He frowned, looked down at the talisman in his grip, and caught his breath. The veins on the back of his hand were dark, so dark that they stood out like ink against his flesh, the lines tracing up toward his elbow. The power he’d felt pulsing through him was actually pulsing through him, turning his blood black. He had been so focused on his renewed strength, and on the spell itself, on staying hidden, that he had not felt—had not wanted to feel—the warmth of the magic spreading up his arm like poison. But he should have noticed, should have known—that was the thing. Kell knew better. He knew how dangerous the stone was, and yet, even now, staring down at his darkened veins, that danger felt strangely faraway. A persistent calm pressed through him stride for stride with the stone’s magic, telling him that everything would be all right, so long as he kept holding—
A knife buried itself in the post beside his head, and the room snapped back into focus.
“Have you gone deaf?” growled Lila, freeing another blade. “I said put it down.”
Before the calm could close over him again, Kell willed himself to release the stone. At first, his fingers stayed clasped around the talisman as warmth—and in its wake, a kind of numbness—seeped through him. He brought his free, untainted hand to his darkening wrist and gripped hard, willing his resisting fingers to uncurl, to release the stone.
And finally, reluctantly, they did.
The stone tumbled from his grip, and Kell’s knee instantly buckled beneath him. He caught himself on a table’s edge, gasping for breath as his vision swam and the room tilted. He hadn’t felt the stone leeching his energy, but now that it was gone, it was like someone had doused his fire. Everything went cold.
The talisman glinted on the wooden floor, a streak of blood against the jagged edge where Kell had gripped too hard. Even in its wake, it took all Kell’s will not to take it up again. Shaking and chilled, he still longed to hold it. There were men who lurked in dens and in the dark corners of London, chasing highs like this, but Kell had never been one of them, never craved the raw power. Never needed to. Magic wasn’t something he lusted for; it was something he simply had. But now his veins felt starved of it, and starving for it.
Before he could lose battle for control, Lila knelt beside the stone. “Clever little thing,” she said, reaching for it.
“Don’t—” started Kell, but she’d already used her handkerchief to sweep it up.
“Someone’s got to hold on to it,” she said, slipping the talisman into her pocket. “And I’d wager I’m the better choice right now.”
Kell clutched the table as the magic withdrew, the veins in his arm lightening little by little.
“Still with us?” asked Lila.
Kell swallowed and nodded. The stone was a poison, and they had to be rid of it. He steadied himself. “I’m all right.”
Lila raised a brow. “Yes. You are the very image of health.”
Kell sighed and slumped into a chair. On the docks outside, the celebrations were in full swing. Fireworks punctuated the music and cheers, the noise dulled, but not much, by the walls of the shop.
“What’s he like?” asked Lila, looking in a cabinet. “The prince.”
“Rhy?” Kell ran a hand through his hair. “He’s … charming and spoiled, generous and fickle and hedonistic. He would flirt with a nicely upholstered chair, and he never takes anything seriously.”
“Does he get into as much trouble as you do?”
Kell cracked a smile. “Oh, much more. Believe it or not, I’m the responsible one.”
“But you two are close.”
Kell’s smile fell, and he nodded once. “Yes. The king and queen may not be my parents, but Rhy is my brother. I would die for him. I would kill for him. And I have.”
“Oh?” asked Lila, admiring a hat. “Do tell.”
“It’s not a pleasant story,” said Kell, sitting forward.
“Now I want to hear it even more,” said Lila.
Kell considered her and sighed, looking down at his hands. “When Rhy was thirteen, he was abducted. We were playing some stupid game in the palace courtyard when he was taken. Though, knowing Rhy, he might have gone willingly at first. Growing up, he was always too trusting.”
Lila set the hat aside. “What happened?”
“Red London is a good place,” insisted Kell. “The royals here are kind, and just, and most of the subjects are happy. But,” he continued, “I have been to all three Londons, and I can say this: there is no version that does not suffer in one way or another.”
He thought of the opulence, the glittering wealth, and what it must look like to those without. Those who had been stripped of power for crimes, and those never blessed with much to begin with. Kell could not help wondering, What would have become of Rhy Maresh if he were not a royal? Where would he be? But of course, Rhy could survive on his charm and his smile. He would always get by.
