Jasta crossed her arms, scars flashing in the light. “Some of us are wanting to leave the city.” She spoke the common tongue, and her accent had the rumble of a big cat, dropping letters and slurring syllables so that Lila missed every third word if she wasn’t careful. “I might have mentioned something about a ship, down in the gallery. Your fellow heard me, and now I am here.”
“The ships in London will not sail,” said the king, appearing behind her, Rhy at his side. He spoke the captain’s tongue like a man who’d mastered Arnesian but did not relish the taste. Jasta took a formal step to the side, bowing her head a fraction. “Anesh,” she said, “but then, my ship is not here. It is docked at Tanek, Your Majesty.”
Alucard and Lila both straightened at that. Tanek was the mouth of the Isle, the last port before the open sea.
“Why wouldn’t you sail it into London?” asked Rhy.
Jasta shot the prince a wary look. “She is a sensitive skiff. Private-like.”
“A pirate ship,” said Kell, bluntly.
Jasta flashed a sharp-toothed grin. “Your words, Prince, not mine. My ship, she carries all kinds. Fastest skiff on the open seas. To Vesk and back in nine days flat. But if you are asking, no, she does not sail the red and gold.”
“Now she does,” said the king pointedly.
After a moment, the captain nodded. “It is dangerous, but I could lead them to the ship….” She trailed off.
For a moment Maxim looked irritated. Then his gaze narrowed and his demeanor cooled. “What is it you want?”
Jasta gave a short bow. “The favor of the crown, Your Majesty … and a hundred lish.”
Alucard hissed through his teeth at the sum, and Kell glowered, but the king was evidently not in the mood to negotiate. “Done.”
The woman raised a brow. “I should have asked for more.”
“You should have asked for none,” said Kell. The pirate ignored him, dark eyes sweeping the room. “How many will go?”
Lila wasn’t about to miss this. She raised her hand.
So did Alucard and Lenos.
And so did Kell.
He did this while holding the king’s gaze, as if daring the monarch to say no. But the king said nothing, and neither did Rhy. The prince only stared at his brother’s raised hand, his face unreadable. Across the room, Alucard folded his arms and scowled at Kell.
“This can’t possibly go wrong,” he muttered.
“You could stay behind,” snapped Kell.
Alucard snorted, Kell seethed, Jasta watched, amused, and Lila poured herself another drink.
She had a feeling she was going to need it.
IX
Rhy heard Kell coming.
One moment he was alone, staring out at the ghostly mirage of the shadow palace—the strange impostor of his home—and the next he found his brother’s reflection in the glass. Kell’s coat was no longer royal red but black and high-collared, silver buttons running down the front. It was the coat he wore whenever he carried messages to other Londons. A coat meant for traveling. For leaving.
“You always wanted to travel beyond the city,” said Rhy.
Kell ducked his head. “This isn’t what I had in mind.”
Rhy turned toward him. Kell was standing before the mirror, so Rhy could see his own face repeated. He tried—and failed—to force his features smooth, tried—and failed—to keep the sadness from his voice. “We were supposed to go together.”
“And one day we will,” said Kell, “but right now, I can’t stop Osaron by sitting here, and if there’s a chance that he’s after the Antari instead of the city, if there’s a chance we can draw him away—”
“I know,” said Rhy, in a way that said Stop. In a way that said I trust you. He slumped into a chair. “I know you thought it was just a line, but I had it all planned out. We could have left after the season’s end, toured the island first, gone from the mist-strewn valleys up to Orten and down through the Stasina forests to the cliffs at Astor, then taken a ship over to the mainland.” He leaned back, let his gaze escape to the ceiling with its folds of color. “Once we landed, we’d have hit Hanas first, then gone by carriage to Linar—I heard the capital there will one day rival London—and the market in Nesto, near the Faroan border, is said to be made of glass. I figured we’d pick up a ship there, stop at the point of Sheran, where the water’s barely a seam between Arnes and Vesk—so narrow you can walk across it—and we’d be back in time for the dawn of summer.”
“Sounds like quite an adventure,” said Kell.
“You’re not the only restless soul,” said Rhy, getting to his feet. “I suppose it’s time now?”
Kell nodded. “But I brought you something.” He dug a hand into his pocket and came up with two gold pins, each emblazoned with the chalice and rising sun of the House Maresh. The same pins they’d worn during the tournament—Rhy with pride, and Kell under duress. The same pin Rhy had used to carve a word into his arm, its twin the one Kell had used to bring Rhy and Alucard back from the Night Spire.
“I’ve done my best to spell the two together,” explained his brother. “The bond should hold, no matter the distance.”
“I thought my way was rather clever,” said Rhy, rubbing his forearm, where he’d carved the word into his skin.
“This one requires far less blood.” Kell came forward, and fastened the pin over his brother’s heart. “If something worrisome happens, and you need me to come back, simply take hold of the pin and say ‘tol.’”
Tol.
Brother.
Rhy managed a rueful smile. “And what if I get lonely?”
Kell rolled his eyes, pinning the second pendant to the front of his coat.
Rhy’s chest tightened.
Don’t go, he wanted to say, even though that wasn’t fair, wasn’t right, wasn’t princely. He swallowed. “If you don’t come back, I’ll have to save the day without you and steal all the glory for myself.”
A short laugh, a ghost of a smile, but then Kell brought a hand to Rhy’s shoulder. It was so light. So heavy. He could feel the tether tighten, the shadows lap at his heels, the darkness whisper through his head.
“Listen to me,” said his brother. “Promise me you won’t go after Osaron. Not until we’re back.”
Rhy frowned. “You can’t expect me to hide in the palace until it’s over.”
“I don’t,” said Kell. “But I expect you to be smart. And I expect you to trust me when I say I have a plan.”
“It would help if you shared it.”
Kell chewed his lip. A dreadful habit. Hardly princely. “Osaron can’t see us coming,” he said. “If we go storming in, demanding a fight, he’ll know we’ve got a card to play. But if we come to save one of ours—”
“I’m to be a lure?” said Rhy, pretending to be aghast.
“What?” teased Kell. “You’ve always liked people fighting for you.”
“Actually,” said the prince, “I prefer people fighting over me.”
Kell’s grip tightened on his sleeve, and the humor died on the air. “Four days, Rhy. We’ll make it back in that. And then you can get yourself into trouble, and—”
Behind them someone cleared their throat.
Kell’s eyes narrowed. His hand fell from Rhy’s arm.
Alucard Emery was waiting in the doorway, his hair pinned back, a blue traveling cloak fastened around his shoulders. Rhy’s body ached at the sight of him. Standing there, Alucard didn’t look like a nobleman, or a triad magician, or even the captain of a ship. He looked like a stranger, like someone who could slip into a crowd, and disappear. Is this what he looked like that night? wondered Rhy. When he snuck out of my bed, out of the palace, out of the city?
Alucard stepped forward into the room, those thin silver scars dancing in the light.
“Are the horses ready?” asked Kell coolly.
“Almost,” answered the captain, plucking at his gloves.
A brief silence fell as Kell waited for Alucard to leave, and while Alucard did not.
“I was hoping,” the captain said at last, “to have a word with the prince.”
“We need to go,” said Kell.
“I won’t be long.”
“We don’t—”