She stepped out onto the landing, Tieren in her wake.
“How are they?” she asked, looking out at the city.
“The princes? They seem well enough. And yet …” Tieren sounded genuinely concerned.
“What is it?” she prompted.
“Things have not been the same since the Black Night. Prince Rhy is himself, and yet he isn’t. He takes to the streets less often, and garners more trouble when he does.”
“And Kell?”
Tieren hesitated. “Some think him responsible for the shadow that crossed our city.”
“That’s not fair,” snapped Lila. “We saved the city.”
Tieren gave a shrug as if to say, such is the nature of fear and doubt. They breed too easily. Kell and Rhy had seemed happy on that balcony, but she could see it, the fraying edges of the disguise. The darkness just beyond.
“You better go,” said the Aven Essen. “Tomorrow will be … well, it will be something.”
“Will you cheer for me?” she asked, forcing herself to keep her voice light.
“I’ll pray you don’t get yourself killed.”
Lila smirked and started down the steps. She was halfway to the street when she heard someone say, “Wait.”
But it wasn’t Tieren. The voice was younger, one she hadn’t heard in four months. Sharp and low, with a touch of strain, as if he were out of breath, or holding back.
Kell.
She hesitated on the stairs, head bowed, fingers aching where they gripped the helmet. She was about to turn around, but he spoke again, calling a name. It wasn’t hers.
“Tieren,” said Kell. “Please wait.”
Lila swallowed, her back to the head priest and the black-eyed prince.
It took all of her strength to start walking again.
And when she did, she didn’t look back.
* * *
“What is it, Master Kell?” asked Tieren.
Kell felt the words dry up in his throat. Finally, he managed a single petulant sentence. “You’ve been avoiding me.”
The old man’s eyes glittered, but he didn’t deny the claim. “I have many talents, Kell,” he said, “but believe it or not, deception has never been among them. I suspect it’s why I’ve never won a game of Sanct….”
Kell raised a brow. He couldn’t picture the Aven Essen playing in the first place. “I wanted to thank you. For letting Rhy, and for letting me—”
“I haven’t let you do anything,” cut in Tieren. Kell cringed. “I simply haven’t stopped you, because if I’ve learned one thing about you both, it’s that if you want to do a thing, you’ll do it, the world be damned.”
“You think I’m being selfish.”
“No, Master Kell.” The priest rubbed his eyes. “I think you’re being human.”
Kell didn’t know if that was a slight coming from the Aven Essen, who was supposed to think him blessed.
“I sometimes think I’ve gone mad.”
Tieren sighed. “Truth be told, I think everyone is mad. I think Rhy is mad for putting this scheme together, madder still for planning it so well.” His voice fell a measure. “I think the king and queen are mad for blaming one son above the other.”
Kell swallowed. “Will they never forgive me?”
“Which would you rather have? Their forgiveness, or Rhy’s life?”
“I shouldn’t have to choose,” he snapped.
Tieren’s gaze drifted away to the steps and the Isle and the glittering city. “The world is neither fair nor right, but it has a way of balancing itself. Magic teaches us that much. But I want you to promise me something.”
“What?”
That shrewd blue gaze swiveled back. “That you’ll be careful.”
“I’ll do my best. You know I don’t wish to cause Rhy pain, but—”
“I’m not asking you to mind Rhy’s life, you stupid boy. I’m asking you to mind your own.” Master Tieren brought his hand to Kell’s face, a familiar calm transferring like heat.
Just then, Rhy appeared, looking cheerfully drunk. “There you are!” he called, wrapping his arm around Kell’s shoulders and hissing in his ear. “Hide. Princess Cora is hunting princes….”
Kell let Rhy drag him back inside, casting one last glance at Tieren, who stood on the steps, his back to the palace and his eyes on the night.
IV
“What are we doing here?”
“Hiding.”
“Surely we could have hidden in the palace.”
“Really, Kell. You’ve no imagination.”
“Is it going to sink?”
The bottle sloshed in Rhy’s hand. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
“I think it’s a valid question,” retorted Kell.
“They told me it couldn’t be done,” Rhy said, toasting the arena.
“Couldn’t, or shouldn’t?” asked Kell, treading on the stadium floor as if it were made of glass. “Because if it’s the latter—”
“You’re such a nag—ow.” Rhy stubbed his foot on something, a dull pain echoing through Kell’s toes.
“Here,” he grumbled, summoning a palmful of fire.
“No.” Rhy lunged at him, forcing his hand closed and dousing the light. “We are sneaking. Sneaking is meant to be done in the dark.”
“Well then, watch where you’re going.”
Rhy must have decided they’d gone far enough, because he slumped onto the polished stone floor of the arena. In the moonlight, Kell could see his brother’s eyes, the circlet of gold in his hair, the bottle of spiced wine as he pulled out the stopper.
Kell lowered himself to the ground beside the prince and rested against a something—a platform, a wall, a set of stairs? He tipped his head back and marveled at the stadium, what little he could see—the stands soon to be filled, the ruse soon to play out, and the idea that the whole thing could actually work.
“Are you sure about this?” asked Kell.
“A little late to change our minds,” mused the prince.
“I’m serious, Rhy. There’s still time.”
The prince took a sip of wine and set the bottle down between them, clearly considering his answer. “Do you remember what I told you?” he asked gently. “After that night. About why I took the pendant from Holland.”
Kell nodded. “You wanted strength.”
“I still want it,” Rhy whispered. “Every day. I wake up wanting to be a stronger person. A better prince. A worthy king. That want, it’s like a fire in my chest. And then, there are these moments, these horrible, icy moments when I remember what I did …” His hand drifted to his heart. “To myself. To you. To my kingdom. And it hurts….” His voice trembled. “More than dying ever did. There are days when I don’t feel like I deserve this.” He tapped the soul seal. “I deserve to be …” He trailed off, but Kell could feel his brother’s pain, as though it were a physical thing.
“I guess what I’m trying to say,” said Rhy, “is that I need this, too.” His eyes finally found Kell’s. “Okay?”
Kell swallowed. “Okay.” He took up the bottle.
“That said, do try not to get us both killed.”
Kell groaned, and Rhy chuckled.
“To clever plans,” said Kell, toasting his brother. “And dashing princes.”
“To masked magicians,” said Rhy, swiping the wine.
“To mad ideas.”
“To the Essen Tasch.”
“Wouldn’t it be amazing,” murmured Rhy later, when the bottle was empty, “if we got away with it?”
“Who knows,” said Kell. “We just might.”