But no one came.
The day was cold, and his breath fogged in front of his mask. A minute passed, then two, and Kell found his attention flicking to the royal platform where Rhy stood, watching, waiting. Behind him, Lord Sol-in-Ar looked impassive, Princess Cora bored, Queen Emira lost in thought.
The crowd was growing restless, their attention slipping.
Kell’s excitement tensed, tightened, wavered.
His banner—the mirrored lions on red—waved above the podium and in the crowd. The other banner—crossed knives on black—snapped in the breeze.
But Stasion Elsor was nowhere to be found.
*
“You’re very late,” said Ister as Lila surged into the Arnesian tent.
“I know,” she snapped.
“You’ll never—”
“Just help me, priest.”
Ister sent a messenger to the stadium and enlisted two more attendants, and the three rushed to get Lila into her armor, a flurry of straps and pads and plates.
Christ. She didn’t even know who she was set to fight.
“Is that blood?” asked one attendant, pointing to her collar.
“It’s not mine,” muttered Lila.
“What happened to your wrists?” asked another.
“Too many questions, not enough work.”
Ister appeared with a large tray, the surface of which was covered in weapons. No, not weapons, exactly, only the hilts and handles.
“I think they’re missing something.”
“This is the nines,” said Ister. “You have to supply the rest.” She plucked a hilt up from the tray and curled her fingers around it. The priest’s lips began to move, and Lila watched as a gust of wind whipped up and spun tightly around and above the hilt until it formed a kind of blade.
Lila’s eyes widened. The first two rounds had been fought at a distance, attacks lobbed across the arena like explosives. But weapons meant hand-to-hand combat, and close quarters were Lila’s specialty. She swiped two dagger hilts from the tray and slid them underneath the plates on her forearms.
“Fal chas,” said Ister, just before the trumpets blared in warning, and Lila cinched the demon’s jaw and took off, the final buckles on her mask still streaming behind her.
*
Kell cocked his head at Rhy, wondering what the prince would do. If Elsor didn’t show, he would be forced to forfeit. If he was forced to forfeit, Kell would have the points to advance. Kell couldn’t advance. He watched the struggle play out across Rhy’s face, and then the king whispered something in his ear. The prince seemed to grow paler as he raised the gold ring to his mouth, ready to call the match. But before he could speak, an attendant appeared at the edge of the platform and spoke rapidly. Rhy hesitated, and then, mercifully, the trumpets rang.
Moments later Stasion hurried into the stadium looking … disheveled. But when he saw Kell, he broke into a smile, his teeth shining white behind his devil’s mask. There was no warmth in that look. It was a predator’s grin.
The crowds burst into excited applause as Kamerov Loste and Stasion Elsor took their places at the center of the arena.
Kell squinted through his visor at Elsor’s mask. Up close it was a nightmarish thing.
“Tas renar,” said Kell. You are late.
“I’m worth the wait,” answered Stasion. His voice caught Kell off guard. Husky and smooth, and sharp as a knife. And yet, undeniably female.
He knew that voice.
Lila.
But this wasn’t Lila. This couldn’t be Lila. She was a human, a Grey-worlder—a Grey-worlder unlike any other, yes, but a Grey-worlder all the same—and she didn’t know how to do magic, and she would definitely never be crazy enough to enter the Essen Tasch.
As soon as the thought ran through his head, Kell’s argument crumbled. Because if anyone was bullheaded enough to do something this stupid, this rash, this suicidal, it was the girl who’d picked his pocket that night in Grey London, who’d followed him through a door in the worlds—a door she should never have survived—and faced the black stone and the white royals and death itself with a sharpened smile.
The same sharpened smile that glinted now, between the lips of the demon’s face.
“Wait,” said Kell.
The word was a whisper, but it was too late. The judge had already signaled, and Lila let go of her spheres. Kell dropped his own an instant later, but she was already on the attack.
Kell hesitated, but she didn’t. He was still trying to process her presence when she iced the ground beneath his feet, then struck out at close range with a dagger made of flame. Kell lunged away, but not far enough, and a moment later he was on his back, light bursting from the plate across his stomach, and Lila Bard kneeling over him.
He stared up into her mismatched brown eyes.
Did she know it was him behind the silver mask?