Holland closed his eyes and tried to force calm like a blanket over them both. He needed sleep. A large bed sat in the very center of the room, elegant but untouched. Holland didn’t sleep. Not well. Athos had spent too many years carving—cutting, burning, breaking—the distrust of peace into his body. His muscles refused to unclench; his mind wouldn’t unwind; the walls he’d built hadn’t been built to come down. Athos might be dead, but Holland couldn’t shake the fear that when his eyes closed, Osaron’s might open. Couldn’t bear the thought of surrendering control again.
He’d stationed guards beyond his room to make sure he didn’t wander, but every time he woke, the chamber looked different. A spray of roses climbing the window, a chandelier of ice, a carpet of moss or some exotic fabric—some small change wrought in the night.
We had a deal.
He could feel the oshoc’s will warring with his own, growing stronger every day, and though Holland was still in control, he didn’t know for how much longer. Something would have to be sacrificed. Or someone.
Holland opened his eyes, and met the oshoc’s gaze.
“I want to make a new deal.”
In the mirror, Osaron inclined his head, waiting, listening.
“I will find you another body.”
Osaron’s expression soured. They are too weak to sustain me. Even Ojka would crumble under my true touch.
“I will find you a body as strong as mine,” said Holland carefully.
Osaron looked intrigued. An Antari?
Holland pressed on. “And his world. To make your own. And in return, you will leave this world to me. Not as it was, but as it can be. Restored.”
Another body, another world, mused Osaron. So keen to be rid of me?
“You want more freedom,” said Holland. “I am offering it.”
Osaron turned the offer over. Holland tried to keep his mind calm and clear, knowing the oshoc would feel his feelings and know his thoughts. You offer me an Antari vessel. You know I cannot take such a body without permission.
“That is my concern,” said Holland. “Accept my offer, and you will have a new body and a new world to do with as you please. But you will not take this world. You will not ruin it.”
Hmmm, the sound was a vibration through Holland’s head. Very well, said the oshoc at last. Bring me another body, and the deal is struck. I will take their world instead.
Holland nodded.
But, added Osaron, if they cannot be persuaded, I will keep your body as my own.
Holland growled. Osaron waited.
Well? A slow smile crept over the reflection. Do you still wish to make the deal?
Holland swallowed, and looked out his window as a second bird soared past.
“I do.”
I
Kell sat up, a scream still lodged in his throat.
Sweat traced the lines of his face as he blinked away the nightmare.
In his dreams, Red London was burning. He could still smell the smoke now that he was awake, and it took him a moment to realize that it wasn’t simply an echo, trailing him out of sleep. The bedsheets were singed where he was gripping them—he had somehow summoned fire in his sleep. Kell stared down at his hands, the knuckles white. It had been years since his control had faltered.
Kell threw off the covers, and he was halfway to his feet when he heard the cascade of sound beyond the windows, the trumpets and bells, the carriages and shouts.
The tournament.
His blood hummed as he dressed, turning his coat inside out several times—assuring himself that Kamerov’s silver jacket hadn’t been swallowed up by the infinite folds of fabric—before returning it to its royal red and heading downstairs.
He put in a cursory appearance at breakfast, nodding to the king and queen and wishing Rhy luck as a flurry of attendants swirled around the prince with final plans, notes, and questions.
“Where do you think you’re going?” asked the king as Kell palmed a sweet bun and turned toward the door.
“Sir?” he asked, glancing back.
“This is a royal event, Kell. You are expected to attend.”
“Of course.” He swallowed. Rhy shot him a look that said, I’ve gotten you this far. Don’t blow it now. And if he did? Would Rhy have to call Castars back in to make another appearance? It would be too risky, trading the roles again in time for the fights, and Kell had a feeling Castars’s charm wouldn’t save him in the ring. Kell fumbled for an excuse. “It’s just … I didn’t think it wise for me to stand with the royal family.”
“And why is that?” demanded King Maxim. The queen’s gaze drifted in his direction, glancing off his shoulder, and Kell had to bite back the urge to point out that he wasn’t actually a member of the royal family, as the last four months had made abundantly clear. But Rhy’s look was a warning.
“Well,” said Kell, scrambling for an explanation, “for the prince’s safety. It’s one thing to put me on display with dignitaries and champions in the company of royals, Your Highness, but you’ve said yourself that I’m a target.” The prince gave a small, encouraging nod, and Kell pressed on. “Is it really wise to put me so close to Rhy in such a public forum? I was hoping to stake out a less conspicuous place, in case I’m needed. Somewhere with a good view of the royal podium, but not upon it.”
The king’s gaze narrowed in thought. The queen’s gaze returned to her tea.
“Well thought,” said Maxim grudgingly. “But keep Staff or Hastra with you at all times,” he warned. “No wandering off.”
Kell managed a smile. “There’s nowhere I’d rather be.”