“But what about—”
“No more questions, Lila,” he said. “I’m tired.”
The last protests cooled to ash on her tongue as Alucard stepped up onto the banister beside her, and then, in a single, effortless stride, onto the low wall.
It was narrow, but he moved with sure-footed ease atop it. He didn’t even look down to check his steps.
“I grew up here,” he said, reading her surprise. “If there’s a way in or out, I’ve tried it.”
They slipped along the garden wall and down into the courtyard, hugging the shadows until they were safely beyond the gate.
Alucard set off down the street without looking back, but Lila cast a glance at the grand estate.
The truth was, Lila understood why Alucard did it. Why he traded safety and boredom for adventure. She didn’t know what it felt like to be safe, and she’d never had the luxury of being bored, but it was like she’d once told Kell. People either stole to stay alive or to feel alive. She had to imagine that they ran away for the same reasons.
Lila jogged to catch up, and fell in step beside the captain, the street quiet save for the sounds of their boots. She cheated a sideways glance, but Alucard’s gaze was straight ahead, and far away.
She used to hate people like him, people who gave up something good, shucked warm meals and solid roofs as if they didn’t matter.
But then Barron died and Lila realized that in a way she’d done the same thing. Run away from what could have been a good life. Or at least a happy one. Because it wasn’t enough to be happy, not for Lila. She wanted more. Wanted an adventure. She used to think that if she stole enough, the want would fade, the hunger would go away, but maybe it wasn’t that simple. Maybe it wasn’t a matter of what she didn’t have, of what she wasn’t, but what she was. Maybe she wasn’t the kind of person who stole to stay alive. Maybe she just did it for the thrill. And that scared her, because it meant she didn’t need to do it, couldn’t justify it, could have stayed at the Stone’s Throw, could have saved Barron’s life…. It was a slippery slope, that kind of thinking, one that ended in a cliff, so Lila backed away.
She was who she was.
And Alucard Emery?
Well, he was a man with secrets of his own.
And she couldn’t fault him that.
III
Kell ducked and dodged, moving like shadow and light across the Basin.
He relished his burning muscles, his pounding heart; he’d slept poorly and woken worse, his thoughts still churning around the news of Lila’s return. It made sense, didn’t it? If she’d taken up with an Arnesian crew, most of them had docked back in London for the tournament.
Only two days until the Essen Tasch.
A blade swung high, and Kell lunged back out of its reach.
Two days, and still no sign of her. Some small, irrational part had been convinced that he’d be able to feel her return, be tuned to it the way he’d been to the Stone’s Throw, and the Setting Sun, and the Scorched Bone. The fixed points in the worlds. Then again, maybe he was tuned to her. Maybe she was the small, invisible force that had drawn him out into the city in the first place.
But he’d missed her, and with the city so overrun, how was he supposed to find her again?
Just follow the knives, said a voice in his head. And the bodies they’re lodged in.
He smiled to himself. And then, with a small pang, he wondered how long she’d been in London. And why she hadn’t come to see him sooner. Their paths had only crossed for a few days, but he and Rhy and Tieren, they were the only people she knew in this world, or at least, the only people she’d known four months ago. Perhaps she’d gone off and made a wealth of friends—but he doubted it.
The next blow nearly found skin, and Kell jerked away just in time.
Focus, he chided himself. Breathe.
The silver mask was perfectly contoured to his face, shielding everything but air and sight. He’d put it on, wanting to get used to its size and weight, and quickly found himself relishing the difference, slipping into the comfort of anonymity, persona. So long as he wore the mask, Kell wasn’t Kell.
He was Kamerov.
What would Lila think about that? Lila, Lila, he’d even considered using blood magic to find her—he still had her kerchief—but stopped himself before he drew the knife. He’d gone months without stooping so low. Besides, he wasn’t some pup, chasing after a master or a bone. Let her come to him. But why hadn’t she come to—
Metal flashed, too close, and he swore and rolled, regaining his feet.
He’d traded a dozen enemies for only one, but unlike the dummies he’d trained against, this one was very much alive. Hastra shifted back and forth, in full armor, trying to avoid Kell’s blows. The young guard had been surprisingly willing to run around the Basin armed with only a small shield and a dull blade while Kell honed his agility and practiced turning elements into weapons.
The armor … he thought, wind whipping around him, is designed to crack … He leaped, pushed off a wall, slammed a gust of air into Hastra’s back…. when struck. Hastra stumbled forward and spun to face him. The first to ten hits … He continued reciting the rules as water swirled around his hand wins the match … The water split, circling both hands…. unless one of the competitors … Both streams shot forward, freezing before they hit…. is unable to continue … Hastra could only block one shard, and the second caught him in the armored thigh and shattered into drops of ice…. or admits defeat.
Kell broke into a smile behind his mask, and when the breathless guard pulled off his helmet, he was grinning, too. Kell tugged off his silver mask, his damp hair standing on end.
“Is this what you’ve been doing down here all these weeks, Master Kell?” asked Hastra breathlessly. “Practicing for the tournament?”
Kell hesitated, and then said, “I suppose.” After all, he had been training; he simply hadn’t known what he was training for.
“Well it’s paying off, sir,” said the guard. “You make it look easy.”
Kell laughed. The truth was, his whole body ached, and even while his blood sang for a fight, his power felt thin. Drained. He’d grown too used to the efficiency of blood magic, but elements took more will to wield. The fatigue from using blood spells hit him all at once, but this kind of fighting wore him down. Perhaps he’d actually get a sound night’s sleep before the tournament.
Hastra crossed the training room gingerly, as if treading on hallowed ground, and stood by the Basin’s archway, considering the equipment table with its bowl of water, its containers of earth and sand and oil.
“Do you have an element?” asked Kell, slicking back his hair.
Hastra’s smile softened. “Little of this, little of that, sir.”
Kell frowned. “What do you mean?”
“Parents wanted me to be a priest,” said the young guard, scratching his head. “But I thought that didn’t sound like nearly as much fun. Spend all day meditating in that musty stone structure—”
“You can balance?” cut in Kell, amazed. Priests were chosen not for their strength in one element, but for their tempered ability to manage all, not as Kell did, with sheer power, but with the evenness needed to nurture life. Balancing the elements was a sacred skill. Even Kell struggled with balance; just as a strong wind could uproot a sapling, an Antari’s power held too much force for the subtle arts. He could impact things already grown, but life was fragile at the start, and required a gentle touch.