Her hand fell away, and her body slumped against him, still, and in that sudden stillness, Rhy’s world narrowed to the spreading stain, the lingering furrow between his mother’s eyes.
Only then did the pain come, folding over him with such sudden force, such horrible weight, that he clutched his chest and began to scream.
IV
Alucard stood at the ship’s wheel, attention flicking between the three magicians on deck and the line of the sea. The Ghost felt wrong under his hands, too light, too long, a shoe made for someone else’s foot. What he wouldn’t have given for the steady bulk of the Spire. For Stross, and Tav, and Lenos—each name a shard of wood under his skin. And for Rhy—that name an even deeper wound.
Alucard had never longed so much for London.
The Ghost was making good time, but even with the cool, clear day and three recovering Antari keeping wind in the sails, someone still had to chart a course, and for all his posturing, Kell Maresh didn’t know the first thing about steering ships, Holland could barely keep his food down, and Bard was a quick study but would always be a better thief than a sailor—not that he’d ever say so to her face. Thus the task of getting the Ghost to Tanek and the crew—what few were left—to London fell to him.
“What does it mean?” Bard’s voice drifted up from the lower deck. She was standing close to the Antari prince while the latter held the Inheritor up to the sun.
Alucard winced, remembering what he’d gone through to get the blasted thing. The tip-off in Sasenroche. The boat to the cliffs at Hanas. The unmarked grave and the empty coffin and that was just the beginning, but it all made for a good story, and for Maris that was half the price.
And everyone paid. First timers most of all. If Maris didn’t know you, she didn’t trust you, and a modest prize was like to earn you a swift departure with no invitation to return, so Alucard had paid. Dug up that Inheritor and taken it all the way to Maris, and now here they were, and here it was, with him again.
Rhy’s brother (Alucard discovered that he hated Kell a little less when he thought of him that way) was turning the device gingerly between his fingers while Bard leaned over him.
Holland was watching the others in silence, and so Alucard watched him. The third Antari didn’t often speak, and when he did, his words were dry, disdainful. He had all the airs of someone who knew his own strength, and knew it went unequaled, at least in present company. Alucard might have liked him if he were a little less of an asshole. Or maybe a little more. He might have liked him, anyway, if he weren’t a traitor. If he hadn’t summoned the monster that now raged like a fire through London. The same monster that had killed Anisa.
“Give and Take,” said Kell, squinting.
“Right,” pressed Bard. “But how does it work?”
“I imagine you pierce your hand against the point,” he explained.
“Give it here.”
“This isn’t a toy, Lila.”
“And I’m not a child, Kell.”
Holland cleared his throat. “We should all be familiar with it.”
Kell rolled his eyes and took a last studying look before offering up the Inheritor.
Holland reached to take it when Kell gasped suddenly and let go. The cylinder tumbled from his fingers as he doubled over, a low groan escaping his throat.
Holland caught the Inheritor and Bard caught Kell. He’d gone white as a sail, one hand clutching his chest.
Alucard was on his feet, racing toward them, one word pounding through his head, his heart.
Rhy.
Rhy.
Rhy.
Magic flared in his vision as he reached Kell’s side, scanning the silvery lines that coiled around the Antari. The knot at Kell’s heart was still there, but the threads were glowing with a fiery light, pulsing faintly at some invisible strain.
Kell fought back a cry, the sound whistling through his clenched teeth.
“What is it?” demanded Alucard, barely able to hear his own words over that panicked echo in his blood. “What’s happening?”
“The prince,” Kell managed, his breath ragged.
I know that, he wanted to scream. “Is he alive?” Alucard realized the answer even before Kell scowled at him.
“Of course he’s alive,” snapped the Antari, fingers digging into his front. “But—he’s been attacked.”
“By who?”
“I don’t know,” growled Kell. “I’m not psychic.”
“My money’s on Vesk,” offered Bard.
Kell let out a small hiccup of pain as the threads flared, singeing the air before dimming back to their usual silver glow.
Holland pocketed the Inheritor. “If he can’t die, then there’s no reason to worry.”
“Of course there’s a reason,” Kell shot back, forcing himself up. “Someone just tried to murder the prince of Arnes.” He drew a royal pin from the pocket of his coat. “We have to go. Lila. Holland.”
Alucard stared. “What about me?” His pulse was steadying, but his whole body still hummed with the animal panic, the need to act.
Kell pressed his thumb to the pin’s tip, drawing blood. “You can stay with the ship.”
“Not a chance,” snarled Alucard, casting his gaze at the meager crew left on board.
Holland was just standing there, watching, but when Lila made as if to go to Kell’s side, his pale fingers caught her arm. She glared at him, but he didn’t let go, and Kell didn’t look back, didn’t wait to see if they were following as he brought the token to the wall.
Holland shook his head. “That won’t work.”
Kell wasn’t listening. “As Tascen—”
The rest of the spell was cut off by a crack splitting the air, accompanied by the sudden pitch of the ship and Kell’s stunned yelp as his body was forcefully hurled backward across the deck.
To Alucard’s eyes, it looked like a Saint’s Day firework had gone off in the middle of the Ghost.
A crackle of light, a sputter of energy, the silver of Kell’s magic crashing against the blues and greens and reds of the natural world. Rhy’s brother tried to stand up, holding his head, clearly surprised to find himself still on the ship.
“What in the ever-loving hell was that?” asked Bard.
Holland took a slow step forward, casting a shadow over Kell. “As I was saying, you cannot make a door on a moving craft. It defies the rules of transitional magic.”
“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”
The other Antari raised a brow. “Obviously, I assumed you knew.”
The color was coming back into Kell’s face, the pained furrows fading, replaced by a hot flush.
“Until we reach land,” continued Holland, “we’re no better than ordinary magicians.”
The disdain in his voice raked on Alucard’s nerves. No wonder Bard was always trying to kill him.
Lila made a sound then, and Alucard turned in time to see Kell on his feet, hands lifted in the direction of the mast. The current of magic filled his vision, power tipping toward Kell like water in a glass. A second later the gust of wind hit the ship so hard its sails snapped and the whole thing made a low wooden groan.
“Careful!” shouted Alucard, sprinting toward the wheel as the ship banked hard beneath the sudden gale.
He got the Ghost back on course as Kell drove it on with a degree of focus—of concentrated force—he’d never seen the Antari use. A level of strength reserved not for London, or the king and queen, not for Rosenal, or Osaron himself.
But for Rhy, thought Alucard.
The same force of love that had broken the laws of the world and brought a brother back to life.
Threads of magic drew taut and bright as Kell forced his strength into the sails, Holland and Lila bracing themselves as he drew past the limits of his power and leaned on theirs.
Hold on, Rhy, thought Alucard, as the ship skated forward, rising until it skimmed the surface of the water, sea spray misting the air around them as the Ghost surged anew for London.
V
Rhy descended the prison stairs.
His steps were slow, bracing. It hurt to breathe, a pain that had nothing to do with the wound to his chest, and everything to do with the fact that his mother was dead.