The Setting Sun.
Lila’s steps slowed, then stopped. It was the strangest thing, but she couldn’t shake the feeling she’d been there before. She hadn’t, of course. She’d only stayed in Red London a few days after the ordeal with the Danes before taking up with the Spire’s crew—just long enough to heal and answer questions—and been confined to the palace the entire time.
But standing there, on the threshold, the place felt so familiar. When she closed her eyes, she almost felt like she was at … it couldn’t be. Lila blinked, and looked around at the surrounding streets, trying to layer the image of this city on top of another, the one she’d lived in her entire life. And as the images merged, she realized that she knew exactly where she was. Where she would be. On this corner, back in Grey London, the exact same distance from the river, stood another tavern, one she knew too well.
The Stone’s Throw.
What were the odds? Taverns were as plentiful as problems, but two occupying the same exact place? Even from the outside, they looked nothing alike, and yet this place tugged on her bones with the same peculiar gravity she’d always felt back home. Home. She’d never thought of the Stone’s Throw that way when she was there, but now it was the only word that fit. Only it wasn’t the building she longed for. Not really.
She thrust her hand into her pocket, and curled her fingers around the silver pocket watch that hung like a weight in the bottom of the silk-lined fold.
“Kers la, Bard?”
She looked up, and realized that Alucard was holding the door open for her. She shook her head.
“Skan,” she said. Nothing.
Stepping inside, the power hit her in a wave. She couldn’t see magic as Alucard did, but she could still feel it, filling the air like steam as it wafted off the gathered magicians. Not all the competitors traveled with a full entourage. Some—like the tan woman on the back wall, her black hair twisted into ropes and studded with gold—were the center of their own universe, while others sat in small groups or wandered the room alone, an aura of power drifting in their wake.
Meanwhile, the déjà vu continued. She did her best to shake it off and focus. After all, she wasn’t just here to be part of Alucard’s tableau. There was the issue of finding a mark, of performing her own little magic trick. The tavern was full of magicians, and Delilah Bard was going to make one of them disappear.
Someone boomed a greeting to Alucard, and the entourage came to a halt as the two clasped wrists. Tav went to round up drinks, while Stross surveyed the room with keen appraisal. She guessed he’d been brought along for the same reason she had, to size up the competition.
Vasry, meanwhile, eyed the room as if it were a feast.
“That’s the reigning champion, Kisimyr,” he whispered to Lila in Arnesian as the woman with the roped hair strode toward Alucard, boots ringing out on the worn wood floor. The man who’d greeted Alucard retreated a few steps as she approached.
“Emery,” she said with a feline grin and a heady accent. “You really don’t know how to stay out of trouble.” She wasn’t from London. She was speaking Royal, but her words all ran together—not in the serpentine way of the Faroan tongue, more like she’d hacked off all the edges and taken out the space between. She had a low, resonant voice, and when she spoke, it sounded like rumbling thunder.
“Not when trouble is more fun,” said Alucard with a bow. Kisimyr’s grin widened as the two fell to quiet conversation—there was something sharp about that grin, and paired with the rest of her face, the slanted brow and straight-on gaze, it read like a taunt. A challenge. The woman exuded confidence. Not arrogance, exactly—that was usually unfounded, and everything about Kisimyr said she’d just love an excuse to show you what she could do.
Lila liked that, found herself mimicking the features, wondering what kind of whole they’d add up to on her own face.
She didn’t know if she wanted to fight the woman or be her friend, but she certainly wouldn’t be replacing her. Lila’s attention shifted, trailing across a pair of brawny figures, and a very pretty girl in blue with cascades of dark hair, not to mention a fair number of curves. No good matches there. She continued to scan the room as Alucard’s entourage made its way toward a corner booth.
Kisimyr had retreated into the folds of her own group, and she was talking to a young, dark-skinned man beside her. He was fine-boned and wiry, with bare arms and gold earrings running the length of both ears to match the ones in Kisimyr’s.
“Losen,” said Alucard softly. “Her protégé.”
“Will they have to compete against each other?”
He shrugged. “Depends on the draw.”
A man with a stack of paper appeared at Kisimyr’s elbow.