“Oh, don’t be bitter,” said Rhy. “The important thing is that Kamerov has a face. Specifically a face that isn’t yours.”
“He doesn’t have the coat.”
“No, unfortunately for us, you can’t pull coats out of that coat of yours, and I figured you’d be unwilling to part with it.”
“You’d be right.” Kell was just turning away when he saw the shadow moving across the floor, a figure dressed in black with the edge of a smirk and a demon’s mask. It almost looked like the one he’d seen on Lila the night of Rhy’s masquerade. The night Astrid had taken Kell prisoner, taken Rhy’s body for her own. Lila had appeared like a specter on the balcony, dressed in black and wearing a horned mask. She’d worn it then, and later, as they fled with Rhy’s dying body between them, and in the sanctuary room as Kell fought to resurrect him. She’d worn it in her hair as they stood in the stone forest at the steps of the White London castle, and it had hung from her bloody fingers when it was over.
“Who is that?” he asked.
Rhy followed his gaze. “Someone who clearly shares your taste for monochrome. Beyond that …” Rhy tugged a folded paper from his pocket, and skimmed the roster. “It’s not Brost, he’s huge. I’ve met Jinnar. Must be Stasion.”
Kell squinted, but the resemblance was already fading. The hair was too short, too dark, the mask different, the smile replaced by hard lines. Kell shook his head.
“I know it’s mad, but for a second I thought it was …”
“Saints, you’re seeing her in everyone and everything now, Kell? There’s a word for that.”
“Hallucination?”
“Infatuation.”
Kell snorted. “I’m not infatuated,” he said. “I just …” He just wanted to see her. “Our paths crossed one time. Months ago. It happens.”
“Oh yes, your relationship with Miss Bard is positively ordinary.”
“Be quiet.”
“Crossing worlds, killing royals, saving cities. The marks of every good courtship.”
“We weren’t courting,” snapped Kell. “In case you forgot, she left.”
He didn’t mean to sound wounded. It wasn’t that she left him, it was simply that she left. And he couldn’t follow, even if he’d wanted to. And now she was back.
Rhy straightened. “When this is over, we should take a trip.”
Kell rolled his eyes. “Not this again.”
And then he saw Master Tieren’s white robes moving through the hall below. All night—all week, all month—the Aven Essen had been avoiding him.
“Hold this,” he said, passing the prince his drink.
Before Rhy could argue, Kell was gone.
* * *
Lila slipped out before the crowd could thin, the demon mask hanging from one hand and her chosen pennant from the other. Two silver knives crossed against a ground of black. She was in the foyer when she heard the sound of steps behind her. Not crisp boots on marble, but soft, well-worn shoes.
“Delilah Bard,” said a calm, familiar voice.
She stopped mid-stride, then turned. The head priest of the London Sanctuary stood, holding a silver goblet in both hands, his fingers laced. His white robes were trimmed with gold, his silver-white hair groomed but simple around his sharp blue eyes.
“Master Tieren,” she said, smiling even as her heart pounded in warning. “Is the Aven Essen supposed to drink?”
“I don’t see why not,” he said. “The key to all things, be they magical or alcoholic, is moderation.” He considered the glass. “Besides, this is water.”
“Ah,” said Lila, cheating a step back, the mask behind her back. She wasn’t entirely sure what to do. Normally her two options upon being cornered were turn and run or fight, but neither seemed appropriate when it came to Master Tieren. Some small part of her thrilled at being recognized, and she honestly couldn’t imagine drawing a knife on Kell’s mentor.
“That’s quite an outfit you’re wearing,” observed the Aven Essen, advancing. “If you wanted an audience with Prince Rhy and Master Kell, I’m sure you could simply have called for one. Was a disguise really necessary?” And then, reading her expression, “But this disguise wasn’t simply a way into the palace, was it?”
“Actually, I’m here as a competitor.”
“No, you’re not,” he said simply.
Lila bristled. “How would you know?”
“Because I selected them myself.”
Lila shrugged. “One of them must have dropped out.”
He gave her a long, appraising look.
Was he reading her thoughts? Could he? That was the hardest part of being plunged into a world where magic was possible. It made you wonder if everything was. Lila was neither a skeptic nor a believer; she relied on her gut and the world she could see. But the world she could see had gotten considerably stranger.
“Miss Bard, what trouble have you gotten into now?” Before she could answer, he went on, “But that isn’t the right question, is it? Judging by your appearance, the right question would be, where is Master Elsor?”
Lila cracked a smile. “He’s alive and well,” she said. “Well, he’s alive. Or at least he was, the last time I checked.” The priest let out a short exhale. “He’s fine, Master Tieren. But he won’t be able to make the Essen Tasch, so I’ll be filling in.”
There was another brief sigh, heavy with disapproval.
“You’re the one who encouraged me,” challenged Lila.
“I told you to tend your waking power, not cheat your way into an international tournament.”
“You told me that I had magic in me. Now you don’t think I have what it takes?”
“I don’t know what you have, Lila. And neither do you. And while I’m glad to hear that your stay in our world has so far been fruitful, what you need is time and practice and a good deal of discipline.”
“Have a little faith, Master Tieren. Some people believe that necessity is the key to flourishing.”
“Those people are fools. And you have a dangerous disregard for your own life, and the lives of others.”
“So I’ve been told.” She cheated another step back. She was in the doorway now. “Are you going to try to stop me?”
He shot her a hard blue look. “Could I?”
“You could try. Arrest me. Expose me. We can make a show of it. But I don’t think that’s what you want. The real Stasion Elsor is on his way to Delonar, and won’t be back in time to compete. Besides, this tournament, it’s important, isn’t it?” She drew a finger down the doorframe. “For diplomatic relations. There are people here from Vesk and Faro. What do you think they’d do if they knew where I really came from? What would that say about the doors between worlds? What would that say about me? It gets messy rather fast, doesn’t it, Master Tieren? But more than that, I think you’re curious to see what a Grey London girl can do.”
Tieren fixed her with his gaze. “Has anyone ever told you that you’re too sharp for your own good?”
“Too sharp. Too loud. Too reckless. I’ve heard it all. It’s a wonder I’m still alive.”
“Indeed.”
Lila’s hand fell from the door. “Don’t tell Kell.”
“Oh, trust me, child, that’s the last thing I’ll do. When you get caught, I plan on feigning ignorance about all of this.” He lowered his voice, and added, mostly to himself, “This tournament will be the death of me.” And then he cleared his throat. “Does he know you’re here?”
Lila bit her lip. “Not yet.”
“Do you plan to tell him?”
Lila looked to the Rose Hall beyond the priest. She did, didn’t she? So what was stopping her? The uncertainty? So long as she knew and he didn’t, she was in control. The moment he found out, the balance would shift. Besides, if Kell found out she was competing—if he found out what she’d done to compete—she’d never see the inside of an arena. Hell, she’d probably never see anything again but the inside of a cell, and even if she wasn’t arrested, she’d certainly never hear the end of it.