was, Wait for me.
“I suppose we should both be getting back,” he added, aiming for indifference but falling short.
“Shouldn’t you say good-bye?”
“I’ve never been a fan of farewells. Or hellos, for that matter. Unnecessary punctuation. Besides, they’ll see me again.”
Lila looked back at the house. “Won’t Anisa be upset?”
“Oh, I imagine so. I’m afraid I’m accustomed to her disappointment.”
“But what about—”
“No more questions, Lila,” he said. “I’m tired.”
The last protests cooled to ash on her tongue as Alucard stepped up onto the banister beside her, and then, in a single, effortless stride, onto the low wall.
It was narrow, but he moved with sure-footed ease atop it. He didn’t even look down to check his steps.
“I grew up here,” he said, reading her surprise. “If there’s a way in or out, I’ve tried it.”
They slipped along the garden wall and down into the courtyard, hugging the shadows until they were safely beyond the gate.
Alucard set off down the street without looking back, but Lila cast a glance at the grand estate.
The truth was, Lila understood why Alucard did it. Why he traded safety and boredom for adventure. She didn’t know what it felt like to be safe, and she’d never had the luxury of being bored, but it was like she’d once told Kell. People either stole to stay alive or to feel alive. She had to imagine that they ran away for the same reasons.
Lila jogged to catch up, and fell in step beside the captain, the street quiet save for the sounds of their boots. She cheated a sideways glance, but Alucard’s gaze was straight ahead, and far away.
She used to hate people like him, people who gave up something good, shucked warm meals and solid roofs as if they didn’t matter.
But then Barron died and Lila realized that in a way she’d done the same thing. Run away from what could have been a good life. Or at least a happy one. Because it wasn’t enough to be happy, not for Lila. She wanted more. Wanted an adventure. She used to think that if she stole enough, the want would fade, the hunger would go away, but maybe it wasn’t that simple. Maybe it wasn’t a matter of what she didn’t have, of what she wasn’t, but what she was. Maybe she wasn’t the kind of person who stole to stay alive. Maybe she just did it for the thrill. And that scared her, because it meant she didn’t need to do it, couldn’t justify it, could have stayed at the Stone’s Throw, could have saved Barron’s life…. It was a slippery slope, that kind of thinking, one that ended in a cliff, so Lila backed away.
She was who she was.
And Alucard Emery?
Well, he was a man with secrets of his own.
And she couldn’t fault him that.
III
Kell ducked and dodged, moving like shadow and light across the Basin.
He relished his burning muscles, his pounding heart; he’d slept poorly and woken worse, his thoughts still churning around the news of Lila’s return. It made sense, didn’t it? If she’d taken up with an Arnesian crew, most of them had docked back in London for the tournament.
Only two days until the Essen Tasch.
A blade swung high, and Kell lunged back out of its reach.
Two days, and still no sign of her. Some small, irrational part had been convinced that he’d be able to feel her return, be tuned to it the way he’d been to the Stone’s Throw, and the Setting Sun, and the Scorched Bone. The fixed points in the worlds. Then again, maybe he was tuned to her. Maybe she was the small, invisible force that had drawn him out into the city in the first place.
But he’d missed her, and with the city so overrun, how was he supposed to find her again?
Just follow the knives, said a voice in his head. And the bodies they’re lodged in.
He smiled to himself. And then, with a small pang, he wondered how long she’d been in London. And why she hadn’t come to see him sooner. Their paths had only crossed for a few days, but he and Rhy and Tieren, they were the only people she knew in this world, or at least, the only people she’d known four months ago. Perhaps she’d gone off and made a wealth of friends—but he doubted it.
The next blow nearly found skin, and Kell jerked away just in time.
Focus, he chided himself. Breathe.
The silver mask was perfectly contoured to his face, shielding everything but air and sight. He’d put it on, wanting to get used to its size and weight, and quickly found himself relishing the difference, slipping into the comfort of anonymity, persona. So long as he wore the mask, Kell wasn’t Kell.
He was Kamerov.
What would Lila think about that? Lila, Lila, he’d even considered using blood magic to find her—he still had her kerchief—but stopped himself before he drew the knife. He’d gone months without stooping so low. Besides, he wasn’t some pup, chasing after a master or a bone. Let her come to him. But why hadn’t she come to—
Metal flashed, too close, and he swore and rolled, regaining his feet.
