That last one she could almost see. There, at the edge of his mouth, the corner of his eye.
Lila felt her body moving toward him, drawn as if by gravity, several steps lost before she caught herself. She wasn’t Lila Bard tonight. She was Stasion Elsor, and while the illusion seemed to be holding well enough, she knew it would crumble in front of Kell. And in spite of that, part of her still wanted to catch his eye, relish his moment of surprise, watch it dissolve into recognition, and—hopefully—welcome. But she couldn’t imagine he’d be glad to see her, not here, mingling with the throngs of competitors. And in truth, Lila savored the sensation of watching without being watched. It made her feel like a predator, and in a room of magicians, that was something.
“I don’t believe we’ve met,” came a voice behind her in accented English.
She turned to find a young man, tall and slender, with reddish brown hair and dark lashes circling grey eyes. He had a silver-white mask tucked beneath his arm, and he shifted it to his other side before extending a gloved hand.
“Kamerov,” he said genially. “Kamerov Loste.”
So this was the elusive magician, the one neither Jinnar nor Alucard had managed to find. She didn’t see what all the fuss was about.
“Stasion Elsor,” she answered.
“Well, Master Elsor,” he said with a confident smile, “perhaps we will meet in the arena.”
She raised a brow and began to move away.
“Perhaps.”
III
“I took the liberty of designing your pennant,” said Rhy, resting his elbows on the gallery’s marble banister. “I hope you don’t mind.”
Kell cringed. “Do I even want to know what’s on it?”
Rhy tugged the folded piece of fabric from his pocket, and handed it over. The cloth was red, and when he unfolded it, he saw the image of a rose in black and white. The rose had been mirrored, folded along the center axis and reflected, so the design was actually two flowers, surrounded by a coil of thorns.
“How subtle,” said Kell tonelessly.
“You could at least pretend to be grateful.”
“And you couldn’t have picked something a little more … I don’t know … imposing? A serpent? A great beast? A bird of prey?”
“A bloody handprint?” retorted Rhy. “Oh, what about a glowing black eye?”
Kell glowered.
“You’re right,” continued Rhy, “I should have just drawn a frowning face. But then everyone would know it’s you. I thought this was rather fitting.”
Kell muttered something unkind as he shoved the banner into his pocket.
“You’re welcome.”
Kell surveyed the Rose Hall. “You think anyone will notice that I’m—well, that Kamerov Loste is missing from the festivities?”
Rhy took a sip of his drink. “I doubt it,” he said. “But just in case …”
He nodded the drink at a lean figure moving through the crowd. Kell was halfway through a sip of wine when he saw the man, and nearly choked on it. The figure was tall and slim, with trimmed auburn hair. He was dressed in elegant black trousers and a silver high-collared tunic, but it was the mask tucked under his arm that caught Kell’s eye.
A single piece of sculpted silver-white metal, polished to a high shine.
His mask. Or rather, Kamerov’s.
“Who on earth is that?”
“That, my dear brother, is Kamerov Loste. At least for tonight.”
“Dammit, Rhy, the more people you tell about this plan, the more likely it is to fail.”
The prince waved a hand. “I’ve paid our actor handsomely to play the part tonight, and as far as he’s concerned it’s because the real Kamerov doesn’t care for public displays. This is the only event where all thirty-six competitors are expected to show their faces, Kamerov included. Besides, Castars is discreet.”
“You know him?”
Rhy shrugged. “Our paths have crossed.”
“Stop,” said Kell. “Please. I don’t want to hear about your romantic interludes with the man currently posing as me.”
“Don’t be obscene. I haven’t been with him since he agreed to take up this particular role. And that right there is a testament to my respect for you.”
“How flattering.”
Rhy caught the man’s eye, and a few moments later, having toured the room, the false Kamerov Loste—well, Kell supposed they were both false, but the copy of the copy—ascended the stairs to the gallery.
“Prince Rhy,” said the man, bowing with a little more flourish than Kell would have used. “And Master Kell,” he added reverently.
“Master Loste,” said Rhy cheerfully.
The man’s eyes, both grey, drifted to Kell. Up close, he saw that they were the same height and build. Rhy had been thorough.
“I wish you luck in the coming days,” said Kell.
The man’s smile deepened. “It is an honor to fight for Ames.”
“A bit over the top, isn’t he?” asked Kell as the impostor returned to the floor.
“Oh, don’t be bitter,” said Rhy. “The important thing is that Kamerov has a face. Specifically a face that isn’t yours.”