by V. E. Schwab
“You know him?”
Rhy shrugged. “Our paths have crossed.”
“Stop,” said Kell. “Please. I don’t want to hear about your romantic interludes with the man currently posing as me.”
“Don’t be obscene. I haven’t been with him since he agreed to take up this particular role. And that right there is a testament to my respect for you.”
“How flattering.”
Rhy caught the man’s eye, and a few moments later, having toured the room, the false Kamerov Loste—well, Kell supposed they were both false, but the copy of the copy—ascended the stairs to the gallery.
“Prince Rhy,” said the man, bowing with a little more flourish than Kell would have used. “And Master Kell,” he added reverently.
“Master Loste,” said Rhy cheerfully.
The man’s eyes, both grey, drifted to Kell. Up close, he saw that they were the same height and build. Rhy had been thorough.
“I wish you luck in the coming days,” said Kell.
The man’s smile deepened. “It is an honor to fight for Ames.”
“A bit over the top, isn’t he?” asked Kell as the impostor returned to the floor.
“Oh, don’t be bitter,” said Rhy. “The important thing is that Kamerov has a face. Specifically a face that isn’t yours.”
“He doesn’t have the coat.”
“No, unfortunately for us, you can’t pull coats out of that coat of yours, and I figured you’d be unwilling to part with it.”
“You’d be right.” Kell was just turning away when he saw the shadow moving across the floor, a figure dressed in black with the edge of a smirk and a demon’s mask. It almost looked like the one he’d seen on Lila the night of Rhy’s masquerade. The night Astrid had taken Kell prisoner, taken Rhy’s body for her own. Lila had appeared like a specter on the balcony, dressed in black and wearing a horned mask. She’d worn it then, and later, as they fled with Rhy’s dying body between them, and in the sanctuary room as Kell fought to resurrect him. She’d worn it in her hair as they stood in the stone forest at the steps of the White London castle, and it had hung from her bloody fingers when it was over.
“Who is that?” he asked.
Rhy followed his gaze. “Someone who clearly shares your taste for monochrome. Beyond that …” Rhy tugged a folded paper from his pocket, and skimmed the roster. “It’s not Brost, he’s huge. I’ve met Jinnar. Must be Stasion.”
Kell squinted, but the resemblance was already fading. The hair was too short, too dark, the mask different, the smile replaced by hard lines. Kell shook his head.
“I know it’s mad, but for a second I thought it was …”
“Saints, you’re seeing her in everyone and everything now, Kell? There’s a word for that.”
“Hallucination?”
“Infatuation.”
Kell snorted. “I’m not infatuated,” he said. “I just …” He just wanted to see her. “Our paths crossed one time. Months ago. It happens.”
“Oh yes, your relationship with Miss Bard is positively ordinary.”
“Be quiet.”
“Crossing worlds, killing royals, saving cities. The marks of every good courtship.”
“We weren’t courting,” snapped Kell. “In case you forgot, she left.”
He didn’t mean to sound wounded. It wasn’t that she left him, it was simply that she left. And he couldn’t follow, even if he’d wanted to. And now she was back.
Rhy straightened. “When this is over, we should take a trip.”
Kell rolled his eyes. “Not this again.”
And then he saw Master Tieren’s white robes moving through the hall below. All night—all week, all month—the Aven Essen had been avoiding him.
“Hold this,” he said, passing the prince his drink.
Before Rhy could argue, Kell was gone.
* * *
Lila slipped out before the crowd could thin, the demon mask hanging from one hand and her chosen pennant from the other. Two silver knives crossed against a ground of black. She was in the foyer when she heard the sound of steps behind her. Not crisp boots on marble, but soft, well-worn shoes.
“Delilah Bard,” said a calm, familiar voice.
She stopped mid-stride, then turned. The head priest of the London Sanctuary stood, holding a silver goblet in both hands, his fingers laced. His white robes were trimmed with gold, his silver-white hair groomed but simple around his sharp blue eyes.
