VIII
AN ARRANGEMENT
I
Kell woke up in Lila’s bed for the second time that night.
Though at least this time, he discovered, there were no ropes. His hands rested at his sides, bound by nothing but the rough blanket that had been cast over him. It took him a moment to remember that it was Lila’s room, Lila’s bed, to piece together the memory of Holland and the alley and the blood, and afterward, Lila’s grip and her voice, as steady as the rain. The rain had stopped falling now, and low morning light was creeping into the sky, and for a moment all Kell wanted was to be home. Not in the shoddy room in the Ruby Fields, but at the palace. He closed his eyes and could almost hear Rhy pounding on his door, telling him to get dressed because the carriages were waiting, and so were the people.
“Get ready or be left behind,” Rhy would say, bursting into the room.
“Then leave me,” Kell would groan.
“Not a chance,” Rhy would answer, wearing his best prince’s grin. “Not today.”
A cart clattered past outside, and Kell blinked, Rhy fading back into nothing.
Were they worried about him yet, the royal family? Did they have any idea what was happening? How could they? Even Kell did not know. He knew only that he had the stone, and that he needed to be rid of it.
He tried to sit up, but his body cried out, and he had to bite his tongue to keep from voicing it. His skin, his muscle, his very bones … everything ached in a steady, horrible way, as if he were nothing but a bruise. Even the beat of his heart in his chest and the pulse of his blood through his veins felt sore, strained. He felt like death. It was as close as he had ever come, and closer than he ever wished to be. When the pain—or at least the novelty of it—lessened, he forced himself upright, bracing a hand against the headboard.
He fought to focus his vision, and when he managed, he found himself looking squarely into Lila’s eyes. She was sitting in that same chair at the foot of the bed, her pistol in her lap.
“Why did you do it?” she asked, the question primed on her tongue, as if she’d been waiting.
Kell squinted. “Do what?”
“Come back,” she said, the words low. “Why did you come back?” Two words hung in the air, unsaid but understood. For me.
Kell fought to drag his thoughts together, but even they were as stiff and sore as the rest of him. “I don’t know.”
Lila seemed unimpressed by the answer, but she only sighed and returned her weapon to the holster at her waist. “How are you feeling?”
Like hell, thought Kell. But then he looked down at himself and realized that, despite his aching body, the wound at his arm, where the nail had driven through, as well as the one across his stomach from the cutthroat’s stolen sword, were nearly healed. “How long was I asleep?”
“A few hours,” said Lila.
Kell ran a hand gingerly over his ribs. That didn’t make sense. Cuts this deep took days to mend, not hours. Not unless he had a—
“I used this,” said Lila, tossing a circular tin his way. Kell plucked it out of the air, wincing a little as he did. The container was unmarked, but he recognized it at once. The small metal tin contained a healing salve. Not just any healing salve, but one of his own, the royal emblem of the chalice and rising sun embossed on its lid. He’d misplaced it weeks ago.
“Where did you get this?” he asked.
“In a pocket in your coat,” said Lila, stretching. “By the way, did you know that your coat is more than one coat? I’m pretty sure I went through five or six to find that.”
Kell stared at her, slack-jawed.
“What?” she asked.
“How did you know what it was for?”
Lila shrugged. “I didn’t.”
“What if it had been poison?” he snapped.
“There’s really no winning with you,” she snapped back. “It smelled fine. It seemed fine.” Kell groaned. “And obviously I tested it on myself first.”
“You did what?”
Lila crossed her arms. “I’m not repeating myself just so you can gape and glare.” Kell shook his head, cursing under his breath as she nodded at a pile of clothes at the foot of the bed. “Barron brought those for you.”
Kell frowned (saints, even his brow hurt when it furrowed). He and Barron had a business agreement. He was pretty sure it didn’t cover shelter and personal necessities. He would owe him for the trouble—and it was trouble. Both of them knew it.
Kell could feel Lila’s eyes hanging on him as he reached for the clean tunic and shrugged it gingerly over his shoulders. “What is it?” he asked.
“You said no one would follow you.”
“I said no one could,” corrected Kell. “Because no one can, except for Holland.” Kell looked at his hands and frowned. “I just never thought—”
“One is not the same thing as none, Kell,” said Lila. And then she let out a breath and ran a hand through her cropped dark hair. “But I suppose you didn’t exactly have all your wits about you.” Kell looked up in surprise. Was she actually excusing him? “And I did hit you with a book.”
“What?”
“Nothing,” said Lila, waving her hand. “So this Holland. He’s like you?”
Kell swallowed, remembering Holland’s words in the alley—We may share an ability, you and I, but that does not make us equals—and the dark, almost disdainful look that crossed his face when he said it. He thought of the brand burned into the other Antari’s skin, and the patchwork of scars on his arms, and the White king’s smug smile as Holland pressed the knife into his skin. No, Holland was nothing like Kell, and Kell was nothing like Holland.
“He can also move between worlds,” explained Kell. “In that way, we are alike.”
“And the eye?” questioned Lila.
“A mark of our magic,” said Kell. “Antari. That is what we are called. Blood magicians.”
Lila chewed her lip. “Are there any others I should know about?” she asked, and Kell thought he saw a sliver of something—fear?—cross her features, buried almost instantly behind the stubborn set of her jaw.
Kell shook his head slowly. “No,” he said, “We are the only two.”
He expected her to look relieved, but her expression only grew graver. “Is that why he didn’t kill you?”
“What do you mean?”