Rhy blinked, the visions dissolving back into the baths. “What gift?”
Cora’s fingers curled through the steam. “In my country, there are those who look into the fog and see things that are not there. Things that haven’t happened yet. Just now, you looked like you were seeing something.”
“Not seeing,” said Rhy. “Just remembering.”
*
They sat for ages in the bath, eager to leave neither the warmth nor the company. They perched side by side on the stone bench at the basin’s edge, or on the cooler tile of its rim, and spoke—not about the past, or their respective scars. Instead, they shared the present. Rhy told her about the city beyond the walls, about the curse cast over London, its strange and spreading transmutation, about the fallen, and the silvers. And Cora told him about the claustrophobic palace with its maddening nobles, the gallery where they gathered to worry, the corners where they huddled to whisper.
Cora had the kind of voice that rang out through a room, but when she spoke softly, there was a music to it, a melody that he found lulling. She wove stories about this lord and that lady, calling them by their clothes since she didn’t always know their names. She spoke of the magicians, too, with their tempers and their egos, recounted whole conversations without a stutter or a stop.
Cora, it seemed, had a mind like a gem, sharp and bright, and buried beneath childish airs. He knew why she did it—it was the same reason he played a rake as much as a royal. It was easier, sometimes, to be underestimated, discounted, dismissed.
“… And then he actually did it,” she was saying. “Swallowed a glass of wine and lit a spark, and poof, burned half his beard off.”
Rhy laughed—it felt easy, and wrong, and so very needed—and Cora shook her head. “Never dare a Veskan. It turns us stupid.”
“Kell said he had to knock one of your magicians out cold to keep her from charging into the fog.”
Cora cocked her head. “I haven’t seen your brother all day. Where has he gone?”
Rhy leaned his head back against the tiles. “To find help.”
“He’s not in the palace?”
“He’s not in the city.”
“Oh,” she said thoughtfully. And then her smile was back, lazy on her lips. “And what about this?” she asked, producing Rhy’s royal pin.
He shot upright. “Where did you get that?”
“It was in your trouser pocket.”
He reached for it, and she pulled playfully out of reach.
“Give it back,” he demanded, and she must have heard the warning in his voice, the sudden, shocking cold of the command, because she didn’t resist, didn’t play any games. Rhy’s hand closed over the water-warmed metal. “It’s late,” he said, rising out of the bath. “I should go.”
“I didn’t mean to upset you,” she said, looking genuinely hurt.
He ran a hand through damp curls. “You didn’t,” he lied as a pair of servants appeared, wrapping a robe around his bare shoulders. Anger burned through him, but only at himself for letting his guard slip, letting his focus drift. He should have left long ago, but he hadn’t wanted to face the shadows that came with sleep. Now his body ached, his mind blurring with fatigue. “It’s been a long day, and I’m tired.”
Sadness washed across Cora’s face.
“Rhy,” she mewed, “it was only a game. I wouldn’t have kept it.”
He knelt on the bath’s tiled edge, tipped her chin, and kissed her once on the forehead. “I know,” he said.
He left her sitting alone in the bath.
Outside, Vis was slumped in a chair, weary but awake.
“I’m sorry,” said Rhy as the guard rose beside him. “You shouldn’t have waited. Or I shouldn’t have stayed.”
“It’s all right, sir,” said the man groggily, falling into step behind him.
The palace had gone quiet around them, only the murmur of the guards on duty filling the air as Rhy climbed the stairs, pausing outside Kell’s room before remembering he wasn’t there.
His own chamber stood empty, the lamps lit low, casting long shadows on every surface. A collection of tonics glittered on the sideboard—Tieren’s concoctions for nights when it got bad—but the warmth of the bath still clung to his limbs and dawn was only a few hours away, so Rhy set his pin on the table and fell into the bed.
Only to be assaulted by a ball of white fur.
Alucard’s cat had been sleeping on his pillow, and gave an indignant chirp when Rhy landed on the sheets. He didn’t have the energy to evict the cat—its violet eyes were daring him to try—so Rhy slumped back, content to share the space. He threw an arm over his eyes and was surprised to feel the soft weight of a paw prodding his arm before curling up against his side. He slid his fingers absently through the creature’s fur, letting the soft rumble of its purr and the faint, lingering scent of the captain—all sea breeze and summer wine—pull him down into sleep.
VII
There was a moment, when a ship first put out to sea.
When the land fell away and the world stretched wide, nothing but water and sky and freedom.
It was Lila’s favorite time, when anything could happen and nothing yet had. She stood on the deck of the Ghost as Tanek parted around them, and the wild night opened its arms.
When she finally went below, Jasta was waiting at the base of the stairs.
“Avan,” said Lila casually.
“Avan,” rumbled Jasta.
It was a narrow hall, and she had to sidestep the captain in order to get by. She was halfway past when Jasta’s hand shot out and closed around her throat. Lila’s feet left the floor and then she was hanging, pinned roughly against the wall. She scrambled for purchase, too stunned to summon magic or reach her blade. By the time she finally freed the one she kept strapped to her ribs, the captain’s hand had withdrawn and Lila was sagging back against the wall. One leg buckled before she managed to catch herself.
“What the everloving hell was that for?”
Jasta just stood there, looking down at Lila as if she hadn’t just tried to strangle her. “That,” said the captain, “was for insulting my ship.”
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” she snarled.
Jasta simply shrugged. “That was a warning. Next time, I throw you over.”
With that, the captain held out her hand. It seemed a bad idea to take it, but a worse idea to refuse. Before Lila could decide, Jasta reached down and hauled her upright, gave her a sturdy pat on the back, and walked away, whistling as she went.
Lila watched the woman go, rocked by the sudden violence, the fact that she hadn’t seen it coming. She holstered her blade with shaking fingers, and went to find Kell.
*
He was in the first cabin on the left.
“Well, this is cozy,” she said, standing in the doorway.
The cabin was half the size of a closet, and about as welcoming. With just enough space for a single cot, it reminded Lila a bit too much of the makeshift coffin she’d been buried in by a bitter Faroan during the tournament.
Kell was sitting on the cot, turning a royal pin over in his fingers. When he saw her, he tucked it in his pocket.
“Room for another?” she asked, feeling like a fool even as she said it. There were only four cabins, and one was being used as a cell.
“I think we can make do,” said Kell, rising to his feet. “But if you’d rather …”
He took a step toward the door, as if to go. She didn’t want him to.
“Stay,” she said, and there it was, that flickering smile, like an ember, coaxed with every breath.
“All right.”
A single lantern hung from the ceiling, and Kell snapped his fingers, pale fire dancing above his thumb as he reached up to light the wick. Lila turned in a careful circle, surveying the cubby. “A bit smaller than your usual accommodations, mas vares?”
“Don’t call me that,” he said, pulling her back toward him, and she was about to say it again just to tease him when she saw the look in his eyes and relented, running her hands along his coat.
“All right.”
He pulled her close, brushing his thumb against her cheek, and she knew he was looking at her eye, the spiral of fractured glass.