Gathering of Shadows (A Darker Shade of Magic) (35 page)

Only two days until the
Essen Tasch.

A blade swung high, and Kell lunged back out of its reach.

Two days, and still no sign of her. Some small, irrational part had been convinced that he’d be able to
feel
her return, be tuned to it the way he’d been to the Stone’s Throw, and the Setting Sun, and the Scorched Bone. The fixed points in the worlds. Then again, maybe he
was
tuned to her. Maybe she was the small, invisible force that had drawn him out into the city in the first place.

But he’d missed her, and with the city so overrun, how was he supposed to find her again?

Just follow the knives
, said a voice in his head.
And the bodies they’re lodged in.

He smiled to himself. And then, with a small pang, he wondered how long she’d been in London. And why she hadn’t come to see him sooner. Their paths had only crossed for a few days, but he and Rhy and Tieren, they were the only people she knew in this world, or at least, the only people she’d known four months ago. Perhaps she’d gone off and made a wealth of friends—but he doubted it.

The next blow nearly found skin, and Kell jerked away just in time.

Focus
, he chided himself.
Breathe.

The silver mask was perfectly contoured to his face, shielding everything but air and sight. He’d put it on, wanting to get used to its size and weight, and quickly found himself relishing the difference, slipping into the comfort of anonymity, persona. So long as he wore the mask, Kell wasn’t Kell.

He was
Kamerov.

What would Lila think about that? Lila, Lila, he’d even considered using blood magic to find her—he still had her kerchief—but stopped himself before he drew the knife. He’d gone months without stooping so low. Besides, he wasn’t some pup, chasing after a master or a bone. Let her come to him. But why
hadn’t
she come to—

Metal flashed, too close, and he swore and rolled, regaining his feet.

He’d traded a dozen enemies for only one, but unlike the dummies he’d trained against, this one was very much alive. Hastra shifted back and forth, in full armor, trying to avoid Kell’s blows. The young guard had been surprisingly willing to run around the Basin armed with only a small shield and a dull blade while Kell honed his agility and practiced turning elements into weapons.

The armor
… he thought, wind whipping around him,
is designed to crack …
He leaped, pushed off a wall, slammed a gust of air into Hastra’s back….
when struck.
Hastra stumbled forward and spun to face him.
The first to ten hits …
He continued reciting the rules as water swirled around his hand
wins the match …
The water split, circling both hands….
unless one of the competitors
… Both streams shot forward, freezing before they hit…. is
unable to continue …
Hastra could only block one shard, and the second caught him in the armored thigh and shattered into drops of ice…. or
admits defeat.

Kell broke into a smile behind his mask, and when the breathless guard pulled off his helmet, he was grinning, too. Kell tugged off his silver mask, his damp hair standing on end.

“Is this what you’ve been doing down here all these weeks, Master Kell?” asked Hastra breathlessly. “Practicing for the tournament?”

Kell hesitated, and then said, “I suppose.” After all, he had been training; he simply hadn’t known what he was training
for.

“Well it’s paying off, sir,” said the guard. “You make it look easy.”

Kell laughed. The truth was, his whole body ached, and even while his blood sang for a fight, his power felt thin. Drained. He’d grown too used to the efficiency of blood magic, but elements took more will to wield. The fatigue from using blood spells hit him all at once, but this kind of fighting wore him down. Perhaps he’d actually get a sound night’s sleep before the tournament.

Hastra crossed the training room gingerly, as if treading on hallowed ground, and stood by the Basin’s archway, considering the equipment table with its bowl of water, its containers of earth and sand and oil.

“Do
you
have an element?” asked Kell, slicking back his hair.

Hastra’s smile softened. “Little of this, little of that, sir.”

Kell frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Parents wanted me to be a priest,” said the young guard, scratching his head. “But I thought that didn’t sound like nearly as much fun. Spend all day meditating in that musty stone structure—”

“You can
balance
?” cut in Kell, amazed. Priests were chosen not for their strength in one element, but for their tempered ability to manage all, not as Kell did, with sheer power, but with the evenness needed to nurture life. Balancing the elements was a sacred skill. Even Kell struggled with balance; just as a strong wind could uproot a sapling, an
Antari’s
power held too much force for the subtle arts. He could impact things already grown, but life was fragile at the start, and required a gentle touch.

The young guard shrugged, and then brightened a little. “You want to see?” he asked, almost bashful.

Kell looked around “Right now?”

Hastra grinned and dug a hand in his pocket, fetching out a small seed. When Kell raised a brow, the guard chuckled. “You never know when you might need to impress a lady,” he said. “Lots of people puff up their chest and go for the flash and the bang. But I can’t tell you how many nights have started with a seed and ended, well …” Hastra seemed to ramble whenever he got nervous, and Kell apparently made him very nervous. “Then again I doubt you’d have to try as hard to impress them, sir.”

Hastra scanned the elements on the table. In one small bowl was some loose dirt: not the rich soil of the orchards and gardens, but the rocky kind found beneath pavers in the street. It wasn’t the most elegant thing to train with—and when given the choice, Kell would go for rocks over dirt—but it was abundant. Kell watched as Hastra scooped up a palmful of earth, and made a small indent with his finger before dropping in the seed. He then dipped his other hand into the bowl of water, and pressed it down over the dirt, packing the seed and soil between his palms into a ball. Hastra closed his eyes, and his lips began to move. Kell felt a subtle warmth in the air between them, a sensation he knew well from his time with Tieren.

