“Listen to me,” Kell was saying. “You are stronger than this. You can fight back.”
The men’s faces contorted in glee, surprise, confusion. They spoke in their own voices, not the echoing two-speak Osaron had used on the roof, and yet there was a lilting cadence to their words, a singsong quality that chilled her.
“The king wants you.”
“The king will have you.”
“Come with us.”
“Come and kneel.”
“Come and beg.”
Kell stiffened, jaw set. “You tell your king he will not take this city. You tell him—”
The man with the scrap of wood struck out, swinging at Kell’s stomach. He caught the beam, wood lighting and burning to ash in his hands. The circle collapsed, Tav raising the iron bar, the guard stepping forward, but Lila was already kneeling, palms pressed to the cold ground. She remembered the words Kell had used. Summoned what was left of her strength.
“As Isera,” she said. Freeze.
Ice shot from beneath her hands, gliding along the ground and up men’s bodies in a breath.
Lila didn’t have Kell’s control, couldn’t tell the ice where to go, but he saw it coming and leaped back out of the spell’s path, and when the frozen edge met his boots, it melted, leaving him untouched. The other men stood, encased in ice, the shadows still swimming in their eyes.
Lila straightened, and the night tilted dangerously beneath her feet, the spell stealing the last power from her veins.
Somewhere, another scream, and Kell took a step toward it, one knee nearly giving way before he caught himself against the wall.
“Enough,” said Lila. “You can barely stand.”
“Then you can heal me.”
“With what?” she rasped, gesturing to her bruised and battered form. “We can’t keep this up. We could both bleed ourselves dry and still not mark a fraction of this city.” She let out an exhausted, humorless laugh. “You know I’m all for steep odds, but it’s too much. Too many.”
It was a lost cause, and if he couldn’t see it—but he did, of course. She saw in his eyes, the set of his jaw, the lines in his face, that he knew it too. Knew it, and couldn’t let it be. Couldn’t surrender. Couldn’t retreat.
“Kell,” she said, gently.
“This is my city,” he said, shaking visibly. “My home. If I can’t protect it …”
Lila’s fingers inched toward a loose rock in the street. She wouldn’t let him kill himself, not like this. Not after everything. If he wouldn’t listen to reason—
Hooves sounded against stone, and a moment later four horses rounded the bend, mounted by royal guards.
“Master Kell!” called the one at the front.
Lila recognized the man as one of the guards assigned to Kell. He was older, and he shot a look at Lila, and then, obviously not knowing how to address her, pretended she wasn’t there. “The priests have warded the palace, and you are to return at once. King’s orders.”
Kell looked like he was about to curse the king. Instead he shook his head. “Not yet. We’re marking the citizens wherever we can, but we haven’t found a way to contain the shadows, or shield the city against—”
“It’s too late,” cut in the guard.
“What do you mean?” demanded Kell.
“Sir,” said another voice, and the man at the back took off his helmet. Lila knew him. Hastra. The younger of Kell’s guard. When he spoke, his voice was gentle, but his face was tight. “It’s over, sir,” he said. “The city has fallen.”
VII
The city has fallen.
Hastra’s words followed Kell through the streets, up the palace steps, through the halls. They couldn’t be right.
Couldn’t be true.
How could a city fall when so many were still fighting?
Kell burst into the Grand Hall.
The ballroom glittered, ornate, extravagant, but the mood had altered entirely. The magicians and nobles from the rooftop gala now huddled in the center of the room. The queen and her entourage carried bowls of water and pouches of sand to the priests drawing amplifiers on the polished marble floor and warding spells along each wall. Lord Sol-in-Ar stood with his back against a pillar, features grim but unreadable, and Prince Col and Princess Cora sat on the stairs, looking shell-shocked.
He found King Maxim by the platform where musicians in gold leaf had played each night, conferring with Master Tieren and the head of his guard.
“What do you mean, the city has fallen?” demanded Kell, storming across the marble floor. Between his bloodstained hands and his bare chest on display beneath his open coat, he knew he looked insane. He didn’t care. “Why did you call me back?” Tieren tried to block his path, but Kell pushed past. “Do you have a plan?”
“My plan,” said the king calmly, “is to stop you from getting yourself killed.”
“It was working,” Kell snarled. “What was working?” asked Maxim. “Opening a vein over London?”
“If my blood can shield them—”
“How many did you shield, Kell?” demanded the king. “Ten? Twenty? A hundred? There are tens of thousands in this city.”
Kell felt like he was back in White London, the steel noose cinching around his neck. Helpless. Desperate. “It is something—”
“It is not enough.”
“Do you have a better idea?”
“Not yet.”
“Then, Sanct, let me do what I can!”
Maxim took him by the shoulders. “Listen to me,” the king said, voice low. “What are Osaron’s strengths? What are his weaknesses? What is he doing to our people? Can it be undone? How many questions have you failed to ask because you were too busy being valiant? You have no plan. No strategy. You have not found a crack in your enemy’s armor, a place to slide your knife. Instead of devising an attack, you are out there, slashing blindly, not even able to land a blow because you’re spending every drop of precious blood protecting others from an enemy we don’t know how to best.”
Everything in Kell tightened at that. “I was out there trying to protect your people.”
“And for every one you shielded, a dozen more were taken by the dark.” There was no judgment in Maxim’s voice, only grim resolve. “The city has fallen, Kell. It will not rise again without your help, but that does not mean you can save it alone.” The king tightened his grip. “I will not lose my sons to this.”
Sons.
Kell blinked, shaken by the words as the Maxim released his hold, his anger deflating. “Has Rhy woken?” he asked.
The king shook his head. “Not yet.” His attention slid past Kell. “And you.”
Kell turned and saw Lila, hair falling over her shattered eye as she scraped blood from under her nails. She looked up at the summons.
“Who are you?” demanded the king.
Lila frowned, started to answer. Kell cut her off.
“This is Miss Delilah Bard.”
“A friend to the throne,” said Tieren.
“I’ve already saved your city,” added Lila. “Twice.” She cocked her head, shifting the dark curtain of hair to reveal the starburst of her shattered eye. Maxim, to his credit, didn’t startle. He simply looked at Tieren.
“Is this the one you told me of?”
The head priest nodded, and Kell was left wondering what exactly the Aven Essen had said, and how long Tieren had known what she was. The king considered Lila, his gaze moving from her eyes to her bloodstained fingers, before coming to a decision. Maxim raised his chin slightly, and said, “Mark everyone here.”
It was not a request, but the order of a king to a subject.
Lila opened her mouth, and for a second Kell thought she might say something awful, but Tieren’s hand came down on her shoulder in the universal sign for Be quiet, and for once, Lila listened.
Maxim stepped back, voice rising a measure so that others in the hall could overhear. And they were listening, Kell realized, several heads already turned carefully to catch the words as the king addressed his Antari.
“Holland has been taken to the cells.” Only hours before, Kell had been the one imprisoned below the palace. “I would have you speak with him. Learn everything you can about the force we’re facing.” Maxim’s expression darkened. “By whatever means.”
Kell stiffened.
The cold press of steel.
A collar around his throat.