But the best crime was the one you pulled off in plain sight.
Lila had no doubt that half the guests streaming into this place were simply patrons of the pleasure garden. They were providing perfect cover for the rest.
She fell in step behind the men, trailed them toward the door, which hung open ahead, though any glimpse of the house beyond was concealed behind a curtain. A host stood waiting to greet each guest as they arrived. He was dressed head to toe in white: a fitted suit beneath a pale, pearl cloak. Over his face, he wore a golden mask.
If the host noticed that Lila was dressed in men’s clothes—and underdressed at that, her tunic and trousers smudged beneath her coat, the remains of dust and blood from the tavern brawl, though she had buttoned the coat to hide the worst—he made no comment. And if his smile faltered, thanks to the mask there was no way to tell.
“Welcome to the Veil,” said the host, extending a gloved hand. “Do you have an invitation?”
Lila’s fingers twitched toward her nearest knife, a habit whenever the choice was either lie, or fight, but instead she reached into her pocket and produced the coin she’d discovered in the tavern. She checked its edge with the pad of her thumb to ensure it was the right one, then dropped the altered lin into the host’s waiting hand. For a moment, he simply stared down at it, as if surprised to see it there. Then his gloved fingers closed over the coin.
“There will be a toast,” he said, “in the library. At the appointed time.”
Lila didn’t have to ask when that would be.
Nonis ora.
Eleven.
Lila passed through the curtain, and stepped into a foyer full of faces. Masks. Dozens of them hung mounted to the walls—not gold, like the one worn by the host, but black, and white, and featureless—and dozens more were missing, their absence marked by golden hooks. Lila selected a black one, and settled it over her face, and though it lacked the horns that adorned her own, Lila still felt herself humming as she made her way to the back of the foyer, and the second curtain there.
How do you know the Sarows is coming, is coming, is coming aboard?
She pushed the curtain aside, and entered the Veil.
II
Alucard ran his hand over the stone wall as they descended the prison steps.
He could see the threads that danced over the rock, just as he could see the ones that carried on the draft that wafted from below, and the ones that bound Kell and Rhy together, the way that only Kell’s looked frayed, while his brother’s were mercifully unbroken. He studied the web of tendrils, the places they crossed, and tried to imagine having the gift that this girl supposedly did, being able to reach into the threads, take hold, and change them.
How many nights had he lain awake beside Rhy, studying the silver threads, watching the way they flowed out from the king’s heart? Now he tried to imagine his fingers between the narrow gaps, how careful his touch would have to be to land on only the right ones, let alone to sever and retie them without causing some catastrophic failure. The complexity was terrifying, the potential for error so great, and Alucard was left to wonder, if he could do it, would he trust himself?
He was secretly relieved he didn’t have the choice.
Kell’s shoulders tensed as they neared the royal cells, and Alucard remembered that the prince had spent time behind the bars once, for defying the late king.
“Where are the guards?” Rhy asked now as they reached the row of cells. And it was true—there should have been someone guarding the girl. But there was no one stationed, and when they reached the last cell, he saw why.
The girl was gone.
The cell stood empty, the door wide open. For a single, lurching moment, he thought she must have escaped. But the wards in the cell were still active, and there was no sign of tampering. No, someone had taken her out.
“Lila,” hissed Kell, a single, damning word as he doubled back down the row, and surged up the stairs, and Alucard found himself hoping Kell was wrong—Lila had been in a dark mood, convinced the girl was holding back. He didn’t want to know what she would do, left to her own devices.
Rhy and Alucard followed Kell back up the stairs, into the palace hall where he’d approached the nearest guard.
“Have you seen Lila?” he demanded.
“She took the girl from the prison,” said Rhy.
“Why was the cell unguarded?” asked Alucard.
The guard bowed deeply. “Your Majesties,” he said, glancing between the three as if unsure which to address, before deciding, at last, on the king. “Lila Bard did not take the prisoner.”
“How do you know?” demanded Kell.
He hesitated only a moment. “Because it was the queen.”
* * *
The night, it turned out, was full of surprises.
The three of them arrived at the queen’s workshop to find, again, no girl, and Nadiya Loreni leaning over a table. She looked at her husband and his consort and the prince as they came in, but made no motion toward them.
As Alucard moved closer, he could see why—her wrists were cuffed, and bound to the table, the metals literally fused together. She opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out, and Alucard realized how oppressively quiet it was in the workshop, as if the ambient sound had been sucked out.
She nodded at something on the table. It looked like a music box, though the threads had been pulled out and tied around it.
Ingenious, he thought, right before he smashed it.
Sound whooshed back into the room as it broke, and Nadiya sighed audibly.
“What happened?” demanded Rhy.
“She got away,” said Nadiya, as if that explained everything. “Can one of you fetch Sasha? She’s a metalworker.”
Five minutes later, the nursemaid was there, and the queen was free, rubbing her wrists.
Kell, meanwhile, had gone in search of Lila.
Alucard’s attention remained on the queen. She didn’t seem terribly upset by the assault, and he trailed her across the workshop to another surface, watching as she unrolled a length of parchment, and uncorked a bottle of black sand, which she upended into the center. He watched her make an indent in the sand, and then, watched her produce a small white bone and put it in the groove.
She murmured a few words, and the black sand began to move, tracing itself outward in thin lines across the parchment until it began to resemble a map.
A cold feeling rolled across him. “You let her go on purpose.”
Nadiya said nothing, her lips moving with the spell, attention trained on the sand as it hissed and skittered, drawing the city.
He grabbed her shoulder, and pointed to the bit of bone. “Where did that come from?”
Nadiya stopped talking. The sand stopped moving. She gave him an impatient look. “Her pet owl.”
Understanding landed like a weight on Alucard’s shoulders. “You wanted her to escape.”
He hadn’t noticed Rhy joining them, but the king sucked in a breath. “Why?”
“Because,” explained Alucard, “the queen is using her as bait.”
Rhy stared at his wife in horror, but she’d already turned her attention back to the spell. She began again, the sand continuing until the king slammed his hand down on the parchment. Nadiya stopped, and met her husband’s gaze.
“This is going to take time,” she said, “and focus. So if you don’t mind—”
“I mind,” snapped Rhy. “What have you done?”
“What I thought best,” said Nadiya. “We need to find the Hand. They want to find the girl. It made sense.” She looked to Alucard. “You would have done the same.”
It wasn’t a question. Rhy stared at Alucard, waiting for him to deny it.
Alucard sighed. “I’m not sure I agree with the method.…”
“Speaking of methods,” she said, eyes narrowing, “you may disagree with mine, but don’t you ever steal from my workshop again.”
Alucard flinched as if struck. “What are you talking about?”
“The chains,” she said. “The transfer spell.”
His stomach dropped. “What about it?”
“Don’t pretend.”