And Kell?
How fared the black-eyed prince? Would he welcome her in? Hand her a drink and ask after her travels, or frown and ask if she was ready to leave, return to her own world where she belonged?
Lila squinted up in the dusk—the high balconies of the palace reduced to haloes of light in the cold evening—and thought she could make out a shadow standing on one of the tallest patios. It was too far to tell, that distance where everything was reduced to vague shapes, and the mind could twist them into anything. Still, the shadow seemed to curl over before her eyes, as if leaning on the rail, and in that moment the smudge of darkness became a magician in a high-collared coat. Lila stood and watched until the shape dissolved, swallowed up by the thickening night.
Her attention drifted down and landed on a pair of elegant black scrying boards that rose like columns before the palace steps. Months ago, Kell’s face had shown up on these, first with the word missing at the top, and later with the word wanted. Now the ghostly chalk announced a variety of events in the hours leading up to the tournament itself—damn, there were a lot of parties—but one in particular caught her eye. Something called Is Gosar Noche.
The Banner Night.
She caught sight of the notice just before the board erased itself, and had to stand there for ten minutes waiting for the message to cycle back around. When it did, she read as quickly as she could, trying to make sense of the Arnesian script.
From what she could tell, competitors from all three empires were being summoned to the palace the following night—the night before the tournament—for a royal reception. And to select their banner, whatever that meant.
Wasn’t this what she’d wanted?
An excuse to walk right into the Red Palace.
All she needed was a name.
The bells rang, and Lila swore under her breath. A whole day gone, she thought grimly as she trudged back to the Wandering Road, and no closer to her goal.
“There you are,” said the captain’s voice as soon as she stepped inside.
A handful of Alucard’s men were gathered in the front room. They weren’t dressed for the ship or the dock or the tavern inn. Tav, Stross, and Vasry wore fine hooded half-cloaks that gathered at the wrists, collar and cuff fastened with polished silver clasps. Alucard himself was dressed in an elegant coat, midnight blue with silver lining, his curls clasped back beneath a hat that dipped and curved like the sea. One hand rested on the hilt of his short sword, the silver feather ring glinting in the low light. Aside from the sapphire still sparkling in his right brow, he didn’t look like the casero of the Night Spire. And yet, if he didn’t look like a pirate, he didn’t look entirely like a princeling, either. He looked polished, but also sharp, like a well-kept knife.
“Where have you been, Bard?”
She shrugged. “Exploring.”
“We nearly left without you.”
Her brow crinkled. “Where are you going?”
Alucard flashed a grin. “To a party,” he said. Only the word for party in Arnesian wasn’t that simple. Lila was learning that so many Arnesian words had meanings that shifted to fit their context. The word Alucard used was the broadest: tasura, which meant party, or event, or function, or gathering, and whose meaning ranged from celebratory to nefarious.
“I hate parties,” she said, heading for the stairs.
But Alucard wasn’t so easily dissuaded. He caught up, and took her elbow—gingerly, and only for an instant, as he knew how dangerous it was to touch Lila when she didn’t want to be touched. “This one I think you’ll enjoy,” he murmured in English.
“Why’s that?”
“Because I know how fascinated you are by the upcoming games.”
“And?”
“And it’s an unofficial tradition,” he said, “for the local competitors to share a drink before the tournament begins.” Lila’s interest sharpened. “It’s a bit of posturing, I admit,” he added, gesturing to the others, “but I was hoping you would come.”
“Why me?”
“Because it’s a chance to size up the competition,” said Alucard. “And you’ve got the sharpest eyes,” he added with a wink.
Lila tried to hide her excitement. “Well,” she said. “If you insist.”
Alucard smiled and produced a silver scarf from his pocket.
“What’s this for?” she asked as he tied it loosely around her throat.
“Tonight you’re part of my entourage.”
Lila laughed outright, a biting sound that stung the other men. “Your entourage.” What next? She wondered. Squire?
“Think of it as the name for a crew on land.”
“I hope you don’t expect me to call you Master,” she said, adjusting the knot.
“Saints, no, that word has no place except in bed. And Lord makes my skin crawl. Captain will do.” He gestured at the waiting men. “Shall we?”
Lila’s smile sharpened as she nodded at the door. “Lead the way, Captain.”
* * *
The sign above the tavern door said Is Casnor Ast.
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.