“Master Tieren,” she said, smiling even as her heart pounded in warning. “Is the Aven Essen supposed to drink?”
“I don’t see why not,” he said. “The key to all things, be they magical or alcoholic, is moderation.” He considered the glass. “Besides, this is water.”
“Ah,” said Lila, cheating a step back, the mask behind her back. She wasn’t entirely sure what to do. Normally her two options upon being cornered were turn and run or fight, but neither seemed appropriate when it came to Master Tieren. Some small part of her thrilled at being recognized, and she honestly couldn’t imagine drawing a knife on Kell’s mentor.
“That’s quite an outfit you’re wearing,” observed the Aven Essen, advancing. “If you wanted an audience with Prince Rhy and Master Kell, I’m sure you could simply have called for one. Was a disguise really necessary?” And then, reading her expression, “But this disguise wasn’t simply a way into the palace, was it?”
“Actually, I’m here as a competitor.”
“No, you’re not,” he said simply.
Lila bristled. “How would you know?”
“Because I selected them myself.”
Lila shrugged. “One of them must have dropped out.”
He gave her a long, appraising look.
Was he reading her thoughts? Could he? That was the hardest part of being plunged into a world where magic was possible. It made you wonder if everything was. Lila was neither a skeptic nor a believer; she relied on her gut and the world she could see. But the world she could see had gotten considerably stranger.
“Miss Bard, what trouble have you gotten into now?” Before she could answer, he went on, “But that isn’t the right question, is it? Judging by your appearance, the right question would be, where is Master Elsor?”
Lila cracked a smile. “He’s alive and well,” she said. “Well, he’s alive. Or at least he was, the last time I checked.” The priest let out a short exhale. “He’s fine, Master Tieren. But he won’t be able to make the Essen Tasch, so I’ll be filling in.”
There was another brief sigh, heavy with disapproval.
“You’re the one who encouraged me,” challenged Lila.
“I told you to tend your waking power, not cheat your way into an international tournament.”
“You told me that I had magic in me. Now you don’t think I have what it takes?”
“I don’t know what you have, Lila. And neither do you. And while I’m glad to hear that your stay in our world has so far been fruitful, what you need is time and practice and a good deal of discipline.”
“Have a little faith, Master Tieren. Some people believe that necessity is the key to flourishing.”
“Those people are fools. And you have a dangerous disregard for your own life, and the lives of others.”
“So I’ve been told.” She cheated another step back. She was in the doorway now. “Are you going to try to stop me?”
He shot her a hard blue look. “Could I?”
“You could try. Arrest me. Expose me. We can make a show of it. But I don’t think that’s what you want. The real Stasion Elsor is on his way to Delonar, and won’t be back in time to compete. Besides, this tournament, it’s important, isn’t it?” She drew a finger down the doorframe. “For diplomatic relations. There are people here from Vesk and Faro. What do you think they’d do if they knew where I really came from? What would that say about the doors between worlds? What would that say about me? It gets messy rather fast, doesn’t it, Master Tieren? But more than that, I th
ink you’re curious to see what a Grey London girl can do.”
Tieren fixed her with his gaze. “Has anyone ever told you that you’re too sharp for your own good?”
“Too sharp. Too loud. Too reckless. I’ve heard it all. It’s a wonder I’m still alive.”
“Indeed.”
Lila’s hand fell from the door. “Don’t tell Kell.”
“Oh, trust me, child, that’s the last thing I’ll do. When you get caught, I plan on feigning ignorance about all of this.” He lowered his voice, and added, mostly to himself, “This tournament will be the death of me.” And then he cleared his throat. “Does he know you’re here?”
Lila bit her lip. “Not yet.”
“Do you plan to tell him?”
Lila looked to the Rose Hall beyond the priest. She did, didn’t she? So what was stopping her? The uncertainty? So long as she knew and he didn’t, she was in control. The moment he found out, the balance would shift. Besides, if Kell found out she was competing—if he found out what she’d done to compete—she’d never see the inside of an arena. Hell, she’d probably never see anything again but the inside of a cell, and even if she wasn’t arrested, she’d certainly never hear the end of it.
