Bex’s mouth twitched, but whatever she was about to say was cut off by Calin throwing his arms wide. His power flared, and every one of the tables and chairs came flying toward them.
Tes flinched, but Kell and Lila moved at once, their hands outstretched, silver magic flaring bright as the torrent of wood splintered and broke apart against a wall of will. By the time the debris collapsed to the ground, the room beyond was empty.
The killers were gone.
Lila Bard sighed, and dropped her hand, but Kell Maresh buckled forward, heaving, sweat shining on his brow. The threads around him spasmed and sparked. Tes was right—something was very wrong with the Antari’s magic.
She watched, expecting Bard to hurry to the prince’s side, to help him up, but she just shook her head and said, “Honestly, Kell.” And then she turned, and grabbed Tes’s arm, fingers vising as she dragged her toward the stairs.
“Can’t stay here” was all she said by way of explanation. Kell straightened, and made his way to the bar, where the innkeeper had risen to her feet.
“What’s wrong with him?” she asked as Lila Bard hauled her up the stairs.
“He’s an idiot,” answered the Antari, glancing back over her shoulder.
“The palace will pay for everything,” the prince was saying to the frazzled innkeeper. “And I’ll send magicians round to fix the damage.”
They reached the landing—what was left of it, the walls cracked, the rug rucked up, one corner quietly burning—and the Antari steered them past a pool of blood on the landing that was definitely hers, and several more that weren’t. She pushed Tes into a bedroom. A chest sat open at the foot of the bed, black clothes spilling out, a ghoulish face jutted up, and Tes recoiled before realizing it was a horned mask.
“Let me go,” she protested, but Lila only snorted, pushing her toward the wall where a small stain darkened the wood.
She reached up and touched her cheek, where blood leaked from a deep cut, and then used that blood to draw the symbol fresh. Tes watched as a single silver thread drew away from the net and laid itself over the mark.
“Kell?” she called over her shoulder, and moments later the prince appeared, looking weary as he brought his hand to Tes’s shoulder.
“Hold on,” he said gently, and then Lila was saying something, and the room was tumbling away, and Tes was falling, not down, but apart, the whole world unraveling around her, thread by thread and all at once. And when it wove itself together again, she was no longer in the ruined tavern, but standing in a massive marble-floored room, with gilded curtains and an ornate bed. She looked up, and saw the night sky, only it wasn’t a sky, but hundreds of gossamer lengths that stretched and billowed to form the illusion.
A pair of glass doors gave way onto a balcony, the crimson ribbon of the Isle shining far below, and Tes realized that she was in the royal palace. A wave of dizziness swept through her, and she reached out to steady herself, but the instant her hand met the cloth edge of a sofa, she recoiled, half in pain, and half in horror. Her hand. She’d tied a kerchief around it at some point, but the cloth had long soaked through, and a stain now darkened the ornate fabric.
“Don’t worry,” said the prince, sinking heavily into a chair. “The servants are well versed in removing blood.”
The silver threads around him twitched. Tes found herself following the path they made, as if he were an object open on her desk, her fingers tracing their way to find the breaks.
Kell Maresh saw her staring. “What is it?”
Tes ducked her head, and said nothing.
Lila Bard had stopped before a full-length mirror, and seemed to be taking note of her own injuries, examining the cut on her brow, the tear in her shirt. Her gaze met Tes’s in the reflection.
“That was a clever ruse,” she said, turning from the glass. “Now where is it?”
Tes stared at the Antari. “Where is what?”
“The persalis.”
Tes’s head was spinning. She didn’t understand. “I destroyed it. In the tavern. You saw me.”
“I saw what you wanted them to see. But it was obviously a decoy.”
Tes said nothing, and the amusement died on Lila’s face, replaced by a slow but vivid horror.
Her boots echoed sharply as they crossed the floor. “You mean to tell me,” she said, enunciating every word, “that what you destroyed back there was the real persalis.”
Tes’s silence spoke for itself.
Lila shook her head. “Empty your pockets.”
When Tes did not, Lila grabbed her roughly by the arm.
“Gently,” warned Kell. “She’s clearly injured.”
But Lila began to search them for her. When her hand grazed Tes’s injured side, she hissed in pain, the whole room threatening to disappear. When it steadied, the Antari was holding, of all things, the dead owl. It stared up at her, one eye blue, the other black.
“What the hell is this?” she asked.
In response to the question, the owl cocked his skull, and fluttered his bone wings.
Lila yelped, and dropped the bird. Tes lunged to catch it before it struck the floor. Her side screamed at the movement, and sweat broke out along her brow, but the little owl was safe.
“His name,” she said, breathless, “is Vares.”
Kell Maresh looked up at the mention. So did the bird. Tes had to resist the urge to laugh. It wasn’t funny. Nothing was funny. She had lost a lot of blood.
Lila crossed her arms. “How do we know that was the real persalis? Maybe you’ve stashed it somewhere.”
“Why would I? I never wanted anything to do with it! I run a repair shop. Someone brought it in to me, to be fixed. I didn’t even know what it did.”
Lila’s eyes narrowed, and even though one was glass, they both seemed to look through her. “If you didn’t know, how could you fix it?”
Tes hesitated. “I’m good at my job.”
The Antari came closer. “The world is full of good liars,” she said. “You’re not one of them.”
“Lila,” warned Kell, but the Antari’s focus hung entirely on Tes.
“In my experience,” the woman said, “it takes one of two things to survive in the world. Talent. Or cunning. And a cunning person would have found a way to save the persalis. You must have quite the talent.”
Tes swallowed, the truth rising in her throat. Her breath shuddered. At some point, she had begun to shake. She wondered if she was going into shock, thought it rude, that after everything she’d been through, her body was choosing now to fall apart.
She reached to steady herself on a table, but her balance was off, or else the table had moved, because she missed it, stumbled, gasped in pain as the movement tore at her side.
“She’s injured,” said Kell, getting to his feet.
“Hands bleed,” said Lila with a dismissive wave.
But the prince was staring at Tes’s stomach. “Not that much.”
She followed his gaze. A dark stain was spreading across her shirtfront. “Oh,” she said slowly. “That.” Her teeth were chattering.
“Lila, she’s hurt,” said Kell. “You should heal her.”
But the Antari wasn’t listening. Her thin fingers found Tes’s chin, and forced it up to meet her gaze.
“How did you fix the persalis?” Her face slid in and out of focus. Tes was so tired. Tired of running. Tired of keeping secrets. And if anyone would understand how it felt, to have a rare and wanted power, surely it was an Antari.
“I can see it,” she said, the words sliding between her teeth. “I can see the threads of magic that run through spells. That’s how I knew what it was. And how to fix it.”
For a moment, after she said it, all Tes felt was relief. Heavy as a blanket.
The prince made a sound that might have been a laugh. Lila and Tes both turned to him.
“Alucard will be devastated,” he said, “to learn he’s not the only one gifted with such sight.”
Tes stiffened. “There are others?”
“It would appear that way,” said Lila.
“I didn’t know.” Tes looked down at Vares, the little strings of light wound like wire through his bones. “I’ve never met anyone else who could manipulate the threads of magic.”
It was a very large room, but in that moment, all the air seemed to go out of it. Tes looked up, and found both Antari staring at her.