“My world is a world made of magic,” he said. “The gifted reap the blessings, and the royal family wants to believe that those who are not gifted do as well. That their generosity and their care extend to every citizen.” He found Lila’s eyes. “But I have seen the darker parts of this city. In your world, magic is a rarity. In mine, the lack of it is just as strange. And those without gifts are often looked down upon as unworthy of them, and treated as less for it. The people here believe that magic chooses its path. That it judges, and so can they. Aven essen, they call it. Divine balance.”
But by that logic, the magic had chosen Kell, and he did not believe that. Someone else could just have easily woken or been born with the Antari mark, and been brought into the lush red folds of the palace in his stead.
“We live brightly,” said Kell. “For better or worse, our city burns with life. With light. And where there’s light … well. Several years ago, a group began to form. They called themselves the Shadows. Half a dozen men and women—some with power, some without—who believed the city burned its power too brightly and with too little care, squandering it. To them, Rhy was not a boy, but a symbol of everything wrong. And so they took him. I later learned they meant to hang his body from the palace doors. Saints be thanked, they never got the chance.
“I was fourteen when it happened, a year Rhy’s senior and still coming into my power. When the king and queen learned of their son’s abduction, they sent the royal guard across the city. Every scrying board in every public square and private home burned with the urgent message to find the stolen prince. And I knew they would not find him. I knew it in my bones and in my blood.
“I went to Rhy’s rooms—I remember how empty the palace was, with all the guards out searching—and found the first thing I knew was truly his, a small wooden horse he’d carved, no bigger than a palm. I had made doors using tokens before, but never one like this, never to a person instead of a place. But there is an Antari word for find, and so I thought it would work. It had to. And it did. The wall of his room gave way to the bottom of a boat. Rhy was lying on the floor. And he wasn’t breathing.”
Air hissed between Lila’s teeth, but she didn’t interrupt.
“I had learned the blood commands for many things,” said Kell. “As Athera. To grow. As Pyrata. To burn. As Illumae. To light. As Travars. To Travel. As Orense. To open. As Anasae. To dispel. As Hasari. To heal. So I tried to heal him. I cut my hand and pressed it to his chest and said the words. And it didn’t work.” Kell would never shake the image of Rhy lying on the damp deck floor, pale and still. It was one of the only times in his life that he looked small.
“I didn’t know what to do,” continued Kell. “I thought maybe I hadn’t used enough blood. So I cut my wrists.”
He could feel Lila’s unwavering stare as he looked down at his hands now, palms up, considering the ghosted scars.
“I remember kneeling over him, the dull ache spreading up my arms as I pressed my palms against him and said the words over and over and over. As Hasari. As Hasari. As Hasari. What I didn’t realize then was that a healing spell—even a blood command—takes time. It was already working, had been since the first invocation. A few moments later, Rhy woke up.” Kell broke into a sad smile. “He looked up and saw me crouching over him, bleeding, and the first thing he said wasn’t ‘What happened?’ or ‘Where are we?’ He touched the blood on his chest and said, ‘Is it yours? Is it all yours?’ and when I nodded, he burst into tears, and I took him home.”
When he found Lila’s gaze, her dark eyes were wide.
“But what happened to the Shadows?” she asked, when it was clear that he was done. “The ones who took him? Were they in the boat? Did you go back for them? Did you send the guards?”
“Indeed,” said Kell. “The king and queen tracked down every member of the Shadows. And Rhy pardoned them all.”
“What?” gasped Lila. “After they tried to kill him?”
“That’s the thing about my brother. He’s headstrong and thinks with every part of his body but his brain most days, but he’s a good prince. He possesses something many lack: empathy. He forgave his captors. He understood why they did it, and he felt their suffering. And he was convinced that if he showed them mercy, they wouldn’t try to harm him again.” Kell’s eyes went to the floor. “And I made sure they couldn’t.”
Lila’s brow crinkled as she realized what he was saying. “I thought you said—”
“I said Rhy forgave them.” Kell pushed to his feet. “I never said I did.”
Lila stared at him, not with shock or horror, but a measure of respect. Kell rolled his shoulders and smoothed his coat. “I guess we better start looking.”
She blinked once, twice, obviously wanting to say more, but Kell made it as clear as he could that this particular discussion was over. “What are we looking for?” she finally asked.
Kell surveyed the packed shelves, the overflowing cabinets and cupboards.
“A white rook.”