Gathering of Shadows (A Darker Shade of Magic) (26 page)

It died
, repeated the shadow. As
all things do.

“How?”
demanded Holland. “
How
did it die?”

I … did not know
, it said,
that humans were such fragile things. I have learned … how to be more careful. But …

But it was too late
, thought Holland.
There was no one left.

I saved you
, it said again, as if making a point.

“What do you want?”

To make a deal.
The invisible wind around Holland picked up, and the statue of Osaron seemed to lean forward.
What do
you
want
, Antari?

He tried to steel his mind against the question, but answers poured through like smoke. To live. To be free. And then he thought of his world, starving for power, for life. Thought of it dying—not like this place, but slowly, painfully.

What do you want, Holland?

He wanted to save his world. Behind his eyes, the image began to change as London—
his
London—came back to life. He saw himself on the throne, staring up through a roofless palace at a bright blue sky, the warmth of the sun against his skin, and—

“No,” he snapped, digging his hand into his wounded shoulder, the pain shocking him out of the vision. It was a trick, a trap.

All things come with a cost
, said Osaron.
That is the nature of the world. Give and take. You can stay here and die for nothing while your world dies, too. Or you can save it. The choice is yours.

“What do
you
want?” asked Holland.

To live
, said the shadow.
I can save your life. I can save your world. It is a simple deal
, Antari.
My power for your body.

“And whose mind?” challenged Holland. “Whose
will
?”

Ours
, purred the king.

Holland’s chest ached. Another binding. Would he never be free?

He closed his eyes, and he was back on that throne, gazing up at that wondrous sky.

Well
, asked the shadow king.
Do we have a deal?

I

“Dammit, Bard, you’re going to set the cat on fire.”

Lila’s head snapped up. She was perched on the edge of a chair in Alucard’s cabin, holding a flame between her palms. Her attention must have slipped, because she’d lowered her hands without thinking, letting the fire between them sink toward the floor, and Esa, who’d been sitting there watching with feline intensity.

She sucked in a breath and brought her palms together quickly, extinguishing the flame in time to spare the tip of Esa’s fluffy white tail.

“Sorry,” she muttered, slouching back in the chair. “Must have gotten bored.”

In truth, Lila was exhausted. She had slept even less than usual since Alucard’s announcement, spending every spare moment practicing everything he’d taught her, and a few things he hadn’t. And when she actually
tried
to sleep, her thoughts invariably turned to London. And the tournament. And Kell.

“Must have,” grumbled Alucard, hoisting Esa up under his arm and depositing her safely on his desk.

“What do you expect?” She yawned. “I was holding that flame for ages.”

“Forty-three minutes by the clock,” he said. “And the whole
point
of the exercise is to keep your mind from drifting.”

“Well then,” she said, pouring herself a drink, “I suppose I’m just distracted.”

“By my intoxicating presence, or our impending arrival?”

Lila swirled the wine and took a sip. It was rich and sweet, heavier than the usual sort he kept decanted on the table. “Have you ever fought a Veskan before?” she asked, dodging his question.

Alucard took up his own glass. “Behind a tavern, yes. In a tournament, no.”

“What about a Faroan?”

“Well,” he said, lowering himself into the opposite chair, “if their battle manner is anything like their bed manner …”

“You jest,” she said, sitting forward, “but won’t you have to fight both, in the
Essen Tasch
?”

“Assuming I don’t lose in the first round, yes.”

“Then what do you know about them?” she pressed. “Their skill? Their fighting style?”

The sapphire glittered as he raised his brow. “You’re awfully inquisitive.”

“I’m naturally curious,” she countered. “And believe it or not, I’d rather not have to go looking for a new captain when this is over.”

“Oh, don’t worry, few competitors actually
die
.” She gave him a hard look. “As for what I know? Well, let’s see. Aside from Veskans growing like trees and Faroans taking my facial fashion choices to an extreme, they’re both rather fascinating when it comes to magic.”

Lila set the drink aside. “How so?”

“Well, we Arnesians have the Isle as a source. We believe that magic runs through the world the way that river runs through our capital, like a vein. Similarly, the Veskans have their mountains, which they claim bring them closer to their gods, each of which embodies an element. They are strong people, but they rely on physical force, believing that the more like mountains they are, the closer to power.”

“And the Faroans? What is their source?”

Alucard sipped. “That’s the thing. They don’t have one. The Faroans believe instead that magic is everywhere. And in a sense they’re right. Magic is technically in everything, but they claim they can tap into the heart of the world simply by walking on it. The Faroans consider themselves a blessed race. A bit on the arrogant side, but they’re
powerful.
Perhaps they
have
found a way to make themselves into vessels. Or perhaps they use those jewels to bind magic to them.” His voice colored with distaste when he said this, and Lila remembered Kell telling her about White Londoners, the way they used tattoos to bind power, and the way Red Londoners saw the practice as disgraceful. “Or maybe it’s all for show.”

