It took three tries to get the straps on right.
Kell cursed softly, adjusting the buckles over his chest.
“What in god’s name is taking so long?” demanded Lila.
Beyond the screen, she wasn’t so much sitting in the chair as sprawling across it, one leg thrown over the side, the horned Sarows mask twirling lazily around her finger.
“Unless there are corsets and skirts involved, you’re taking too long. If you need a hand—”
“Be still,” growled Kell, lacing up his boots. “This was your idea.”
In truth, it had been Alucard’s.
After all, he was the one who’d written, asking them to put the Barron to good use. Lila had been more than ready. The trouble, of course, was Kell.
Thanks to Lila’s ruthless sparring, he no longer fought like a prince, but he couldn’t change the fact that he still looked like one. Everywhere they docked, heads turned toward him. Clocked his eye, his hair, his bearing. If he was ever going to be someone other than Kell Maresh, Antari prince, he needed a disguise.
Lila had pointed at the coat, with its infinite number of sides, and asked if there was one tucked in there, something that made him look less a noble and more like a pirate. Less like the fire and more like the dark.
Kell took up the mask, and settled it onto his face.
It had been a month since her suggestion, and in the intervening time, neither had brought it up again, until tonight, when he told her to come with him into the captain’s quarters, told her to sit there in the chair facing the wall, and wait.
“Are you almost done?” Lila called out, but this time, he did not answer. She glanced over her shoulder. “Kell?”
Her leg slipped from the arm of the chair and came to rest against the floor. She was about to stand when his hand came down on her shoulder.
Lila almost startled.
He smiled. It was hard to get the jump on her, but she clearly hadn’t heard his boots ringing on the cabin floor. Hadn’t heard the sigh of fabric, or the shift of weight. She rose and turned toward him, and he braced for some snide remark, but for once in her life, she seemed to be speechless.
Lila stared at the stranger in her room.
Once upon a time, he would have shifted his weight beneath the scrutiny, tugged at his clothes as if they did not fit. But tonight, he did not. Tonight, he stood perfectly still, letting her study him.
He was dressed in a black coat, with matte black buttons that disappeared instead of catching the light, and a hood, which he’d drawn up over his hair. The entire top half of his face was concealed by a black mask, one that shielded both eyes behind a piece of gossamer.
Slowly, he reached up and pushed back the hood. It slumped onto his shoulders, revealing his copper hair, no longer loose and messy but slicked back against his head. His hands slid down his front, and as he unfastened the buttons, the coat fell open onto more of that light-swallowing fabric. He shrugged out of the coat, letting it pool on the floor, revealing black trousers and a black tunic that hugged his chest, the collar wrapping like a hand around his throat. Thin ropes of black leather crossed over his ribs. Holsters.
Lila reached out and ran her hands along the straps. He’d grown stronger with their sparring, and he tensed, muscle corded beneath her touch.
“I must admit, Kell,” she said, letting out a soft, breathy laugh. “I am impressed.”
“Are you?” he asked. His voice came out different. Lower. Smoother. Not stone but silk. He leaned a little closer, as if sharing a secret, and said, “And my name isn’t Kell.”
“Oh?” asked Lila, intrigued. “What is it, then?”
Below the mask, his mouth twitched, one corner drawing up into a grin. “You can call me Kay.”
“Kay,” she mused, turning the sound over in her mouth as she made a slow, appraising circle. He heard the small hum of pleasure when she discovered the pair of short swords holstered against his back. They’d become his weapon of choice over the months of training, but these were special. Purchased from the forbidden market in Sasenroche. He knew she would like them, felt her fingers graze one of the leather sheaths before drifting to the hilt.
“Not every blade belongs to you,” he said.
“It does if I can take it.” Her hand nearly closed around the hilt, but he turned suddenly, catching her wrist.
“I wouldn’t,” he warned, but he knew she wouldn’t be able to resist. Sure enough, Lila twisted out of his grip, knocking him off-balance. He was fast, but she was faster, and in an instant she was behind him again, drawing one of the swords, holding it aloft like a prize for half a second, before she let out a yelp, and dropped the blade as if burned.
It clattered to the floor, and he clicked his tongue, and knelt, and took it up again. He turned the blade so it caught the light, revealing the spellwork etched into the steel.
“See?” he said. “I can still use magic, too.”
He slid the sword back into its sheath and straightened, lifting his chin. In the end, he’d realized something. He didn’t have to shed all his princely airs. He could double down on them, cultivate a kind of menace, an arrogance that read as danger.
“You let me take that sword,” she snapped, shaking the sting from her palm.
“Pain is a quick teacher,” he said, catching her hand and bringing her burned fingers to his lips. “And I did warn you.”
Lila’s heart quickened—he felt it through her skin.
“I like this new you,” she said, and there was something in her voice, a naked want that made him stiffen.
“Do you?” he purred.
She grinned, and reached out to pull him toward her, but he beat her to it, stepping forward and pressing his body into hers. He guided her back one stride, then two, until her boots met the edge of the bed.
With a quick, almost playful shove, he pushed her down, and she let herself fall, fingers tangling in the leather straps as she pulled him with her onto the bed. He braced himself over her, reached up to draw away the mask, but this time it was Lila who stopped him, fingers wrapped around his wrist.
“Not yet,” she said, with a wicked grin. “I want to see what Kay can do.”
VIII
PORT OF VEROSE
NOW
He dropped onto the Crow’s deck in silence.
Against his face, the black metal molded to his skin. It had taken time to grow accustomed to its weight, the faint shadow it carved at the edge of his vision, the ghost of the gossamer over his eyes, but now, he clung to its presence, the way he felt when he was wearing it. Like someone else entirely.
No longer Kell, but Kay.
Lila landed into a crouch beside him, the familiar Sarows mask fitted over her own face.
Tav pressed himself against the mast of the unfamiliar ship, a finger to his lips. Across the deck, a Veskan sailor sat on a crate, whittling a stick with a short, sharp blade. After a moment he raised the object to his mouth, and it gave up a soft, sweet tune. In the cover of that sound, they crept forward. As it ended, Tav’s shadow crossed into the man’s light.
“Och vel?” he asked, rising to his feet. He must have taken them for shipmates, but his face fell as Lila stepped forward, the horns of her mask curling to points above her head.
“Nice ship,” she said, running her hand along the rail, and the man was so surprised, he didn’t notice Kay behind him, not until the arm wrapped around his throat.