He’d traded a dozen enemies for only one, but unlike the dummies he’d trained against, this one was very much alive. Hastra shifted back and forth, in full armor, trying to avoid Kell’s blows. The young guard had been surprisingly willing to run around the Basin armed with only a small shield and a dull blade while Kell honed his agility and practiced turning elements into weapons.
The armor … he thought, wind whipping around him, is designed to crack … He leaped, pushed off a wall, slammed a gust of air into Hastra’s back…. when struck. Hastra stumbled forward and spun to face him. The first to ten hits … He continued reciting the rules as water swirled around his hand wins the match … The water split, circling both hands…. unless one of the competitors … Both streams shot forward, freezing before they hit…. is unable to continue … Hastra could only block one shard, and the second caught him in the armored thigh and shattered into drops of ice…. or admits defeat.
Kell broke into a smile behind his mask, and when the breathless guard pulled off his helmet, he was grinning, too. Kell tugged off his silver mask, his damp hair standing on end.
“Is this what you’ve been doing down here all these weeks, Master Kell?” asked Hastra breathlessly. “Practicing for the tournament?”
Kell hesitated, and then said, “I suppose.” After all, he had been training; he simply hadn’t known what he was training for.
“Well it’s paying off, sir,” said the guard. “You make it look easy.”
Kell laughed. The truth was, his whole body ached, and even while his blood sang for a fight, his power felt thin. Drained. He’d grown too used to the efficiency of blood magic, but elements took more will to wield. The fatigue from using blood spells hit him all at once, but this kind of fighting wore him down. Perhaps he’d actually get a sound night’s sleep before the tournament.
Hastra crossed the training room gingerly, as if treading on hallowed ground, and stood by the Basin’s archway, considering the equipment table with its bowl of water, its containers of earth and sand and oil.
“Do you have an element?” asked Kell, slicking back his hair.
Hastra’s smile softened. “Little of this, little of that, sir.”
Kell frowned. “What do you mean?”
“Parents wanted me to be a priest,” said the young guard, scratching his head. “But I thought that didn’t sound like nearly as much fun. Spend all day meditating in that musty stone structure—”
“You can balance?” cut in Kell, amazed. Priests were chosen not for their strength in one element, but for their tempered ability to manage all, not as Kell did, with sheer power, but with the evenness needed to nurture life. Balancing the elements was a sacred skill. Even Kell struggled with balance; just as a strong wind could uproot a sapling, an Antari’s power held too much force for the subtle arts. He could impact things already grown, but life was fra
gile at the start, and required a gentle touch.
The young guard shrugged, and then brightened a little. “You want to see?” he asked, almost bashful.
Kell looked around “Right now?”
Hastra grinned and dug a hand in his pocket, fetching out a small seed. When Kell raised a brow, the guard chuckled. “You never know when you might need to impress a lady,” he said. “Lots of people puff up their chest and go for the flash and the bang. But I can’t tell you how many nights have started with a seed and ended, well …” Hastra seemed to ramble whenever he got nervous, and Kell apparently made him very nervous. “Then again I doubt you’d have to try as hard to impress them, sir.”
Hastra scanned the elements on the table. In one small bowl was some loose dirt: not the rich soil of the orchards and gardens, but the rocky kind found beneath pavers in the street. It wasn’t the most elegant thing to train with—and when given the choice, Kell would go for rocks over dirt—but it was abundant. Kell watched as Hastra scooped up a palmful of earth, and made a small indent with his finger before dropping in the seed. He then dipped his other hand into the bowl of water, and pressed it down over the dirt, packing the seed and soil between his palms into a ball. Hastra closed his eyes, and his lips began to move. Kell felt a subtle warmth in the air between them, a sensation he knew well from his time with Tieren.
And then, still murmuring, Hastra began to slowly open his hands, the mound of damp earth cupped like an egg between them.
Kell watched, transfixed, as a pale green stem crept up through the moistened earth. The stem grew an inch, then two, twisting up into the air. Leaves began to unfurl, their surface a dark purple, before a white spherical bloom emerged.
Hastra trailed off, looking pleased.
“What is it?” asked Kell.
“Acina,” said the guard. “Its leaves are good for pain.”
“That’s amazing.”
The young guard shrugged. “My mum and dad were not happy when I chose to be a guard instead.”
