“You knew she would go,” he’d snapped as Alucard had mounted the white horse and taken the reins. “You knew, and you said nothing.”
“I was distracted,” answered Alucard. “And I haven’t been a sailor for seven years. I have bigger concerns than the phase of the moon.”
With that, he’d kicked his mount into motion, and Kell had had no choice but to follow, or be left behind.
Now the bridge disappeared beneath them as they reached the northern bank, and the avenues filled by ostra-favored shops and houses. Alucard urged the horse on, slowing only as he turned at last onto a wide street.
Helarin Way.
He drew to a stop, and Kell stopped with him, the two dismounting as a carriage rattled past, and slowed, pulling up before the open gates of a well-lit house. It didn’t strike Kell as the kind of place rebels would meet—it had all the subtlety of a parade—but perhaps that was the idea.
“Mind the horses,” said Alucard.
Kell glared. “If you think you’re going in without me…” But he trailed off as Alucard shot him a long-suffering look, and held his reins out in the opposite direction. A shadow peeled away from the walls and took the ropes, first from the royal consort, then from Kell.
He shrugged out of his coat, and turned it, abandoning the grey exterior that he’d been wearing since his trip to the Sanctuary, and exchanging it for the lightless black of Kay’s mantle. He donned it again, exhaling as the new coat settled over his shoulders with a comfortable weight.
He slicked back his hair, and then pulled up the hood to hide the copper.
“Oh yes,” said Alucard blandly. “They’ll never recognize you now.”
Kell gave him a dark look, then reached into the coat’s pocket and withdrew a black mask, settling it over his cheeks. His two-toned eyes vanished.
“What are you supposed to— No, you know what, I don’t care,” said Alucard as he turned up his collar, and strode across the street, clearly unconcerned with blending in.
A man in white stood waiting on the front steps, his own face concealed behind a golden mask. The door was open behind him, but any view of the house beyond was hidden by the crisp black curtain that filled the doorway.
“Welcome to the Veil,” he said, extending a gloved hand. “Do you have an invitation?”
“Yes, of course,” said Alucard, patting his pockets. “Hm,” he said after a moment. “I must have left it in my other coat.” He smiled as he said it—the kind of smile that must have charmed others, but made Kell want to kick his teeth in. “But surely, you can make an exception.”
The host inclined his head. “I’m afraid,” he said, “I cannot.”
“Oh, wait,” said Kell, stepping closer and reaching into his coat. “You gave it to me.”
Alucard cocked a brow. “I did?”
“Yes, here it is.…” He looked down, and so did the host, only to go very still as the tip of a blade came to rest beneath his chin.
“Walk away,” said Kell softly, and perhaps the host caught the glint of his black eye, and guessed at the identity of Alucard’s companion, or perhaps he simply did not think it was worth dying for, because as soon as Kell withdrew the point of the knife, the host turned, and strode down the stairs, tearing off his mask and casting it into the bushes as he went.
“You know,” mused Alucard as Kell slid the knife back into his coat. “I think you’ve been spending too much time with Lila Bard.”
“So it seems,” said Kell, stepping past him and through the curtained door.
Inside, a wall of black and white masks lined the entry hall, more than half of them now claimed. Kell opted to hold on to his own, but Alucard selected a white mask, fastening it over his face. And together, they entered the Veil.
V
Pain.
Ringing, black-edged pain rolled through Lila’s head.
She couldn’t see. Her vision was gone, replaced by a flat, black nothing that made her chest tight, panic rising like bile in her throat. She had never been afraid of the dark, because the dark wasn’t really dark. There were always shades to it, layers of shapes and shadows. But this was different. This was impenetrable. This was blindness. This was the thing Lila had been afraid of since she lost her eye. But as her skull stopped rattling, and the pain quieted enough to let her other senses speak, she blinked, and felt her lashes scrape cloth.
Not blind.
Blindfolded.
She rolled her neck, which sent a fresh wave of pain through her skull. She flexed, tried to move, but her shoulders strained, and rope scratched rough over her wrists, along with something else—cold metal? Either way, it seemed her hands were bound behind her.
Once again, Lila reached for her magic.
And once again, it didn’t answer.
At last, her senses cleared enough to reach beyond her own limbs, and she picked up the weight of a body shifting on the wooden floor nearby. She wasn’t alone.
Lila swallowed, made her voice as bland as she could.
“Is this your idea of a good time?” she asked. “Because I have notes.”
She half expected no one to answer. But for better or worse, the body stepped closer, and the blindfold came away, showering the room in merciful light.
Lila blinked, and looked around, surprised to discover she was no longer in the library. No longer in the Veil at all, judging by the lack of music whispering through the walls, the darker floors and grim décor, the window looking out not onto Helarin, but another street. The air was stale with dust. The room felt neglected. Unlived in. Abandoned. She was sitting in a wooden chair.
She dragged her attention to the shadow looming over her, who was now wrapping the black blindfold casually around his fist. His cuff links were silver, modeled into feathers. Her mind flickered, but her attention was already being pulled up, to his face.
The man who’d attacked her was no longer wearing a mask. A trimmed beard shadowed the bottom half of his face. His eyes were the dark blue-grey of storms at sea. She had the uncanny sensation that she knew him, and, at the same time, the certainty they’d never met.
“The host at the Veil was told to keep an eye out for certain people,” he said. “The Antari prince, for one. My brother. And you.”
Brother.
The knowledge lurched through her. The features fell into place, laid over a different face.
Her memory stuttered, and she was standing on a familiar ship, back when it was still named the Spire, as Alucard leaned his elbows on the rail, and spoke of the night his brother Berras beat him unconscious while their father watched. Of how he woke the next day, arm broken and ribs bruised, chained in the bottom of a ship.
This, then, was Berras Emery.
“Well,” said Lila, “it looks like your brother got the manners and the looks in the family.”
Berras sneered, and stepped closer, hand raised to strike, but as he did, Lila swung her legs up and kicked him, as hard as she could, in the stomach. It would have been a paltry move, if she’d been going for any damage, but luckily she wasn’t. As her boots connected with his front, she pushed backward. The force of it was enough to make the chair tip, and it went crashing to the floor, taking Lila with it. She rolled, and when she rose, her hands were no longer bound behind her, but in front, which was an improvement. She’d reached for a blade as she fell, but she’d been divested of them all, so her hands came up empty.
That was when she saw the gold.
Her hands were bound with rope, but beneath the rough cord, a gold cuff circled her left wrist. It had no beginning and no end, and was pressed flush with her skin, and before she could wonder at its meaning, Berras Emery raised his own hand, and a wall of wind slammed into Lila. The floor disappeared beneath her feet as she was flung back across the room and into the stone mantle of the hearth, all the air knocked from her lungs as she was pinned by the sheer force. A moment later, the wind died, and she stumbled forward, fighting to stay on her feet.
She didn’t understand.