He stared down at the skin, trying to make sense of the searing pain.
And then, suddenly, he understood.
He couldn’t see the lines, but when he closed his eyes, he could feel them trace their way over his skin the way Rhy used to trace letters with his fingertip, writing out secret messages on Kell’s arm. It was a game they’d played when they were young, stuck side by side at some event or a boring dinner.
This wasn’t a game, not now. And yet Kell could feel the letters blazing down his arm, marked with something far sharper than a fingernail.
S
S-O
S-O-R
S-O-R-R
S-O-R-R-Y.
* * *
Kell was on his feet by the second R, cursing at himself for leaving as he drew the coins from around his throat and abandoned the ashen dawn of one London for the vibrant morning of another.
As he made his way to the palace, he thought of everything he wanted to say to the king, but when he climbed the grand stairs and stepped into the foyer, the royal family was already there. So were the Veskan prince and princess, the Faroan lord.
Rhy’s gaze met Kell’s, and his expression blazed with relief, but Kell kept his guard up as he stepped forward. He could feel the storm coming, the energy in the air thick with everything unsaid. He was braced for the fight, the harsh words, the accusations, the orders, but when the king spoke, his voice was warm. “Ah, there he is. We were about to leave without you.”
Kell couldn’t hide his surprise. He’d assumed he would be bound to the palace, perhaps indefinitely. Not welcomed back without the slightest reprimand. He hesitated, meeting the king’s gaze. It was steady, but he could see the warning in it.
“Sorry I’m late,” he said, straining to keep his voice airy. “I was on an errand, and I lost track of time.”
“You’re here now,” said the king, bringing a hand to Kell’s shoulder. “That is what matters.” The hand squeezed, hard, and for an instant Kell thought he wouldn’t let go. But then the procession set out, and Maxim’s hand fell away, and Rhy came to Kell’s side, whether out of solidarity or desperation, he didn’t know.
The central arena was filled to capacity, onlookers spilling out into the streets despite the early hour. In a clever touch, the dragons of the eastern arena and the lions of the western one had been moved, and were now converging on the central stadium, icy beasts in the river, lions posted on the stone supports, and the central’s birds in flight overhead. The stadium floor was a tangle of obstacles, columns and boulders and rock shelves, and the stands above swarmed with life and color; Alucard’s pennant with its silver feather waved from every side, dotted here and there with Rul’s blue wolf, and Tos-an-Mir’s black spiral.
When the three magicians finally emerged from their respective tunnels and took their places in the center of the floor, the roar was deafening; Kell and Rhy both cringed at the noise.
In the broad light of morning, the prince looked terrible (Kell could only assume he looked the same). Dark circles stood out beneath Rhy’s pale eyes, and he held his left arm gingerly, shielding the letters freshly scarred into his skin. To every side, the stadium was alive with energy and noise, but the royal box was perilously quiet, the air heavy with things unsaid.
The king kept his eyes on the arena floor. The queen finally shot a glance at Kell, but it was laced with scorn. Prince Col seemed to sense the tension, and watched it all with hawkish blue eyes, while Cora seemed oblivious to the dangerous mood, still sulking from Kell’s subtle rebuff.
Only Lord Sol-in-Ar appeared immune to the atmosphere of dissent. If anything his mood had improved.
Kell scanned the masses below. He didn’t realize he was searching for Lila, not until he found her in the crowd. It should have been impossible in such a massive space, but he could feel the shift of gravity, the pull of her presence, and his eyes found hers across the stadium. From here he couldn’t see her features, couldn’t tell if her lips were moving, but he imagined them forming the word hello.
And then Rhy stepped forward, managing to muster a shadow of his usual charm as he brought the gold amplifier to his lips.
“Welcome!” he called out. “Glad’ach! Sasors! What a tournament it has been. It is only fitting that our three great empires find themselves here, represented equally by three great champions. From Faro, a twin by birth, without equal in the ring, the fiery Tos-an-Mir.” Whistles filled the air as the Faroan bowed, her gold mask winking in the light. “From Vesk, a beast of a fighter, a wolf of a man, Rul!” In the arena, Rul himself let out a howl, and the Veskans in the crowd took up the call. “And of course, from our own Ames, the captain of the sea, the prince of power, Alucard!”
The applause was thunderous, and even Kell brought his hands together, albeit slowly, and without much noise.
“The rules of this final round are simple,” continued Rhy, “because there are few. This is no longer a game of points. A magician’s armor is composed of twenty-eight plates, some broad targets, others small and hard to hit. Today, the last one with plates unbroken wins the crown. So cheer your three magicians, because only one will leave this ring the champion!”
The trumpets blared, the orbs fell, and Rhy retreated into the platform’s shadow as the match began
Below, the magicians became a blur of elements: Rul’s earth and fire; Tos-an-Mir’s fire and air; Alucard’s earth, air, and water. Of course he’s a triad, thought Kell grimly.
It took less than a minute for Alucard to land the first blow on Rul’s shoulder. It took more than five for Rul to land the second on Alucard’s shin. Tos-an-Mir seemed content to let the two men strike each other from the books, until Alucard landed an icy blow to the back of her knees, and then she joined the fray.
The air in the royal booth was suffocating. Rhy was silent, slumped tiredly in the shadow of the balcony’s awning, while Kell stood vigilantly beside the king, whose gaze never wavered from the match.
Below, Tos-an-Mir moved like a gold-masked shadow, dancing on the air, while Rul loped and lunged in his predatory lupine way. Alucard still moved with a noble’s poise, even as his elements arced and crashed around him in a storm. The sounds of the fight were lost beneath the swell of cheers, but every point was marked by an explosion of light, a burst of brightness that only drove the crowd to a higher pitch.
And then, mercifully, the tension in the royal booth began to ease. The mood lightened, like the air after a storm, and Kell felt dizzy with relief. Attendants brought tea. Prince Col made a joke, and Maxim laughed. The queen complimented Lord Sol-in-Ar’s magician.
By the end of the hour, Rul was out of plates, sitting on the stone floor looking dazed while Alucard and Tos-an-Mir danced around each other, crashing together like swords before breaking apart. And then, slowly but surely, Alucard Emery began to lose. Kell felt his spirits lift, though Rhy knocked his shoulder when he went so far as to cheer for one of Tos-an-Mir’s hits. He rallied, closing the gap, and they fell into a stalemate.
At last, she got behind Alucard and under his guard. She moved to shatter the last of the his plates with a knifelike gust, but at the last instant, he twisted out of its path and a lash of water split her final piece of armor.
And just like that, it was over.
Alucard Emery had officially won.
Kell let out a groan as the stadium erupted into noise, raining down cheers and roses and silver pennants, and filling the air with a name.
“Alucard! Alucard! Alucard!”
And even though Rhy had the good taste not to whoop and shout like the rest of the crowd, Kell could see him beaming proudly as he stepped forward to formally announce the victor of the Essen Tasch.