No. They can’t follow me here.
But Kell had been wrong. No one in the worlds could follow him … except for Holland. He was the only one who could, and had, which meant that he was after the stone. It also meant that Kell should be running away from the signature and the scream, not toward them.
The voice cried out again, and this time he was near enough to recognize the source of the cry being raked across the heavy air.
Lila.
Why would Holland go after her?
But Kell knew the answer. It sat like a weight in his chest. Holland would go after Lila because of him. Because in a world with so little magic, every trace stood out. And Lila would have traces—both his magic, and the stone’s—written all over her. Kell knew how to cover his. Lila couldn’t possibly. She’d be like a torch.
It’s her own fault, thought Kell, even as he ran toward the scream. Her own damn fault.
He raced down the street, ignoring the burn across his ribs and the voice in his head that told him to leave her, to get away while he still could.
A blunt and obvious trap.
He cut down along the river, through an alley, around a bend, and came to a staggering halt on a narrow street just in time to hear Lila’s scream cut off, to see her body sagging forward to the cobblestones. Holland stood over her, but his eyes were trained on Kell.
“There you are,” he said, as if he were happy to see the other Antari.
Kell’s mind spun. Lila looked up.
“Run,” he told her, but she just kept staring at him. “Lila, go.”
Her eyes focused then, and she staggered to her feet, but Holland caught her by the shoulder and pressed a pistol to the base of her neck.
“No, Lila,” he said in his calm, infuriating way. “Stay.”
Kell’s hands curled into fists. “What is this about, Holland?”
“You know quite well. You have something that isn’t yours.”
The stone hung heavy in his pocket. No, it wasn’t his. But it wasn’t Holland’s, either. And it certainly didn’t belong to the White throne. Had the power-hungry Danes possessed the talisman, they never would have relinquished it, let alone sent it away. But who would? Who did?
With its power, Astrid and Athos would be nearly invincible, yes, but a commoner could use the stone’s magic to become a king. In a world starving for power, why would anyone go to such lengths to be rid of it?
Fear, thought Kell. Fear of the magic, and fear of what would happen if it fell into the twins’ hands. Astrid and Athos must have learned of the stone and its escape, and sent Holland to retrieve it.
“Give me the stone, Kell.”
His mind spun. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Holland gave him a withering look. His fingers tightened almost imperceptibly around Lila, and power crackled across her skin. She bit back a scream and fought to stay on her feet.
“Stop,” demanded Kell. Holland did.
“Will you make me repeat myself?” he asked.
“Just let her go,” said Kell.
“The stone first,” said Holland.
Kell swallowed as he drew the talisman from his coat. It sang through his fingertips, wanting to be used. “You can try and take it from me,” he said, “as soon as you let her go.” Even as the words left Kell’s lips, he regretted them.
The corner of Holland’s mouth curled grimly up. He withdrew his hand, one finger at a time, from Lila’s arm. She staggered forward and spun on him.
“Fly away, little bird,” he said, his gaze still trained on Kell.
“Go,” snapped Kell.
He could feel Lila’s eyes hanging on him, but he wasn’t foolish enough to let his own stray from Holland—not now—and he let out a small breath when he finally heard her boots echoing on the street stones. Good, he thought. Good.
“That was foolish,” said Holland, tossing the revolver aside as if it were beneath him. “Tell me, are you are as arrogant as you seem, or only as na?ve?”
“Holland, please—”
The Antari’s gaze darkened. “You look at me, Kell, and think we are alike. That we are the same, even, one person on two divergent paths. Perhaps you think our power bonds us. Allow me to correct your misapprehension. We may share an ability, you and I, but that does not make us equals.”
He flexed his fingers, and Kell had the sneaking suspicion that this was going to end badly. Holland had fought against the Danes. Holland had spilled blood and life and magic. Holland had nearly claimed the White throne as his own.
Kell must seem like a spoiled child to the other Antari.
But Kell still had the stone. It was bad magic, forbidden magic, but it was something. It called to him, and he tightened his grip, the jagged side digging into his palm. Its power pressed at his edges, wanting to be let in, and he resisted, keeping a wall between the talisman’s energy and his own. He didn’t need much. He only needed to summon something inanimate—something that would stop Holland without turning on them both.
A cage, he thought. And then commanded. A cage.
The stone hummed in his hand, and black smoke began to pour between his fingers, and—