Ojka hissed, disgusted by the waste of power. A fresh language rune burned against her wrist, but she didn’t need to speak this tongue to know how much they took for granted. Squandering life while her people starved in a barren world.
Before Holland, she reminded herself. Things were changing now; the world was mending, flourishing, but would it ever look like this? Months ago it would have been impossible to imagine. Now it was simply difficult. Hers was a world being slowly roused by magic. This was a world long graced.
Could a polished rock ever truly resemble a jewel?
She had the sudden, pressing urge to set fire to something.
Ojka, came a gentle chiding voice in her head, soft and teasing as a lover’s whisper. She brought her fingers to her eye, the knot in the tether between her and her king. Her king, who could hear her thoughts, feel her desires—could he feel them all?—as if they were one.
I would not do it, Your Highness, she thought. Not unless it pleased you. Then I would do anything.
She felt the line between them slacken as the king drifted back into his own mind. Ojka turned her attention back to the ball.
And then she saw him.
Tall and thin, dressed in black, circling the floor with a pretty girl done up in green. Beneath a circlet of silver and wood, the girl’s hair was fair, but Kell’s was red. Not as red as Ojka’s, no, but the copper still caught the light. One of his eyes was pale, the other as black as hers, as Holland’s.
But he was nothing like her king. Her king was beautiful and powerful and perfect. This Kell was nothing but a skinny boy.
And yet, she knew him at first sight, not only because Holland knew him, but because he shone to her like a flame in the dark. Magic radiated like heat off the edges of his form, and when his dark eye drifted lazily across the bank of windows, past shadow and snow and Ojka, she felt the gaze. It rippled through her, and she braced herself, sure he would see her, feel her, but he didn’t even notice. She wondered if the glass was mirrored instead of clear, so that everyone inside saw only themselves. Smiles reflecting back again and again while outside, the darkness waited, held at bay.
Ojka adjusted her balance on the balcony’s rail. She’d made it this far by a series of ice steps forged on the palace wall, but the building itself must have been warded against intrusion; the one and only time she’d tried to slip inside through a pair of upstairs doors, she’d been rebuffed, not loudly, or painfully, but forcefully. The spellwork was fresh, the magic strong.
The only way in appeared to be the front doors, but Holland had warned her not to make a scene.
She pulled on the tether in her mind, and felt him take hold of the rope.
I have found him. She didn’t bother explaining. She simply looked. She was the king’s eyes. What she saw, so would he. Shall I force him out?
No, came the king’s voice in her head. It hummed so beautifully in her bones. Kell is stronger than he looks. If you try to force him and fail, he will not come. He must come. Be patient.
Ojka sighed. Very well. But her mind was not at ease, and her king could tell. A soothing calm passed through her with his words, his will.
You are not only my eyes, he said. You are my hands, my mouth, my will. I trust you to behave as I say I would.
I will, she answered. And I will not fail.
III
“You look like hell.”
Alucard’s words rang through her head, the only thing he’d said that morning when she wished him luck.
“You say the sweetest things,” she’d grumbled before escaping into her own tent. But the truth was, Lila felt like hell. She hadn’t been able to find sleep in Elsor’s room, so she’d gone back to the Wandering Road, with its cramped quarters and familiar faces. But every time she closed her eyes, she was back in that damn crate, or on the balcony with Kell—in the end she’d spent most of the night staring up at the candlelight as it played across the ceiling, while Tav and Lenos snored (who knew where Vasry was) and Kell’s words played over and over in her head.
She closed her eyes, felt herself sway slightly.
“Master Elsor, are you well?”
She jerked back to attention. Ister was fitting the last of the armor plates on her leg.
“I’m fine,” she muttered, trying to focus on Alucard’s lessons.
Magic is a conversation.
Be an open door.
Let the waves through.
Right now, she felt like a rocky coastline.
She looked down at her wrist. The skin was already healing where the ropes had cut, but when she turned her hands over, her veins were dark. Not black, like the Dane twins, but not as light as they should be, either. Concern rippled through her, followed swiftly by annoyance.
She was fine.
She would be fine.
She’d come this far.
Delilah Bard was not a quitter.