Gathering of Shadows (A Darker Shade of Magic) (36 page)

What would she say to them?
I’m here to see the black-eyed prince.
Her English might get her through the front door, but then what? Would the king and queen recognize her as the scrawny girl who’d helped Kell save their city? Lila suspected
Rhy
would remember her. She found herself warming at the thought of the prince—not as he was under the control of Astrid Dane, or bleeding to death on a sanctuary cot, but after, surrounded by pillows, dark circles below his amber eyes. Tired and kind and flirting through the pain.

And Kell?

How fared the black-eyed prince? Would he welcome her in? Hand her a drink and ask after her travels, or frown and ask if she was ready to leave, return to her own world where she belonged?

Lila squinted up in the dusk—the high balconies of the palace reduced to haloes of light in the cold evening—and thought she could make out a shadow standing on one of the tallest patios. It was too far to tell, that distance where everything was reduced to vague shapes, and the mind could twist them into anything. Still, the shadow seemed to curl over before her eyes, as if leaning on the rail, and in that moment the smudge of darkness became a magician in a high-collared coat. Lila stood and watched until the shape dissolved, swallowed up by the thickening night.

Her attention drifted down and landed on a pair of elegant black scrying boards that rose like columns before the palace steps. Months ago, Kell’s face had shown up on these, first with the word
missing
at the top, and later with the word
wanted.
Now the ghostly chalk announced a variety of events in the hours leading up to the tournament itself—damn, there were a lot of parties—but one in particular caught her eye. Something called
Is Gosar Noche.

The Banner Night.

She caught sight of the notice just before the board erased itself, and had to stand there for ten minutes waiting for the message to cycle back around. When it did, she read as quickly as she could, trying to make sense of the Arnesian script.

From what she could tell, competitors from all three empires were being summoned to the palace the following night—the night before the tournament—for a royal reception. And to select their banner, whatever that meant.

Wasn’t this what she’d wanted?

An excuse to walk right into the Red Palace.

All she needed was a name.

The bells rang, and Lila swore under her breath. A whole day gone, she thought grimly as she trudged back to the Wandering Road, and no closer to her goal.

“There you are,” said the captain’s voice as soon as she stepped inside.

A handful of Alucard’s men were gathered in the front room. They weren’t dressed for the ship or the dock or the tavern inn. Tav, Stross, and Vasry wore fine hooded half-cloaks that gathered at the wrists, collar and cuff fastened with polished silver clasps. Alucard himself was dressed in an elegant coat, midnight blue with silver lining, his curls clasped back beneath a hat that dipped and curved like the sea. One hand rested on the hilt of his short sword, the silver feather ring glinting in the low light. Aside from the sapphire still sparkling in his right brow, he didn’t look like the
casero
of the
Night Spire.
And yet, if he didn’t look like a pirate, he didn’t look entirely like a princeling, either. He looked polished, but also sharp, like a well-kept knife.

“Where have you been, Bard?”

She shrugged. “Exploring.”

“We nearly left without you.”

Her brow crinkled. “Where are you going?”

Alucard flashed a grin. “To a party,” he said. Only the word for
party
in Arnesian wasn’t that simple. Lila was learning that so many Arnesian words had meanings that shifted to fit their context. The word Alucard used was the broadest:
tasura
, which meant
party
, or
event
, or
function
, or
gathering
, and whose meaning ranged from celebratory to nefarious.

“I hate parties,” she said, heading for the stairs.

But Alucard wasn’t so easily dissuaded. He caught up, and took her elbow—gingerly, and only for an instant, as he knew how dangerous it was to touch Lila when she didn’t want to be touched. “This one I think you’ll enjoy,” he murmured in English.

“Why’s that?”

“Because I know how fascinated you are by the upcoming games.”

“And?”

“And it’s an unofficial tradition,” he said, “for the local competitors to share a drink before the tournament begins.” Lila’s interest sharpened. “It’s a bit of posturing, I admit,” he added, gesturing to the others, “but I was hoping you would come.”

“Why me?”

“Because it’s a chance to size up the competition,” said Alucard. “And you’ve got the sharpest eyes,” he added with a wink.