She stepped out onto the landing, Tieren in her wake.
“How are they?” she asked, looking out at the city.
“The princes? They seem well enough. And yet …” Tieren sounded genuinely concerned.
“What is it?” she prompted.
“Things have not been the same since the Black Night. Prince Rhy is himself, and yet he isn’t. He takes to the streets less often, and garners more trouble when he does.”
“And Kell?”
Tieren hesitated. “Some think him responsible for the shadow that crossed our city.”
“That’s not fair,” snapped Lila. “We saved the city.”
Tieren gave a shrug as if to say, such is the nature of fear and doubt. They breed too easily. Kell and Rhy had seemed happy on that balcony, but she could see it, the fraying edges of the disguise. The darkness just beyond.
“You better go,” said the Aven Essen. “Tomorrow will be … well, it will be something.”
“Will you cheer for me?” she asked, forcing herself to keep her voice light.
“I’ll pray you don’t get yourself killed.”
Lila smirked and started down the steps. She was halfway to the street when she heard someone say, “Wait.”
But it wasn’t Tieren. The voice was younger, one she hadn’t heard in four months. Sharp and low, with a touch of strain, as if he were out of breath, or holding back.
Kell.
She hesitated on the stairs, head bowed, fingers aching where they gripped the helmet. She was about to turn around, but he spoke again, calling a name. It wasn’t hers.
“Tieren,” said Kell. “Please wait.”
Lila swallowed, her back to the head priest and the black-eyed prince.
It took all of her strength to start walking again.
And when she did, she didn’t look back.
* * *
“What is it, Master Kell?” asked Tieren.
Kell felt the words dry up in his throat. Finally, he managed a single petulant sentence. “You’ve been avoiding me.”
The old man’s eyes glittered, but he didn’t deny the claim. “I have many talents, Kell,” he said, “but believe it or not, deception has never been among them. I suspect it’s why I’ve never won a game of Sanct….”
Kell raised a brow. He couldn’t picture the Aven Essen playing in the first place. “I wanted to thank you. For letting Rhy, and for letting me—”
“I haven’t let you do anything,” cut in Tieren. Kell cringed. “I simply haven’t stopped you, because if I’ve learned one thing about you both, it’s that if you want to do a thing, you’ll do it, the world be damned.”
“You think I’m being selfish.”
“No, Master Kell.” The priest rubbed his eyes. “I think you’re being human.”
Kell didn’t know if that was a slight coming from the Aven Essen, who was supposed to think him blessed.
“I sometimes think I’ve gone mad.”
Tieren sighed. “Truth be told, I think everyone is mad. I think Rhy is mad for putting this scheme together, madder still for planning it so well.” His voice fell a measure. “I think the king and queen are mad for blaming one son above the other.”
Kell swallowed. “Will they never forgive me?”
“Which would you rather have? Their forgiveness, or Rhy’s life?”
“I shouldn’t have to choose,” he snapped.
Tieren’s gaze drifted away to the steps and the Isle and the glittering city. “The world is neither fair nor right, but it has a way of balancing itself. Magic teaches us that much. But I want you to promise me something.”
“What?”
That shrewd blue gaze swiveled back. “That you’ll be careful.”
“I’ll do my best. You know I don’t wish to cause Rhy pain, but—”
“I’m not asking you to mind Rhy’s life, you stupid boy. I’m asking you to mind your own.” Master Tieren brought his hand to Kell’s face, a familiar calm transferring like heat.
Just then, Rhy appeared, looking cheerfully drunk. “There you are!” he called, wrapping his arm around Kell’s shoulders and hissing in his ear. “Hide. Princess Cora is hunting princes….”
Kell let Rhy drag him back inside, casting one last glance at Tieren, who stood on the steps, his back to the palace and his eyes on the night.
IV
“What are we doing here?”
