Gathering of Shadows (A Darker Shade of Magic) (41 page)

“I don’t believe we’ve met,” came a voice behind her in accented English.

She turned to find a young man, tall and slender, with reddish brown hair and dark lashes circling grey eyes. He had a silver-white mask tucked beneath his arm, and he shifted it to his other side before extending a gloved hand.

“Kamerov,” he said genially. “Kamerov Loste.”

So this was the elusive magician, the one neither Jinnar nor Alucard had managed to find. She didn’t see what all the fuss was about.

“Stasion Elsor,” she answered.

“Well, Master Elsor,” he said with a confident smile, “perhaps we will meet in the arena.”

She raised a brow and began to move away.

“Perhaps.”

III

“I took the liberty of designing your pennant,” said Rhy, resting his elbows on the gallery’s marble banister. “I hope you don’t mind.”

Kell cringed. “Do I even want to know what’s on it?”

Rhy tugged the folded piece of fabric from his pocket, and handed it over. The cloth was red, and when he unfolded it, he saw the image of a rose in black and white. The rose had been mirrored, folded along the center axis and reflected, so the design was actually
two
flowers, surrounded by a coil of thorns.

“How subtle,” said Kell tonelessly.

“You could at least pretend to be grateful.”

“And you couldn’t have picked something a little more … I don’t know … imposing? A serpent? A great beast? A bird of prey?”

“A bloody handprint?” retorted Rhy. “Oh, what about a glowing black eye?”

Kell glowered.

“You’re right,” continued Rhy, “I should have just drawn a frowning face. But then everyone would
know
it’s you. I thought this was rather fitting.”

Kell muttered something unkind as he shoved the banner into his pocket.

“You’re welcome.”

Kell surveyed the Rose Hall. “You think anyone will notice that I’m—well, that Kamerov Loste is missing from the festivities?”

Rhy took a sip of his drink. “I doubt it,” he said. “But just in case …”

He nodded the drink at a lean figure moving through the crowd. Kell was halfway through a sip of wine when he saw the man, and nearly choked on it. The figure was tall and slim, with trimmed auburn hair. He was dressed in elegant black trousers and a silver high-collared tunic, but it was the mask tucked under his arm that caught Kell’s eye.

A single piece of sculpted silver-white metal, polished to a high shine.

His
mask. Or rather,
Kamerov’s.

“Who on earth is
that
?”

“That, my dear brother, is Kamerov Loste. At least for tonight.”

“Dammit, Rhy, the more people you tell about this plan, the more likely it is to fail.”

The prince waved a hand. “I’ve paid our actor handsomely to play the part tonight, and as far as he’s concerned it’s because the real Kamerov doesn’t care for public displays. This is the only event where all thirty-six competitors are expected to show their faces, Kamerov included. Besides, Castars is discreet.”

“You
know
him?”

Rhy shrugged. “Our paths have crossed.”

“Stop,” said Kell. “Please. I don’t want to hear about your romantic interludes with the man currently posing as me.”

“Don’t be obscene. I haven’t been with him since he agreed to take up this particular role. And that right there is a testament to my respect for you.”

“How flattering.”

Rhy caught the man’s eye, and a few moments later, having toured the room, the false Kamerov Loste—well, Kell supposed they were both false, but the copy of the copy—ascended the stairs to the gallery.

“Prince Rhy,” said the man, bowing with a little more flourish than Kell would have used. “And Master Kell,” he added reverently.

“Master Loste,” said Rhy cheerfully.

The man’s eyes, both grey, drifted to Kell. Up close, he saw that they were the same height and build. Rhy had been thorough.

“I wish you luck in the coming days,” said Kell.

The man’s smile deepened. “It is an
honor
to fight for Ames.”

“A bit over the top, isn’t he?” asked Kell as the impostor returned to the floor.

“Oh, don’t be bitter,” said Rhy. “The important thing is that Kamerov has a
face.
Specifically a face that isn’t
yours
.”

“He doesn’t have the coat.”

“No, unfortunately for us, you can’t pull coats
out
of that coat of yours, and I figured you’d be unwilling to part with it.”

“You’d be right.” Kell was just turning away when he saw the shadow moving across the floor, a figure dressed in black with the edge of a smirk and a demon’s mask. It almost looked like the one he’d seen on Lila the night of Rhy’s masquerade. The night Astrid had taken Kell prisoner, taken Rhy’s body for her own. Lila had appeared like a specter on the balcony, dressed in black and wearing a horned mask. She’d worn it then, and later, as they fled with Rhy’s dying body between them, and in the sanctuary room as Kell fought to resurrect him. She’d worn it in her hair as they stood in the stone forest at the steps of the White London castle, and it had hung from her bloody fingers when it was over.

“Who is that?” he asked.

Rhy followed his gaze. “Someone who clearly shares your taste for monochrome. Beyond that …” Rhy tugged a folded paper from his pocket, and skimmed the roster. “It’s not Brost, he’s huge. I’ve met Jinnar. Must be Stasion.”

Kell squinted, but the resemblance was already fading. The hair was too short, too dark, the mask different, the smile replaced by hard lines. Kell shook his head.

“I know it’s mad, but for a second I thought it was …”

“Saints, you’re seeing her in everyone and everything now, Kell? There’s a word for that.”

“Hallucination?”

“Infatuation.”

Kell snorted. “I’m not infatuated,” he said. “I just …” He just wanted to see her. “Our paths crossed one time. Months ago. It happens.”

