She began to strip off Elsor’s clothes, ruined from Ver-as-Is’s assault and the subsequent match. Slowly she peeled away the weapons, and the fabric, then stared at herself in the mirror, half clothed, her body a web of fresh bruises and old scars.
A fire burned low in the hearth, a basin of cold water on the chest. Lila took her time getting clean and dry and warm, rinsing the darkening grease from her hair, the blood from her skin.
She looked around the room, trying to decide what to wear.
And then she had an idea.
A novel, dangerous idea, which was, of course, her favorite kind.
Maybe it’s time, she thought, to go to a ball.
* * *
“Rhy!” called Kell, the crowd parting around him. He’d shed the helmet and switched the coat, but his hair was still slicked with sweat, and he felt breathless.
“What are you doing here?” asked the prince. He was walking back to the palace, surrounded by an entourage of guards.
“It was her!” hissed Kell, falling in step beside him.
All around them, people cheered and waved, hoping to get so much as a glance or a smile from the prince. “Who was her?” Rhy asked, indulging the crowd.
“Stasion Elsor,” he whispered. “It was Lila.”
Rhy’s brow furrowed. “I know it’s been a long day,” he said, patting Kell’s shoulder, “but obviously—”
“I know what I saw, Rhy. She spoke to me.”
Rhy shook his head, the smile still fixed on his mouth. “That makes no sense. Tieren selected the players weeks ago.”
Kell looked around, but Tieren was conveniently absent. “Well, he didn’t select me.”
“No, but I did.” They reached the palace steps, and the crowd hung back as they climbed.
“I don’t know what to tell you—I don’t know if she is Elsor, or if she’s just posing as him, but the person I just fought back there, that wasn’t some magician from the countryside. That was Delilah Bard.”
“Is that why you lost so easily?” asked the prince as they reached the top of the steps.
“You told me to lose!” snapped Kell as the guards held open the doors. His words echoed through the too-quiet foyer, and Kell’s stomach turned when he glanced up and saw the king standing in the center of the room. Maxim took one look at Kell and said, “Upstairs. Now.”
“I thought I made myself clear,” said the king when they were in his room.
Kell was sitting in his chair beside the balcony, being chastised like a child while Hastra and Staff stood silently by. Rhy had been told to wait outside and was currently kicking up a fuss in the hall.
“Did I not instruct you to stay within the palace walls?” demanded Maxim, voice thick with condescension.
“You did, but—”
“Are you deaf to my wishes?”
“No, sir.”
“Well I obviously didn’t make myself clear when I asked you as your father, so now I command you as your king. You are hereby confined to the palace until further notice.”
Kell straightened. “This isn’t fair.”
“Don’t be a child, Kell. I wouldn’t have asked if it wasn’t for your own good.” Kell scoffed, and the king’s eyes darkened. “You mock my command?”
He stilled. “No. But we both know this isn’t about what’s good for me.”
“You’re right. It’s about what’s good for our kingdom. And if you are loyal to this crown, and to this family, you will confine yourself to this palace until the tournament is over. Am I understood?”
Kell’s chest tightened. “Yes, sir,” he said, his voice barely a whisper.
The king spun on Staff and Hastra. “If he leaves this palace again, you will both face charges, do you understand?”
“Yes, Your Majesty,” they answered grimly.
With that the king stormed out.
Kell put his head in his hands, took a breath, then swiped everything from the low table before him, scattering books and shattering a bottle of avise wine across the inlaid floor.
“What a waste,” muttered Rhy, sagging into the opposite chair.
Kell sank back and closed his eyes.
“Hey, it’s not so bad,” pressed Rhy. “At least you’re already out of the competition.”
That sank Kell’s spirits even lower. His fingers drifted to the tokens around his neck, as he struggled to suppress the urge to leave. Run. But he couldn’t, because whatever the king believed, Kell was loyal, to his crown, to his family. To Rhy.
The prince sat forward, seemingly oblivious to the storm in Kell’s head. “Now,” he said, “what shall we wear to the party?”
“Hang the party,” grumbled Kell.
“Come now, Kell, the party never did anything to you. Besides, what if a certain young woman with a penchant for cross-dressing decides to show? You wouldn’t want to miss that.”
Kell dragged his head up off the cushions. “She shouldn’t be competing.”
“Well, she made it this far. Maybe you’re not giving her enough credit.”
“I let her win.”
“Did everyone else do the same?” asked Rhy, amused. “And I have to say, she looked like she was holding her own.”
Kell groaned. She was. Which made no sense. Then again, nothing about Lila ever did. He got to his feet. “Fine.”
“There’s a good sport.”
“But no more red and gold,” he said, turning his coat inside out. “Tonight I’m wearing black.”
* * *
Calla was humming and fastening pins in the hem of a skirt when Lila came in.
“Lila!” she said cheerfully. “Avan. What can I help you with this night? A hat? Some cuffs?”
“Actually …” Lila ran her hand along a rack of coats, then sighed, and nodded at the line of dresses. “I need one of those.” She felt a vague dread, staring at the puffy, impractical garments, but Calla broke into a delighted smile. “Don’t look so surprised,” she said. “It’s for Master Kell.”
That only made the merchant’s smile widen. “What is this occasion?”
“A tournament ball.” Lila started to reach for one of the dresses, but Calla rapped her fingers. “No,” she said firmly. “No black. If you are going to do this, you are going to do it right.”
“What is wrong with black? It’s the perfect color.”
“For hiding. For blending into shadows. For storming castles. Not for balls. I let you go to the last one in black, and it has bothered me all winter.”
“If that’s true, you don’t have enough things to worry about.”
Calla tsked and turned toward the collection of dresses. Lila’s gaze raked over them, and she cringed at a yolk-yellow skirt, a velvety purple sleeve. They looked like pieces of ripe fruit, like decadent desserts. Lila wanted to look powerful, not edible.
“Ah,” said Calla, and Lila braced herself as the woman drew a dress from the rack and presented it to her. “How about this one?”
It wasn’t black, but it wasn’t confectionary either. The gown was a dark green, and it reminded Lila of the woods at night, of slivers of moonlight cutting through leaves.
The first time she had fled home—if it could be called that—she was ten. She headed into St. James’s Park and spent the whole night shivering in a low tree, looking up through the limbs at the moon, imagining she was somewhere else. In the morning she dragged herself back and found her father passed out drunk in his room. He hadn’t even bothered looking for her.
Calla read the shadows in her face. “You don’t like it?”
“It’s pretty,” said Lila. “But it doesn’t suit me.” She struggled for the words. “Maybe who I was once, but not who I am now.”