“Hiding.”
“Surely we could have hidden in the palace.”
“Really, Kell. You’ve no imagination.”
“Is it going to sink?”
The bottle sloshed in Rhy’s hand. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
“I think it’s a valid question,” retorted Kell.
“They told me it couldn’t be done,” Rhy said, toasting the arena.
“Couldn’t, or shouldn’t?” asked Kell, treading on the stadium floor as if it were made of glass. “Because if it’s the latter—”
“You’re such a nag—ow.” Rhy stubbed his foot on something, a dull pain echoing through Kell’s toes.
“Here,” he grumbled, summoning a palmful of fire.
“No.” Rhy lunged at him, forcing his hand closed and dousing the light. “We are sneaking. Sneaking is meant to be done in the dark.”
“Well then, watch where you’re going.”
Rhy must have decided they’d gone far enough, because he slumped onto the polished stone floor of the arena. In the moonlight, Kell could see his brother’s eyes, the circlet of gold in his hair, the bottle of spiced wine as he pulled out the stopper.
Kell lowered himself to the ground beside the prince and rested against a something—a platform, a wall, a set of stairs? He tipped his head back and marveled at the stadium, what little he could see—the stands soon to be filled, the ruse soon to play out, and the idea that the whole thing could actually work.
“Are you sure about this?” asked Kell.
“A little late to change our minds,” mused the prince.
“I’m serious, Rhy. There’s still time.”
The prince took a sip of wine and set the bottle down between them, clearly considering his answer. “Do you remember what I told you?” he asked gently. “After that night. About why I took the pendant from Holland.”
Kell nodded. “You wanted strength.”
“I still want it,” Rhy whispered. “Every day. I wake up wanting to be a stronger person. A better prince. A worthy king. That want, it’s like a fire in my chest. And then, there are these moments, these horrible, icy moments when I remember what I did …” His hand drifted to his heart. “To myself. To you. To my kingdom. And it hurts….” His voice trembled. “More than dying ever did. There are days when I don’t feel like I deserve this.” He tapped the soul seal. “I deserve t
o be …” He trailed off, but Kell could feel his brother’s pain, as though it were a physical thing.
“I guess what I’m trying to say,” said Rhy, “is that I need this, too.” His eyes finally found Kell’s. “Okay?”
Kell swallowed. “Okay.” He took up the bottle.
“That said, do try not to get us both killed.”
Kell groaned, and Rhy chuckled.
“To clever plans,” said Kell, toasting his brother. “And dashing princes.”
“To masked magicians,” said Rhy, swiping the wine.
“To mad ideas.”
“To the Essen Tasch.”
“Wouldn’t it be amazing,” murmured Rhy later, when the bottle was empty, “if we got away with it?”
“Who knows,” said Kell. “We just might.”
* * *
Rhy stumbled into his room, waving off Tolner’s questions about where he’d been and shutting the door in the guard’s face. It was dark, and he made it three unsteady strides before knocking his shin against a low table, and swearing roundly.
The room swam, a mess of shadows lit only by the pale light of the low-burning fire in the hearth and the candles in the corners, only half of which had been lit. Rhy retreated until his back found the nearest wall, and waited for the room to settle.
Downstairs, the party had finally dissipated, the royals retreating to their wings, the nobles to their homes. Tomorrow. Tomorrow the tournament would finally be here.
Rhy knew Kell’s true hesitation, and it wasn’t getting caught, or starting trouble; it was the fear of causing him pain. Every day Kell moved like Rhy was made of glass, and it was driving them both mad. But once the tournament started, once he saw that Rhy was fine, that he could take it, survive it—hell, he could survive anything, wasn’t that the point?—then maybe Kell would finally let go, stop holding his breath, stop trying to protect him, and just live.
Because Rhy didn’t need his protection, not anymore, and he’d only told a partial truth when he said they both needed this.
The whole truth was, Rhy needed it more.
Because Kell had given him a gift he did not want, could never repay.
