Kell kept his smile fixed. “I will stab you with this pin.”
“You would suffer.”
“It would be worth—” He was cut off by the approach of Lord Sol-in-Ar.
“Prince Rhy,” said the regent, nodding his head. Rhy straightened, and then bowed deeply.
“Lord Sol-in-Ar,” he said. “Hasanal rasnavoras ahas.”
Your presence honors our kingdom.
The regent’s eyes widened in pleased surprise. “Amun shahar,” he said before shifting back to Arnesian. “Your Faroan is excellent.”
The prince blushed. He had always had an ear for languages. Kell knew a fair amount of Faroan, too, thanks to Rhy preferring to have someone to practice on, but he said nothing.
“You make the effort to learn our tongue,” said Rhy. “It is only respectful to reciprocate.” And then, with a disarming smile, he added, “Besides, I’ve always found the Faroan language to be beautiful.”
Sol-in-Ar nodded, his gaze shifting toward Kell.
“And you,” said the regent. “You must be the Arnesian Antari.”
Kell bowed his head, but when he looked up, Sol-in-Ar was still examining him, head to toe, as if the mark of his magic were drawn not only in his eye, but across every inch of his being. When at last his attention settled on Kell’s face, he frowned faintly, the drop of metal on his forehead glinting.
“Namunast,” he murmured. Fascinating.
The moment Sol-in-Ar was gone, Kell finished his wine in a single gulp, and then retreated through the open doors of the Rose Hall before anyone could stop him.
He’d had more than enough royals for one day.
V
The river was turning red.
When the Night Spire first hit the mouth of the Isle, Lila could make out only the slightest tint to the water, and that only visible at night. Now, with the city fast approaching, the water glowed like a ruby lit from within, the red light visible even at midday. It was like a beacon, leading them into London.
At first, she’d thought the river’s light was steady, even, but she noticed now—after months of training herself to see and feel and think about magic as a living thing—that it pulsed beneath the surface, like lightning behind layers of clouds.
She leaned on the rail and turned the shard of pale stone between her fingers. She’d only had it since facing the Dane twins in White London, but the edges were starting to wear smooth. She willed her hands to still, but there was too much nervous energy, and nowhere for it to go.
“We’ll be there by dusk,” said Alucard beside her. Lila’s pulse fluttered. “If there’s anything you want to tell me about your departure from the city, now’s the time. Well, actually, any time over the last four months would have been the time, now is really up against a wall, but—”
“Don’t start,” she grumbled, tucking the stone shard back into her pocket.
“We all have demons, Bard. But if yours are waiting there—”
“My demons are all dead.”
“Then I envy you.” Silence fell between them. “You’re still mad at me.”
She straightened. “You tried to seduce me, for information.”
“You can’t hold that against me forever.”
“It was last night.”
“Well I was running out of options, and I figured it was worth a shot.”
Lila rolled her eyes. “You really know how to make a girl feel special.”
“I thought I was in trouble precisely for making you feel special.”
Lila huffed, blowing the hair out of her eyes. She returned to watching the river, and was surprised when Alucard stayed, leaning his elbows on the rail beside her.
“Are you excited to go back?” she asked.
“I quite like London,” he said. Lila waited for him to go on, but he didn’t. Instead, he began to rub his wrists.
“You do that,” said Lila, nodding at his hands, “whenever you’re thinking.”
He stopped. “Good thing I don’t make a habit of deep thought.” Elbows still resting on the rail, he turned his hands palm up, the cuffs of his tunic riding up so Lila could see the marks across his wrists. The first time she’d noticed them, she thought they were only shadows, but up close she realized they were scars.
He folded his arms in and drew a flask from inside his coat. It was made of glass, the pale-pink liquid sloshing inside. Alucard had never seemed all that fond of sobriety, but the closer they got to the city, the more he drank.
“I’ll be sober again by the time we dock,” he said, reading her look. His free hand drifted toward his wrist again.
“It’s a tell,” she said. “Your wrists. That’s why I brought it up. People should always know their tells.”
“And what is yours, Bard?” he asked, offering her the flask.
Lila took it but didn’t drink. Instead she cocked her head. “You tell me.”
Alucard twisted toward her and squinted, as if he could see the answer in the air around her. His blue eyes widened in mock revelation. “You tuck your hair behind your ear,” he said. “But only on the right side. Whenever you’re nervous. I’m guessing it’s to keep yourself from fidgeting.”
Lila gave him a grudging smile. “You got the gesture, but missed the motive.”
“Enlighten me.”
“People have a tendency to hide behind their features when they’re nervous,” she said. “I tuck my hair behind my ear to show my opponent—mark, adversary, what have you—that I’m not hiding. I look them in the eyes, and I let them look me in the eyes.”
Alucard raised a brow at that. “Well, eye.”
The flask shattered in Lila’s hand. She hissed, first in shock, and then in pain as the liquor burned her palm. She dropped the flask and it fell in pieces to the deck.
“What did you say?” she whispered.
Alucard ignored the question. He tutted and flicked his wrist, the broken shards rising into the air above his fingers. Lila brought her bloody palm to her chest, but Alucard held out his other hand.
“Let me,” he said, taking her wrist and turning it over gently to expose the shallow cuts. Glass glittered in her palm, but as his lips moved, the flecks and fragments rose to join the larger pieces in the air. With a twitch of his fingers, he brushed the shards away, and they fell soundless over the side of the boat.
“Alucard,” she growled. “What did you say?”
Her hand was still resting upturned in his. “Your tell,” he said, inspecting the cuts. “It’s slight. You try to pass it off by cocking your head, steadying your gaze, but you’re really doing it to make up for the gap in sight.” He drew a black swatch of fabric from his sleeve, and began to wrap her hand. She let him. “And the hair,” he added, tying the makeshift bandage in a knot. “You only tuck it behind your ear on the right side, to mislead people.” He let go of her hand. “It’s so subtle, I doubt many notice.”
“You did,” she muttered.
Alucard reached out, tipped her chin up with his knuckle, and looked her in the eyes. Eye.
“I’m extraordinarily perceptive,” he said.
Lila clenched her fists, focusing on the pain that blossomed there.
“You’re an incredible thief, Lila,” he said, “especially con—”
“Don’t you dare say considering,” she snapped, pulling out of his grip. He respected her enough not to look away. “I am an incredible thief, Alucard. This,” she said, gesturing to her eye, “is not a weakness. It hasn’t been for a very long time. And even if it were, I more than make up for it.”