Gathering of Shadows (A Darker Shade of Magic) (51 page)

“Well,
I
have the luxury of going up against one of my oldest friends, not to mention the best wind magician I’ve ever met—”

“Jinnar?” asked Lila, suddenly interested. That would be quite a match.

Alucard nodded grimly, “And you’ve only got to face …” He trailed his finger across the page. “…Ver-as-Is.”

“What do you know about him?” she asked.

Alucard’s brow furrowed. “I’m sorry, have you mistaken me for a comrade? The last time I checked we were on opposite sides of the bracket.”

“Come on, Captain. If I die in this, you’ll have to find yourself a new thief.”

The words were out before she remembered she’d already lost her place aboard the
Night Spire.
She tried a second time. “My witty banter is one of a kind. You know you’ll miss it when I’m gone.” Again, it was the wrong thing to say, and a heavy silence settled in its wake. “Fine,” she said, exasperated. “Two more questions, two more answers, in exchange for whatever you know.”

Alucard’s lips quirked. He folded the roster and set it aside, lacing his fingers with exaggerated patience. “When did you first come to our London?”

“Four months ago,” she said. “I needed a change of scenery.” She meant to stop there, but the words kept coming. “I got pulled into something I didn’t expect, and once it started, I wanted to see it through. And then it was over, and I was here, and I had a chance to start fresh. Not every past is worth holding onto.”

That got a look of interest, and she expected him to continue down his line of inquiry, but instead he changed directions.

“What were you running from, the night you joined my crew?”

Lila frowned, her gaze escaping down to the cup of black tea. “Who said I was running?” she murmured. Alucard raised a brow, patient as a cat. She took a long, scalding sip, let it burn all the way down before she spoke. “Look, everyone talks about the unknown like it’s some big scary thing, but it’s the
familiar
that’s always bothered me. It’s heavy, builds up around you like rocks, until it’s walls and a ceiling and a cell.”

“Is that why you were so determined to take Stasion’s spot?” he asked icily. “Because my company had become a burden?”

Lila set her cup down. Swallowed the urge to apologize. “You had your two questions, Captain. It’s my turn.”

Alucard cleared his throat. “Very well. Ver-as-Is. Obviously Faroan, and not a nice fellow, from what I’ve heard. An earth mage with a temper. You two should get along splendidly. It’s the second round, so you’re allowed to use a second element, if you’re able.”

Lila rapped her fingers on the table. “Water.”

“Fire and water? That’s an unusual pairing. Most dual magicians pick adjacent elements. Fire and water are on opposite sides of the spectrum.”

“What can I say, I’ve always been contrary.” She winked her good eye. “And I had such a good teacher.”

“Flatterer,” he muttered.

“Arse.”

He touched his breast, as if offended. “You’re up this afternoon,” he said, pushing to his feet, “and I’m up soon.” He didn’t seem thrilled.

“Are you worried?” she asked. “About your match?”

Alucard took up his tea cup. “Jinnar’s the best at what he does. But he only does one thing.”

“And you’re a man of many talents.”

Alucard finished his drink and set the cup back on the table. “I’ve been told.” He shrugged on his coat. “See you on the other side.”

* * *

The stadium was
packed.

Jinnar’s banner flew, sunset purple on a silver ground, Alucard’s silver on midnight blue.

Two Arnesians.

Two favorites.

Two friends.

Rhy was up on the royal platform, but Lila saw no sign of the king or queen, or Kell for that matter, though she spotted Alucard’s siblings on a balcony below. Berras scowled while Anisa clapped and cheered and waved her brother’s pennant.

The arena was a blur of motion and light, and the entire crowd held its breath as the two favorites danced around each other. Jinnar moved like air, Alucard like steel.

Lila fidgeted with the sliver of pale stone—turning the White London keepsake over in her fingers as she watched, trying to keep up with the competitors’ movements, read the lines of attack, predict what they would do, and understand how they did it.

It was a close match.

Jinnar was a thing of beauty when it came to wind, but Alucard was right; it was his only element. He could render it into a wall or a wave, use it to cut like a knife, and with its help he could practically fly. But Alucard held earth and water, and everything they made between them—blades as solid as metal, shields of stone and ice—and in the end, his two elements triumphed over Jinnar’s one, and Alucard won, breaking ten plates of armor to Jinnar’s seven.

The silver-eyed magician withdrew, a smile visible through the metal wisps of his mask, and Alucard tipped his scale-plated chin to the royal platform and offered a deep bow to the prince before disappearing into the corridor.

The audience started to file out, but Lila lingered. The walk to the arena had loosened her limbs, but she wasn’t keen on moving again, not before she had to, so she hung back, watching the crowds ebb and flow as some left for other matches, and others came. The blue and silver pennants disappeared, replaced by a flaming red cat on a golden ground—that was Kisimyr’s banner—and a pair of lions on red.

Kamerov.

Lila pocketed the shard of white stone and settled in.
This
should be interesting.

She had Kisimyr pinned as a fireworker, but the Arnesian champion came out—prowled, really, that mane of black hair spilling out in ropes below her feline mask—holding spheres of water and earth.

To the crowd’s delight, Kamerov appeared with the same.

An equal match, then, at least as far the elements went. It wasn’t even Lila’s fight—thank god it wasn’t her fight—but she felt her pulse tick up in excitement.

The orbs fell, and the match crashed into motion.