Lila tried to hide her excitement. “Well,” she said. “If you insist.”

Alucard smiled and produced a silver scarf from his pocket.

“What’s this for?” she asked as he tied it loosely around her throat.

“Tonight you’re part of my entourage.”

Lila laughed outright, a biting sound that stung the other men. “Your
entourage.” What next?
She wondered.
Squire?

“Think of it as the name for a crew on land.”

“I hope you don’t expect me to call you
Master
,” she said, adjusting the knot.

“Saints, no, that word has no place except in bed. And
Lord
makes my skin crawl.
Captain
will do.” He gestured at the waiting men. “Shall we?”

Lila’s smile sharpened as she nodded at the door. “Lead the way, Captain.”

* * *

The sign above the tavern door said
Is Casnor Ast.

The Setting Sun.

Lila’s steps slowed, then stopped. It was the strangest thing, but she couldn’t shake the feeling she’d been there before. She hadn’t, of course. She’d only stayed in Red London a few days after the ordeal with the Danes before taking up with the
Spire’s
crew—just long enough to heal and answer questions—and been confined to the palace the entire time.

But standing there, on the threshold, the place felt so
familiar.
When she closed her eyes, she almost felt like she was at … it couldn’t be. Lila blinked, and looked around at the surrounding streets, trying to layer the image of this city on top of another, the one she’d lived in her entire life. And as the images merged, she realized that she knew exactly where she was. Where she would be. On this corner, back in Grey London, the exact same distance from the river, stood another tavern, one she knew too well.

The Stone’s Throw.

What were the odds? Taverns were as plentiful as problems, but two occupying the same exact place? Even from the outside, they looked nothing alike, and yet this place tugged on her bones with the same peculiar gravity she’d always felt back home.
Home.
She’d never thought of the Stone’s Throw that way when she was there, but now it was the only word that fit. Only it wasn’t the
building
she longed for. Not really.

She thrust her hand into her pocket, and curled her fingers around the silver pocket watch that hung like a weight in the bottom of the silk-lined fold.

“
Kers la
, Bard?”

She looked up, and realized that Alucard was holding the door open for her. She shook her head.

“Skan,”
she said.
Nothing.

Stepping inside, the power hit her in a wave. She couldn’t see magic as Alucard did, but she could still feel it, filling the air like steam as it wafted off the gathered magicians. Not all the competitors traveled with a full entourage. Some—like the tan woman on the back wall, her black hair twisted into ropes and studded with gold—were the center of their own universe, while others sat in small groups or wandered the room alone, an aura of power drifting in their wake.

Meanwhile, the déjà vu continued. She did her best to shake it off and focus. After all, she wasn’t just here to be part of Alucard’s tableau. There was the issue of finding a mark, of performing her own little magic trick. The tavern was full of magicians, and Delilah Bard was going to make one of them disappear.

Someone boomed a greeting to Alucard, and the entourage came to a halt as the two clasped wrists. Tav went to round up drinks, while Stross surveyed the room with keen appraisal. She guessed he’d been brought along for the same reason she had, to size up the competition.

Vasry, meanwhile, eyed the room as if it were a feast.

“That’s the reigning champion, Kisimyr,” he whispered to Lila in Arnesian as the woman with the roped hair strode toward Alucard, boots ringing out on the worn wood floor. The man who’d greeted Alucard retreated a few steps as she approached.

“Emery,” she said with a feline grin and a heady accent. “You really don’t know how to stay out of trouble.” She wasn’t from London. She was speaking Royal, but her words all ran together—not in the serpentine way of the Faroan tongue, more like she’d hacked off all the edges and taken out the space between. She had a low, resonant voice, and when she spoke, it sounded like rumbling thunder.

“Not when trouble is more fun,” said Alucard with a bow. Kisimyr’s grin widened as the two fell to quiet conversation—there was something sharp about that grin, and paired with the rest of her face, the slanted brow and straight-on gaze, it read like a taunt. A challenge. The woman exuded confidence. Not arrogance, exactly—that was usually unfounded, and everything about Kisimyr said she’d just
love
an excuse to show you what she could do.

Lila liked that, found herself mimicking the features, wondering what kind of whole they’d add up to on her own face.

