“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
THE ARNESIAN SEA
“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.”