“Oh yes, your relationship with Miss Bard is positively ordinary.”

“Be quiet.”

“Crossing worlds, killing royals, saving cities. The marks of every good courtship.”

“We weren’t courting,” snapped Kell. “In case you forgot, she left.”

He didn’t mean to sound wounded. It wasn’t that she left
him
, it was simply that she left. And he couldn’t follow, even if he’d wanted to. And now she was
back.

Rhy straightened. “When this is over, we should take a trip.”

Kell rolled his eyes. “Not this again.”

And then he saw Master Tieren’s white robes moving through the hall below. All night—all week, all month—the
Aven Essen
had been avoiding him.

“Hold this,” he said, passing the prince his drink.

Before Rhy could argue, Kell was gone.

* * *

Lila slipped out before the crowd could thin, the demon mask hanging from one hand and her chosen pennant from the other. Two silver knives crossed against a ground of black. She was in the foyer when she heard the sound of steps behind her. Not crisp boots on marble, but soft, well-worn shoes.

“Delilah Bard,” said a calm, familiar voice.

She stopped mid-stride, then turned. The head priest of the London Sanctuary stood, holding a silver goblet in both hands, his fingers laced. His white robes were trimmed with gold, his silver-white hair groomed but simple around his sharp blue eyes.

“Master Tieren,” she said, smiling even as her heart pounded in warning. “Is the
Aven Essen
supposed to drink?”

“I don’t see why not,” he said. “The key to all things, be they magical or alcoholic, is moderation.” He considered the glass. “Besides, this is water.”

“Ah,” said Lila, cheating a step back, the mask behind her back. She wasn’t entirely sure what to do. Normally her two options upon being cornered were turn and run or fight, but neither seemed appropriate when it came to Master Tieren. Some small part of her thrilled at being recognized, and she honestly couldn’t imagine drawing a knife on Kell’s mentor.

“That’s quite an outfit you’re wearing,” observed the
Aven Essen
, advancing. “If you wanted an audience with Prince Rhy and Master Kell, I’m sure you could simply have called for one. Was a disguise really necessary?” And then, reading her expression, “But this disguise wasn’t simply a way into the palace, was it?”

“Actually, I’m here as a competitor.”

“No, you’re not,” he said simply.

Lila bristled. “How would you know?”

“Because I selected them myself.”

Lila shrugged. “One of them must have dropped out.”

He gave her a long, appraising look.

Was he reading her thoughts?
Could
he? That was the hardest part of being plunged into a world where magic was possible. It made you wonder if
everything
was. Lila was neither a skeptic nor a believer; she relied on her gut and the world she could see. But the world she could see had gotten considerably stranger.

“Miss Bard, what trouble have you gotten into now?” Before she could answer, he went on, “But that isn’t the right question, is it? Judging by your appearance, the right question would be, where is Master Elsor?”

Lila cracked a smile. “He’s alive and well,” she said. “Well, he’s alive. Or at least he was, the last time I checked.” The priest let out a short exhale. “He’s fine, Master Tieren. But he won’t be able to make the
Essen Tasch
, so I’ll be filling in.”

There was another brief sigh, heavy with disapproval.

“You’re the one who encouraged me,” challenged Lila.

“I told you to tend your waking power, not cheat your way into an international tournament.”

“You told me that I had magic in me. Now you don’t think I have what it takes?”

“I don’t
know
what you have, Lila. And neither do you. And while I’m glad to hear that your stay in our world has so far been fruitful, what you need is time and practice and a good deal of discipline.”

“Have a little faith, Master Tieren. Some people believe that necessity is the key to flourishing.”

“Those people are fools. And you have a dangerous disregard for your own life, and the lives of others.”

“So I’ve been told.” She cheated another step back. She was in the doorway now. “Are you going to try to stop me?”

He shot her a hard blue look. “Could I?”

“You could try. Arrest me. Expose me. We can make a show of it. But I don’t think that’s what you want. The real Stasion Elsor is on his way to Delonar, and won’t be back in time to compete. Besides, this tournament, it’s important, isn’t it?” She drew a finger down the doorframe. “For diplomatic relations. There are people here from Vesk and Faro. What do you think they’d do if they knew where I really came from? What would that say about the doors between worlds? What would that say about me? It gets messy rather fast, doesn’t it, Master Tieren? But more than that, I think you’re curious to see what a Grey London girl can do.”

Tieren fixed her with his gaze. “Has anyone ever told you that you’re too sharp for your own good?”

“Too sharp. Too loud. Too reckless. I’ve heard it all. It’s a wonder I’m still alive.”

“Indeed.”

Lila’s hand fell from the door. “Don’t tell Kell.”

“Oh, trust me, child, that’s the last thing I’ll do. When you get caught, I plan on feigning ignorance about
all
of this.” He lowered his voice, and added, mostly to himself, “This tournament will be the death of me.” And then he cleared his throat. “Does he know you’re here?”

Lila bit her lip. “Not yet.”

“Do you plan to tell him?”

Lila looked to the Rose Hall beyond the priest. She did, didn’t she? So what was stopping her? The uncertainty? So long as she knew and he didn’t, she was in control. The moment he found out, the balance would shift. Besides, if Kell found out she was competing—if he found out what she’d
done
to compete—she’d never see the inside of an arena. Hell, she’d probably never see anything again but the inside of a cell, and even if she wasn’t arrested, she’d certainly never hear the end of it.

She stepped out onto the landing, Tieren in her wake.

“How are they?” she asked, looking out at the city.