She didn’t know if she wanted to fight the woman or be her friend, but she certainly wouldn’t be
replacing
her. Lila’s attention shifted, trailing across a pair of brawny figures, and a very pretty girl in blue with cascades of dark hair, not to mention a fair number of curves. No good matches there. She continued to scan the room as Alucard’s entourage made its way toward a corner booth.

Kisimyr had retreated into the folds of her own group, and she was talking to a young, dark-skinned man beside her. He was fine-boned and wiry, with bare arms and gold earrings running the length of both ears to match the ones in Kisimyr’s.

“Losen,” said Alucard softly. “Her protégé.”

“Will they have to compete against each other?”

He shrugged. “Depends on the draw.”

A man with a stack of paper appeared at Kisimyr’s elbow.

“Works for the Scryer, that one,” said Stross. “Best avoid him, unless you want to find yourself on the boards.”

Just then, the tavern doors flung open, and a young man blew in—quite literally—on a gust of wind. It swirled around him and through the tavern, shuddering candle flames and rocking lanterns. Alucard twisted in his seat, then rolled his eyes with a smile. “Jinnar!” he said, and Lila couldn’t tell by the way he said it if that was a name or a curse.

Even next to the broad Veskans and the jewel-marked Faroans she’d met in Sasenroche, the newcomer was one of the most striking men Lila had ever seen. Wisp-thin, like a late shadow, his skin had the rich tan of an Arnesian and his black hair shot up in a vertical shock. Below black brows, his eyes were
silver
, shining like a cat’s in the low tavern light and scored only by the beads of black at their center. A fringe of thick black lashes framed both silver pools, and he had a jackal’s grin, not sharp but wide. It only got wider when he saw Alucard.

“Emery!” he called, tugging the cloak from his shoulders and crossing the room, the two gestures wound together in a seamless motion. Beneath the cloak, his clothes weren’t just close fitting; they were molded to his body, ornamented by silver cuffs that circled his throat and ran the lengths of his forearms.

Alucard stood. “They let you out in public?”

The young man threw his arm around the captain’s shoulder. “Only for the
Essen Tasch.
You know that old Tieren has a soft spot for me.”

He spoke so fast Lila could barely follow, but her attention prickled at the mention of London’s head priest.

“Jin, meet my crew. At least, the ones I like best.”

The man’s eyes danced over the table, flitting across Lila for only a moment—it felt like a cool breeze—before returning to Alucard. Up close, his metallic gaze was even more unsettling.

“What are we calling you these days?”

“Captain will do.”

“How very official. Though I suppose it’s not as bad as a
vestra
title.” He dipped into an elaborate gesture that vaguely resembled a bow, if a bow were paired with a rude hand gesture. “His Eminence Alucard, second son of the Royal House of Emery.”

“You’re embarrassing yourself.”

“No, I’m embarrassing
you
,” said Jin, straightening. “There’s a difference.”

Alucard offered him a seat, but Jin declined, perching instead on the shoulder of Alucard’s own chair, light as a feather. “What have I missed?”

“Nothing, yet.”

Jin looked around. “Going to be a strange one.”

“Oh?”

“Air of mystery around it all this year.”

“Is that an element joke?”

“Hah,” said Jin, “I didn’t even think about that.”

“I thought you kept a list of wind jokes,” teased Alucard. “I certainly do, just for you. I’ve broken them down into chills, gales, steam….”

“Just like your sails,” jabbed Jin, hopping down from the chair. “So full of air. But I’m serious,” he said, leaning in. “I haven’t even seen half the competition. Hidden away for effect perhaps. And the pomp surrounding everything! I was at Faro three years back, and you know how much they like their gold, but it was a pauper’s haunt compared to this affair. I’m telling you, the air of spectacle’s run away with it. Blame the prince. Always had a flare for drama.”

“Says the man floating three inches off the ground.”

Lila looked down, and started slightly when she saw that Jinnar was, in fact, hovering. Not constantly, but every time he moved, he took a fraction too long to settle, as if gravity didn’t have the same hold on him as it did on everyone else. Or maybe, as if something else were lifting him up.