A Gathering of Shadows (Shades of Magic, #2)

“Do you have wings? Or a tail?”


“Well, no, those would get in the way. But I do have more scales.”

“So does a fish.”

“Go away,” he snapped, but there was humor in his voice, and soon they fell into an easy laugh, and then remembered where they were. Who they were.

“Emery!” called Jinnar, appearing at the captain’s elbow.

His mask—a silver crown that curled like spun sugar, or perhaps a swirl of air—hung from his fingertips. His feet were firmly on the floor tonight, but she could practically feel the hum of energy coming off him, see it blur his edges. Like a hummingbird. How would she fight a hummingbird? How would she fight any of them?

“And who’s this?” asked Jinnar, glancing at Lila.

“Why, Jinnar,” said Alucard drolly, “don’t you recognize our Master Elsor?”

The magician’s silver eyes narrowed. Lila raised a challenging brow. Jinnar had met the real Stasion Elsor back in the tavern. Now his metallic eyes swept over her, confused, and then suspicious. Lila’s fingers twitched, and Alucard’s hand came to rest on her shoulder—whether it was to show solidarity or keep her from drawing a weapon, she didn’t know.

“Master Elsor,” said Jinnar slowly. “You look different tonight. But then again,” he added, eyes flicking to Alucard, “the light was so low in the tavern, and I haven’t seen you since.”

“An easy mistake to make,” said Lila smoothly. “I’m not overly fond of displays.”

“Well,” chimed in Alucard brightly. “I do hope you’ll overcome that once we take the stage.”

“I’m sure I’ll find my stride,” retorted Lila.

“I’m sure you will.”

A beat of silence hung between them, remarkable considering the din of the gathering crowd. “Well, if you’ll excuse me,” said Alucard, breaking the moment, “I’ve yet to properly harass Brost, and I’m determined to meet this Kamerov fellow …”

“It was nice to meet you … again,” said Jinnar, before following Alucard away.

Lila watched them go, then began to weave through the crowd, trying to keep her features set in resignation, as if mingling with dozens of imperial magicians was commonplace. Along one wall, tables were laden with swatches of fabric and pitchers of ink, and magicians turned through pages of designs as they declared their banners—a crow on green, a flame on white, a rose on black—pennants that would wave from the stands the following day.

Lila plucked a crystal goblet from a servant’s tray, weighing it in her fingers before remembering she wasn’t here as a thief. She caught Alucard’s eye, and toasted him with a wink. As she lapped the hall, taking in the main floor and the gallery above and sipping sweet wine, she counted the bodies to occupy her mind and keep her composure.

Thirty-six magicians, herself included, twelve from each of the three empires, and all marked by a mask on top of their head or under their arm or slung over their shoulder.

Two dozen servants, give or take (it was hard to tell, dressed alike as they were, and always moving).

Twelve guards.

Fifteen ostra, judging by their haughty expressions.

Six vestra, going by their royal pins.

Two blond Veskans wearing crowns instead of masks, each with an entourage of six, and a tall Faroan with an expressionless face and an entourage of eight.

The Arnesian king and queen in splendid red and gold.

Prince Rhy in the gallery above.

And, standing beside him, Kell.

Lila held her breath. For once, Kell’s auburn hair was swept back from his face, revealing both the crisp blue of his left eye and the glossy black of his right. He wasn’t wearing his usual coat, in any of its forms. Instead he was dressed head to toe in elegant black, a gold pin over his heart.

Kell had told her once that he felt more like possession than a prince, but standing at Rhy’s side, one hand around his glass and the other on the rail as he gazed down on the crowd, he looked like he belonged.

The prince said something, and Kell’s face lit up in a silent laugh.

Where was the bloodied boy who’d collapsed on her bedroom floor?

Where was the tortured magician, veins turning black as he fought a talisman’s pull?

Where was the sad, lonely royal who’d stood on the docks and watched her walk away?

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