“You shouldn’t be awake,” Hastra had stammered as she’d thrown the covers off.
“Is that really the first thing you want to say?” she’d asked, staggering toward the sideboard to pour herself a drink. She hesitated, remembering the bitter tea, but after a few searching sniffs, she found something that burned her nose in a familiar way. She downed two fingers, steadied herself against the counter. The drug was still clinging to her like cobwebs, and she was left trying to drag the edges of her mind back into order, squinting until the blurred lines all hardened into sharp ones.
Hastra was shifting his weight from foot to foot.
“I’m going to do you the favor,” she said, setting aside the empty glass, “of assuming this wasn’t your idea.” She turned on him. “And you’re going to do yourself the favor of staying out of my way. And next time you mess with my drink”—she drew a knife, twirled it on her fingers, and brought it up beneath his chin—“I’ll pin you to a tree.”
The sound of steps hurrying toward her returned Lila to the present.
She spun, knowing it would be him. “Was it your idea?”
“What?” stammered Kell. “No. Tieren’s. And what have you done with Hastra?”
“Nothing he won’t recover from.”
A deep furrow formed between Kell’s eyes. Christ, he was an easy mark.
“Come to stop me, or to see me off?”
“Neither.” His features smoothed. “I came to give you this.” He held out her missing knife, knuckled hilt first. “I believe it’s yours.”
She took the blade, examining the edge for blood. “Too bad,” she murmured, as she slid it back into the sheath.
“While I understand the urge,” said Kell, “killing Holland was not a helpful notion. We need him.”
“Like a dose of poison,” muttered Lila.
“He’s the only one who knows Osaron.”
“And why does he know him so well?” she snapped. “Because he made a deal with him.”
“I know.”
“He let that creature into his head—”
“I know.”
“—into his world, and now into yours—”
“I know.”
“Then why?”
“Because it could have been me,” said Kell darkly. The words hung between them. “It almost was.”
The image came back to her, of Kell lying on the floor before the broken frame, blood pooling rich and red around his wrists. What had Osaron said to him? What had he offered? What had he done?
Lila found herself reaching for Kell, and stopped. She didn’t know what to say, how to smooth the line between his eyes.
The satchel slipped on her shoulder. The sun was up. “I should go.”
Kell nodded, but when she turned away, he caught her hand. The touch was slight, but it pinned her like a knife. “That night on the balcony,” he said. “Why did you kiss me?”
Lila’s chest tightened. “It seemed like a good idea.”
Kell frowned. “That’s all?” He started to let go, but she didn’t. Their hands hung between them, intertwined.
Lila let out a short, breathless laugh. “What do you want, Kell? A declaration of my affection? I kissed you because I wanted to and—”
His hand tightened around hers, pulling her into him, her free hand splayed against his chest for balance.
“And now?” he whispered. His mouth was inches from her own, and she could feel his heart hammering against his ribs.
“What?” she said with a sly grin. “Do I always have to take the lead?” She started to lean in, but he was already there, already kissing her. Their bodies crashed together, the last of the distance disappearing as hips met hips and ribs met ribs and hands searched for skin. Her body sang like a tuning fork against his, like finding like.
Kell’s grip tightened, as if he thought she would disappear, but Lila wasn’t going anywhere. She could have walked away from almost anything, but she wouldn’t have walked away from this. And that itself was terrifying—but she didn’t stop, and neither did he. Sparks lit across her lips, and heat burned through her lungs, and the air around them churned as if someone had thrown all the doors and windows open.
The wind rustled their hair, and Kell laughed against her.
A soft, dazzling sound, too brief, but wonderful.
And then, too soon, the moment ended.
The wind died away, and Kell pulled back, his breath ragged.
“Better?” she asked, the word barely a hush.
He bowed his head, then let his forehead fall against hers. “Better,” he said, and almost in the same moment, “Come with me.”
“Where are we going?” she asked as he pulled her up the stairs and into a bedroom. His bedroom. Gossamer billowed from the high ceiling in the Arnesian style, a cloudlike painting of night. A sofa spilled cushions, a mirror gleamed in its gold trim, and on a dais stood a bed, dripping with silks.
Lila felt her face go hot.
“This really isn’t the time,” she started, but then he was pulling her past the fineries to a door and, beyond, into the alcove lined with books, and candles, and a few spare trinkets. Most were too battered to be anything but sentimental. In here, the air smelled less like roses than polished wood and old paper, and Kell spun her around to face the door. There she saw the markings on the wood—a dozen symbols drawn in the ruddy brown of dried blood, each simple but distinct. She’d almost forgotten about his shortcuts.
“This one,” he said, tapping a circle quartered by a cross. Lila drew a knife, and nicked her thumb, tracing over the mark in blood.
When she was done, Kell put his hand over hers. He didn’t tell her to be safe. He didn’t tell her to be careful. He simply pressed his lips to her hair and said, “As Tascen,” and then he was gone—the room was gone, the world was gone—and Lila was tipping forward once more into darkness.
V
Alucard rode hard for the docks, Anisa shivering against him.
His sister slid in and out of consciousness, her skin slick and hot to the touch. He couldn’t take her to the palace, that much he knew. They’d never let her in now that she was infected. Even though she was fighting it. Even though she hadn’t fallen—wouldn’t fall, Alucard was sure of it.
He had to take her home.
“Stay with me,” he told her as they reached the line of ships.
The Isle’s current was up, leaving oily streaks against the dock walls and splashing over onto the banks. Here at the river’s edge, the magic rolled off the water’s surface like steam.
Alucard dismounted, carrying Anisa up the ramp and onto the Spire’s deck.
He didn’t know if he hoped to find anyone aboard, or feared it, since only the mad and the sick and the fallen seemed to be in the city now.
“Stross?” he called. “Lenos?” But no one answered, and so Alucard took her below.
“Come back,” whispered Anisa as the night sky disappeared, replaced by the low wood ceiling of the hold.
“I’m right here,” said Alucard.
“Come back,” she pleaded again as he lowered her onto his bed, pressed a cold compress to her cheeks. Her eyes drifted open, focused, found his. “Luc,” she said, her voice suddenly crisp, clear.
“I’m here,” he said, and she smiled, fingers brushing his brow. Her eyes began to flutter shut again, and fear rippled through him, sudden, sharp.
“Hey, Nis,” he said, squeezing her hand. “Do you remember the story I used to tell you?” She shivered feverishly. “The one about the place where shadows go at night?”