Lila’s eyes widened.
The rest of the crowd was fixated on Kamerov, but she happened to look up right after the blow and saw Prince Rhy in the royal box, his face contorted in pain. He hid it quickly, wiped the tension from his features, but his knuckles gripped the banister, head bowed, and Lila saw, and understood. She’d been there that night, when the princes were bound together, blood to blood, pain to pain, life to life.
Her attention snapped back to the arena.
It was suddenly obvious. The height, the posture, the fluid motions, the impossible grace.
She broke in a savage grin.
Kell.
It was him. It had to be. She had met Kamerov Loste at the Banner Night, had marked his grey eyes, his foxlike smile. But she’d also marked his height, the way he moved, and there was no question, no doubt in her mind—the man in the arena wasn’t the one who’d wished her luck in the Rose Hall. It was the man she’d fought beside in three different Londons. The one she’d stolen from and threatened and saved. It was Kell.
“What are you smiling about?” asked Tieren, appearing at her side.
“Just enjoying the match,” she said.
The Aven Essen made a small, skeptical hum.
“Tell me,” she added, keeping her eyes on the fight. “Did you at least try to dissuade him from this madness? Or do you simply plan to feign ignorance with him, too?”
There was a pause, and when Tieren answered, his voice was even. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Sure you don’t, Aven Essen.” She turned toward him. “I bet if Kamerov down there were to take off his helmet, he’d look like the man he was on the Banner Night, and not a certain black-eyed—”
“This kind of talk makes me wish I’d turned you in,” said the priest, cutting her off. “Rumors are dangerous things, Stasion, especially when they stem from someone guilty of her own crimes. So I’ll ask you again,” he said. “What are you smiling about?”
Lila held his eyes, her features set.
“Nothing,” she said, turning back to the match. “Nothing at all.”
II
In the end, Kamerov won.
Kell won.
It had been a staggeringly close match between the reigning champion and the so-called silver knight. The crowd looked dizzy from holding its breath, the arena a mess of broken stone and black ice, half the obstacles cracked or chipped or in ruins.
The way he’d moved. The way he’d fought. Even in their short time together, Lila had never seen him fight like that. A single point—he’d won by a single point, unseated the champion, and all she could think was, He’s holding back.
Even now he’s holding back.
“Stasion! Stasion!”
Lila dragged her thoughts away from Kell; she had her own, more pressing concerns.
Her second match was about to begin.
She was standing in the middle of the western arena, the stands awash in silver and black, the Faroan’s pale-green pennant only an accent in the crowd.
Across from her stood the man himself, Ver-as-Is, an orb of tinted earth in each palm. Lila considered the magician—he was lithe, his limbs long and thin and twined with muscle, his skin the color of char, and his eyes an impossibly pale green, the same as his flag. Set deep into his face, they seemed to glow. But it was the gold that most caught her interest.
Most of the Faroans she’d seen wore gems on their skin, but Ver-as-Is wore gold. Beneath his mask, which concealed only the top half of his head, beads of the precious metal traced the lines of his face and throat in a skeletal overlay.
Lila wondered if it was a kind of status symbol, a display of wealth.
But displaying your wealth was just asking to be robbed of it, and she wondered how hard it would be to remove the beads.
How did they stay on? Glue? Magic? No, she noticed the ornaments on Ver-as-Is hadn’t been stuck in place, exactly—they’d been buried, each one embedded in the skin. The modification was expertly done, the flesh around the beads barely raised, creating the illusion that the metal had grown straight from his face. But she could see the faint traces of scarring, where flesh and foreign object met.
That would certainly make robbing difficult.
And messy.
“Astal,” said the judge in white and gold. Prepare.
The crowd stilled, holding its breath.
The Faroan lifted his orbs, waiting for her to do the same.
Lila held out her spheres—fire and water—said a quick prayer, and let go.
*
Alucard filled two glasses from the decanter on the table.
The glass was halfway to Lila’s lips when he said, “I wouldn’t drink that if I were you.”
She stopped and peered at the contents. “What is this?”
“Avise wine … mostly.”
“Mostly,” she echoed. She squinted, and sure enough, she could see particles of something swirling in the liquid. “What have you put in it?”
“Red sand.”
“I assume you contaminated my favorite drink for a reason?”
“Indeed.”