They were well paired—it took almost five full minutes for Kisimyr to land the first hit, a glancing blow to Kamerov’s thigh. It took another eight for Kamerov to land the second.

Lila’s eyes narrowed as she watched, picking up on something even before she knew what it was.

Kisimyr moved in a way that was elegant, but almost animal. But Kamerov … there was something
familiar
about the fluid way he fought. It was graceful, almost effortless, the flourishes tacked on in a way that looked unnecessary. Before the tournament, she’d truly only seen a handful of fights using magic. But it was like déjà vu, watching him down there on the arena floor.

Lila rapped her fingers on the rail and leaned forward.

Why did he seem so familiar?

* * *

Kell ducked, and rolled, and dodged, trying to pace his speed to Kisimyr’s, which was hard because she
was fast.
Faster than his first opponent, and stronger than anyone he’d fought, save Holland. The champion matched him measure for measure, point for point. That first blow had been a mistake, clumsy, clumsy—but saints, he felt good. Alive.

Behind Kisimyr’s mask, Kell caught the hint of a smile, and behind his own, he grinned back.

Earth hovered in a disk above his right hand, water swirling around his left. He twisted out from behind the shelter of a pillar, but she was already gone. Behind him. Kell spun, throwing the disk. Too slow. The two collided, attacked, and dove apart, as if they were fighting with swords instead of water and earth. Thrust. Parry. Strike.

A spear of hardened earth passed inches from Kell’s armored cheek as he rolled, came up onto one knee, and attacked with both elements at the same time.

Both connected, blinding them in light.

The crowd went wild, but Kisimyr didn’t even hesitate.

Her water, tinted red, had been orbiting her in a loop. Kell’s attack had brought him close, into her sphere, and now she pushed hard against part of the circle, and it shot forward without breaking the ring, freezing as it did into an icy spike.

Kell jumped back, but not fast enough; the ice slammed into his shoulder, shattering the plate and piercing the flesh beneath.

The crowd gasped.

Kell hissed in pain and pressed his palm against the wound. When he drew his hand away from his shoulder, blood stained his fingers, jewel-red. Magic whispered through him—As
Travars. As Orense. As Osaro. As Hasari.
As
Steno.
As
Staro
—and his lips nearly formed a spell, but he caught himself just in time, wiped the blood on his sleeve instead, and attacked again.

* * *

Lila’s eyes widened.

The rest of the crowd was fixated on Kamerov, but she happened to look up right after the blow and saw Prince Rhy in the royal box, his face contorted in pain. He hid it quickly, wiped the tension from his features, but his knuckles gripped the banister, head bowed, and Lila saw, and
understood.
She’d been there that night, when the princes were bound together, blood to blood, pain to pain, life to life.

Her attention snapped back to the arena.

It was suddenly obvious. The height, the posture, the fluid motions, the impossible grace.

She broke in a savage grin.

Kell.

It was him. It had to be. She had met Kamerov Loste at the Banner Night, had marked his grey eyes, his foxlike smile. But she’d also marked his height, the way he moved, and there was no question, no doubt in her mind—the man in the arena wasn’t the one who’d wished her luck in the Rose Hall. It was the man she’d fought beside in three different Londons. The one she’d stolen from and threatened and saved. It was Kell.

“What are you smiling about?” asked Tieren, appearing at her side.

“Just enjoying the match,” she said.

The
Aven Essen
made a small, skeptical hum.

“Tell me,” she added, keeping her eyes on the fight. “Did you at least try to dissuade him from this madness? Or do you simply plan to feign ignorance with him, too?”

There was a pause, and when Tieren answered, his voice was even. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Sure you don’t,
Aven Essen
.” She turned toward him. “I bet if Kamerov down there were to take off his helmet, he’d look like the man he was on the Banner Night, and not a certain black-eyed—”

“This kind of talk makes me wish I’d turned you in,” said the priest, cutting her off. “Rumors are dangerous things,
Stasion
, especially when they stem from someone guilty of her own crimes. So I’ll ask you again,” he said. “What are you smiling about?”

Lila held his eyes, her features set.

“Nothing,” she said, turning back to the match. “Nothing at all.”

II

In the end, Kamerov won.

Kell
won.

It had been a staggeringly close match between the reigning champion and the so-called silver knight. The crowd looked dizzy from holding its breath, the arena a mess of broken stone and black ice, half the obstacles cracked or chipped or in ruins.

The way he’d moved. The way he’d fought. Even in their short time together, Lila had never seen him fight like that. A single point—he’d won by a single point, unseated the champion, and all she could think was,
He’s holding back.

Even now he’s holding back.

“Stasion! Stasion!”

Lila dragged her thoughts away from Kell; she had her own, more pressing concerns.

Her second match was about to begin.

She was standing in the middle of the western arena, the stands awash in silver and black, the Faroan’s pale-green pennant only an accent in the crowd.

Across from her stood the man himself, Ver-as-Is, an orb of tinted earth in each palm. Lila considered the magician—he was lithe, his limbs long and thin and twined with muscle, his skin the color of char, and his eyes an impossibly pale green, the same as his flag. Set deep into his face, they seemed to glow. But it was the
gold
that most caught her interest.

Most of the Faroans she’d seen wore gems on their skin, but Ver-as-Is wore gold. Beneath his mask, which concealed only the top half of his head, beads of the precious metal traced the lines of his face and throat in a skeletal overlay.