And then, still murmuring, Hastra began to slowly open his hands, the mound of damp earth cupped like an egg between them.

Kell watched, transfixed, as a pale green stem crept up through the moistened earth. The stem grew an inch, then two, twisting up into the air. Leaves began to unfurl, their surface a dark purple, before a white spherical bloom emerged.

Hastra trailed off, looking pleased.

“What is it?” asked Kell.

“Acina,” said the guard. “Its leaves are good for pain.”

“That’s amazing.”

The young guard shrugged. “My mum and dad were not happy when I chose to be a guard instead.”

“I can imagine.” Kell wanted to tell Hastra that he was wasted here. That his talent was far too precious to be thrown away in favor of a sword and some armor. But then, if a person’s value alone should determine their place, what argument did Kell have for wanting more?

“But that’s just because they don’t know,” continued Hastra sunnily. “They probably think I’m doing street patrol in the
sha.
They’ll be proud, when they hear I’m guarding you, sir. Besides, I made a deal with my father,” he added. “I’ll join the sanctuary, eventually. But I’ve wanted to be a royal guard as long as I can remember. I knew I wouldn’t be happy, not until I tried. Can’t think of a worse thing, than wondering what would have been. So I thought, why not have both? The sanctuary will still have me, when I’m good and ready.”

“And if you die before then?”

Hastra’s cheery mood didn’t dampen. “Then someone else will get my gift. And hopefully they’ll be less stubborn. That’s what my mother says.” He leaned in conspiratorially. “I tend the courtyards, though, when no one’s looking.”

Kell smiled. The palace grounds
had
looked suspiciously lush, for this time of year. Hastra straightened, his gaze flicking to the stairs. “We should go—”

“We still have time,” Kell assured him, getting to his feet.

“How do you know?” asked Hastra. “We can’t hear the bells down here, and there are no windows to gauge the light.”

“Magic,” said Kell, and then, when Hastra’s eyes widened, he gestured to the hourglass sitting on the table with his other tools. “And that.”

There was still sand in the glass, and Kell wasn’t ready to face the world above just yet. “Let’s go again.”

Hastra took up his position. “Yes, sir.”

“Call me Kamerov,” said Kell, slipping the helmet back over his head.

IV

Sessa Av!

The words ran across the tops of the scrying boards throughout London.

Two days!

The city was counting down.

Two days until the Essen Tasch!

Two days, and Lila Bard had a problem.

She’d hoped there’d be an obvious chink in the system, a way to threaten or bribe her way onto the tournament roster, or snag a wild card spot, but apparently the champions had all been chosen
weeks
ago. There were twelve names on that list, and two alternates, which meant if Lila Bard wanted a chance to play—and she
did
—she was going to have to steal a name.

Lila had nicked plenty of things in her time, but an identity wasn’t one of them. Sure, she’d taken up pseudonyms, played a variety of made-up parts, but she’d never impersonated anyone
real.

And of course, she couldn’t simply impersonate them. She’d have to
replace
them.

Not worth it
, warned a voice in her head, that pesky, pragmatic one that sounded too much like Kell. Maybe it was madness. Maybe she should just take her place in the stands and cheer for her captain, earn a few extra coins in the betting pools. It wouldn’t be an unpleasant way to spend the week. And after all, what place did she have in the ring? She’d only been practicing a few months.

But.

There was that one word, lodged in her skin like a splinter.

But.

But she was restless.

But she wanted a thrill.

But it would be a challenge.

And when it came to magic, Lila wasn’t just a quick study. She was a
natural.

Master Tieren had told her months ago that something powerful lay inside her, waiting to be woken. Well, Lila had poked it with a stick, and it was wide awake—a living, humming thing as restless as she was.

And restlessness had always made her reckless.

Still, there was that pesky matter of the roster.

Lila had spent the day wandering Red London, learning everything she could about the
Essen Tasch
and its competitors. She’d passed enough time in taverns and brothels and public houses to know where you were most likely to find answers to questions without ever asking. Sure, you could always garnish pockets, but often if you sat in one place long enough, you’d learn more than anyone you paid would tell you. And everyone seemed to be talking about the tournament.

Alucard, apparently, was one of the Arnesian favorites, along with a woman named Kisimyr, the tournament’s previous victor, and a man named Jinnar. But names were names. She needed to
see
the lineup before they took the stage. If there were no good marks, she told herself, she would let it go, stick to the stands with the rest of the crew. If there were no good marks. But she had to see. Had to know.

Frustrated, Lila finished her drink and pushed off her stool and headed back to the inn.

Somewhere on the way, her feet changed course, and by the time she focused on where she was, she found herself standing across the main road from the royal palace, staring up. She wasn’t surprised. All day her legs had been tugging her here. All day she’d found her gaze drifting to the gleaming structure.

Go in
, said a voice.

Lila snorted. What would she do? Walk up the front steps? She’d done it once before, but that had been as a guest, with a stolen invitation. The doors had been cast open then, but now they were closed, a dozen guards in polished armor and red capes standing sentinel.