“It doesn’t bother you, that everyone believes different things?”

“Why should it?” he asked. “We all believe the same thing really, we simply give it different names. Hardly a crime.”

Lila snorted. If only people in her world took such a forgiving stance. “The
Essen Tasch
is itself a kind of lesson,” continued Alucard, “that it doesn’t matter what you call magic, so long as you can believe.”

“Do you really think you can win the tournament?” she asked.

He scoffed. “Probably not.”

“Then why bother?”

“Because fighting’s half the fun,” he said, and then, reading her skepticism, “don’t pretend that’s a concept lost on you, Bard. I’ve seen the way you lunge into trouble.”

“It’s not that….”

And it wasn’t. She was just trying to picture Alucard in a magical duel. It was hard, because Lila had never seen the captain
fight.
Sure, she’d seen him hold a sword and make grand gestures with it, but he usually stood around looking pretty; before his display back in Sasenroche, she’d had no idea how good he was at magic. But the effortless way he’d performed at the Inroads … She couldn’t help but wonder what he’d look like fighting. Would he be a torrent of energy, or a breeze, or would he be like Kell, who was somehow both at once?

“I’m surprised,” said Alucard, “that you’ve never seen the tournament yourself.”

“Who says I haven’t?”

“You’ve been questioning my men for days. Did you think I wouldn’t notice?”

Obviously
, she thought.

“So I’ve never been.” Lila shrugged, taking up her drink again. “Not everyone spends their winters in the city.”

His smug expression faltered. “You could have simply asked
me
.”

“And endured your speculation, your answers that are questions, your constant probing?”

“I’ve been told my probing is quite pleasant.” Lila snorted into her cup at this. “You cannot fault a captain for wanting to know about his crew.”

“And you cannot fault a thief for keeping secrets out of reach.”

“You have trouble with trust, Delilah Bard.”

“Your powers of observation are astonishing.” She smiled and finished her drink. Her lips tingled and her throat burned. It really was stronger than usual. Lila didn’t usually drink much; she’d spent too many years needing every faculty she had to stay alive. But here, in Alucard Emery’s cabin, she realized something: she wasn’t afraid. She wasn’t running. Sure, it was a balancing act every time they spoke, but she knew how to keep her footing.

Alucard offered her a lazy, inebriated smile. Drunk or sober, he was always smiling. So unlike Kell, who always frowned.

Alucard sighed, and closed his eyes, tipping his head back against the plush chair. He had a nice face, soft and sharp at the same time. She had the strangest urge to reach out and trace the lines of it with her fingers.

Lila really should have killed him, back when they first met. Back before she could know him. Back before she could like him so much.

His eyes drifted open. “Silver and gold for your thoughts,” he said softly, lifting his glass to his lips.

Esa brushed against Lila’s chair, and she twined the cat’s tail around her fingers. “I was just wishing I’d killed you months ago,” she said with easy cheer, relishing the way Alucard nearly choked on his wine.

“Oh, Bard,” he teased, “does that mean you’ve since developed a fondness for me?”

“Fondness is weakness,” she said automatically.

At that, Alucard stopped smiling, and set his glass aside. He leaned forward and considered her for a long moment, and then he said, “I’m sorry.” He sounded so … earnest, which made Lila instantly suspicious. Alucard was many things, but genuine wasn’t usually one of them.

“For growing on me?” she asked.

He shook his head. “For whatever happened to you. For whoever hurt you so deeply that you see things like friends and fondness as weapons instead of shields.” Lila felt the heat rising to her cheeks.

“It’s kept me alive, hasn’t it?”

“Perhaps. But life is pointless without pleasure.”

Lila’s bristled at that, and got to her feet. “Who says I don’t feel pleasure? I feel pleasure when I win a bet. Pleasure when I conjure fire. Pleasure when—”

Alucard cut her off. Not with a word, but with a kiss. He closed the space between them in one single, fluid motion, and then one of his hands was on her arm, the other against the nape of her neck, and his mouth was on hers. Lila didn’t pull away. She told herself after that it was surprise that stopped her, but that might have been a lie. Maybe it was the wine. Maybe it was the warmth of the room. Maybe it was the fear that he was right about her, about pleasure, about life. Maybe, but in that moment all she knew was that Alucard was kissing her, and then she was kissing him back. And then, suddenly, his mouth was gone from hers, his smile floating in front of her face.

“Tell me,” he whispered, “was that better than winning a bet?”

She was breathless. “You make a valid argument.”

“I’d love to press the point,” he said, “but first …” He cleared his throat, and looked down at the knife she had resting against the inside of his leg.

“Reflex,” she said with a smirk, returning the weapon to its sheath.