“You don’t get it!” snapped Rhy. “Whatever part of me Osaron could take, it’s already gone.”
The room went still. He couldn’t bring himself to look at Kell. He could feel the quickening of his brother’s pulse, the weight of his stare.
And then the door burst open, and Lila Bard stormed in, trailed by a thin, nervous-looking man holding, of all things, a cat. She saw—or felt—the tension humming through the room and stopped. “What did I miss?”
Her hands were bandaged, a deep scratch ran along her jaw, and Rhy watched his brother move toward her as naturally as if the world had simply tipped. For Kell, apparently, it had.
“Casero,” said the man trailing behind her, his gaunt eyes lighting up at the sight of Alucard. He’d clearly come from beyond the palace, but he showed no signs of harm.
“Lenos,” said the captain as the cat leaped down and went to curl around his boot. “Where …?”
“Long story,” cut in Lila, tossing the satchel to Tieren, and then, registering the silver scars on Alucard’s face: “What happened to you?”
“Long story,” he echoed.
Lila went to the sideboard to pour herself a drink. “Aren’t they all at this point?”
She said it lightly, but Rhy noticed her fingers shaking as she brought the amber liquid to her lips.
The king was staring at the thin and rather scraggly looking sailor. “How did you get into the palace?” he demanded.
The man looked nervously from king to queen to Kell.
“He’s my second mate, Your Majesty,” answered Alucard.
“That doesn’t answer my question.”
“We found each other—” started Lila.
“He can speak for himself,” snapped the king.
“Maybe if you bothered questioning your people in their own language,” she shot back. The room quieted. Kell raised a brow. Rhy, despite himself, almost laughed.
A guard appeared in the doorway and cleared his throat. “Your Majesty,” he said, “the prisoner wishes to speak.”
Lila stiffened at the mention of Holland. Alucard sank heavily into a chair.
“Finally,” said Maxim, starting toward the door, but the guard ducked his head, embarrassed.
“Not with you, Your Majesty.” He nodded at Kell. “With him.”
Kell looked to Maxim, who nodded brusquely. “Bring me answers,” he warned, “or I will find another way to get them.”
A shadow crossed Kell’s face, but he only bowed and left.
Rhy watched his brother go, then turned to his father. “If Alucard survived, there must be others. Let me—”
“Did you know?” demanded Maxim.
“What?”
“When you left the safety of this palace, did you know you were immune to Osaron’s magic?”
“I suspected,” said Rhy, “but I would have gone either way.”
The queen took hold of his arm. “After everything—”
“Yes, after everything,” said Rhy, pulling free. “Because of everything.” He turned to his parents. “You taught me that a ruler suffers with his people. You taught me that he is their strength, their stone. Don’t you see? I will never have magic, but finally I have a purpose.”
“Rhy—” started his father.
“No,” he cut in. “I will not let them think the Maresh have abandoned them. I will not hide within a warded palace when I can walk without fear through those streets. When I can remind our people that they are not alone, that I am fighting with them, for them. When I may be struck down but rise again and in so doing show them the immortality of hope. That is what I can do for my city, and I will gladly do it. You need not shield me from the darkness. It cannot hurt me anymore. Nothing can.”
Rhy felt suddenly wrung out, empty, but in that emptiness lay a kind of peace. No, not peace exactly. Clarity. Resolve.
He looked to his mother, who was clutching her hands together. “Would you have me be your son, or the prince of Arnes?”
Her knuckles went white. “You will always be both.”
“Then I will succeed at neither.”
He met the king’s gaze, but it was the head priest who spoke.
“The prince is right,” said Tieren in his soft, steady way. “The royal and city guard are cut in half, and the priests are at their limits trying to keep the palace wards up. Every man and woman immune to Osaron’s magic is an ally we cannot forfeit. We need every life we can save.”
“Then it’s settled,” said Rhy. “I will ride out—”
“Not alone,” cut in his father, and again, before Rhy could protest, “No one goes alone.”
Alucard looked up from his seat, pale, exhausted. His hands tightened on the chair, and he started to rise when Lila stepped forward, finishing her drink. “Lenos, put the captain to bed,” she said, and then, turning to the king, “I’ll go with His Highness.”
Maxim frowned. “Why should I trust you with my son’s safety?”
She tilted her head when she spoke, shifting her dark hair so it framed her shattered eye. In that single defiant gesture, Rhy could see why Kell liked her so.
“Why?” she echoed. “Because the shadows can’t touch me, and the fallen won’t. Because I’m good with magic, and better with a blade, and I’ve got more power in my blood than you’ve got in this whole damned palace. Because I’ve no qualms about killing, and on top of it all, I’ve got a knack for keeping your sons—both of them—alive.”
If Kell had been there, he would have turned white.
As it was, the king went nearly purple.
Alucard let out a small, exhausted sound that might have been a laugh.
The queen stared blankly at the strange girl.
And Rhy, despite everything, smiled.
*
The prince had only a single suit of armor.
It had never seen battle, never seen anything but a sculptor’s eye, cast for the small stone portrait in his parents’ chamber, a gift from Maxim to Emira on their tenth anniversary. Rhy had worn the armor just the once—he’d planned to wear it again on the night of his twentieth birthday, but nothing about that night had gone as planned.
The armor was light, too light for a real fight, but perfect for posing, a soft hammered gold with pearl-white trim and a cream-colored cape, and it made the faintest chime whenever he moved, a pleasant sound like a far-off bell.
“Not very subtle, are you?” said Lila when she saw him striding through the palace foyer.
She’d been standing in the doorway, her eyes on the city and the fog still shifting in the late morning light, but at the gentle sound of Rhy’s approach, she’d turned, and nearly laughed out loud. And he supposed she had reason to. After all, Lila was dressed in her worn boots and her black high-collared coat, looking with her bandaged hands like a pirate after a hard night, and there he was, practically glowing in polished gold, a full complement of silvered guards behind him.
“I’ve never been fond of subtle,” he said.
Rhy imagined Kell shaking his head, exasperation warring with amusement. Perhaps he looked foolish, but Rhy wanted to be seen, wanted his people—if they were out there, if they were in there—to know their prince was not hiding. That he was not afraid of the dark.
As they descended the palace stairs, Lila’s expression hardened, her wounded hands curled into loose fists at her sides. He didn’t know what she’d seen at the Sanctuary, but he could tell it hadn’t been pleasant, and for all her jaunty posturing, the look on her face now threw him.
“You think this is a bad idea,” he said. It wasn’t a question. But it sparked something in Lila, rekindled the fire in her eyes and ignited a grin.
“Without a doubt.”
“Then why are you smiling?”
“Because,” she said, “bad ideas are my favorite kind.”
They reached the plaza at the base of the stairs, the flowers that usually lined the steps now sculptures of black glass. Smoke rose from a dozen spots on the horizon, not the simple trails from hearth fires, but the too-dark plumes of burning buildings. Rhy straightened. Lila pulled her jacket close. “Ready?”
“I don’t need a chaperone.”
“Good thing,” she said, setting off. “I don’t need a prince tripping on my heels.”
Rhy started. “You told my father—”