The coat was knee-length and silver, trimmed in a patterned border of black and lined with bloodred silk. The sleeves were narrow and the bottom flared, the collar high enough to reach the base of his skull.
Kell slipped the coat on, fastening the clasps, which cut an asymmetrical line from shoulder to hip. Rhy had gone rooting around in Kell’s closet, and now he reemerged with a silver walking stick. He tossed it, and Kell plucked it out of the air, his fingers curled around the black lion’s head that shaped the handle.
And then he turned back to his reflection.
“Well, Master Loste,” said Rhy, stepping back, “you do look splendid.”
Kell didn’t recognize the man in the mirror, and not simply because the mask hid his face. No, it was his posture, too, shoulders straight and head up, his gaze level behind the visor.
Kamerov Loste was an impressive figure.
A breeze wove gently around him, ruffling his coat. Kell smiled.
“About that,” said Rhy, referring to the swirling air. “For obvious reasons, Kamerov can’t be an Antari. I suggest you pick an element and stick with it. Two if you must—I’ve heard there are quite a few duals this year—but triads are rare enough to draw attention….”
“Mmhmm,” said Kell, adjusting his pose.
“While I’m sympathetic to your sudden bout of narcissism,” said Rhy, “this is important, Kell. When you’re wearing that mask, you cannot be the most powerful magician in Ames.”
“I understand.” Kell tugged the helmet back off and struggled to smooth his hair. “Rhy,” he said, “are you certain …?” His heart was racing. He wanted this. He shouldn’t want this. It was a terrible idea. But he wanted it all the same. Kell’s blood sang at the idea of a fight. A good fight.
Rhy nodded.
“All right, then.”
“So you’ve come to your senses?”
Kell shook his head, dazed. “Or lost my mind.” But he was smiling now, so hard he felt his face might crack.
He turned the helmet over and over in his hands.
And then, as suddenly as his spirits had soared, they sank.
“Sanct,” he cursed, sagging back onto the couch. “What about my guards?”
“Silver and Gold?” asked Rhy, his pet names for the men. “What about them?”
“I can’t exactly ditch Staff and Hastra for the entire length of the tournament. Nor can I conveniently misplace them for each and every bout.”
“I’m sorry, I thought you were a master magician.”
Kell threw up his hands. “It has nothing to do with my skill, Rhy. There’s suspicious, and then there’s obvious.”
“Well, then,” said the prince, “we’ll just have to tell them.”
“And they’ll tell the king. And do you want to guess what the king will do? Because I’m willing to bet he won’t risk the stability of the kingdom so I can let off some steam.”
Rhy pinched the bridge of his nose. Kell frowned. That gesture, it didn’t suit the prince; it was something he would do, had done a hundred times.
“Leave it to me,” he said. He crossed to Kell’s doors and swung them open, leaning against the frame. Kell hoped the guards had truly stayed behind when he left King Maxim, but they must have only granted him a berth, because Rhy called them in, closing the door before his own guards could follow.
Kell rose to his feet, unsure what his brother meant to do.
“Staff,” said Rhy, addressing the man with silver temples. “When my father assigned you to shadow Kell, what did he say?”
Staff looked from Kell to Rhy, as if it were a trap, a trick question. “Well … he said we were to watch, and to keep him from harm, and to report to His Majesty if we saw Master Kell doing anything … suspicious.”
Kell scowled, but Rhy flashed an encouraging smile. “Is that so, Hastra?”
The guard with dark gold hair bowed his head. “Yes, Your Highness.”
“But if you were informed about something in advance, then it wouldn’t be suspicious, would it?”
Hastra looked up. “Um … no, Your Highness?”
“Rhy,” protested Kell, but the prince held his hand up.
“You both swore your lives to this family, this crown, and this empire. Does your oath hold?”
Both men bowed their heads and brought their hands to their chests. “Of course, Your Highness,” they said, almost in unison. What on earth is Rhy getting at? wondered Kell.
And then, the prince’s countenance changed. The easiness fell away, as did his cheerful smile. His posture straightened and his jaw clenched, and in that moment he looked less like a prince than a future king. He looked like Maxim.
“Then understand this,” he said, his voice now low and stern. “What I’m about to tell you regards the safety and security of not only our family, but of the Arnesian empire.”
The men’s eyes went wide with concern. Kell’s narrowed.