And Lila had cocked her head. “I was just thinking,” she’d said, “I should have killed you when I had the chance.”
He’d raised a brow. “And I should have tossed you in the sea.”
An easy silence had settled, and she knew she’d miss it, felt herself shrink from the idea of missing before heaving out a breath and letting it fall, settle. There were worse things, she supposed.
Her boots sounded on the wooden dock.
“You take care of that ship,” he’d said, and Lila had left with only a wink, just like the ones Alucard had always thrown her way. He’d had a sapphire to catch the light, and all she had was a black glass eye, but she could feel his smile like sun on her back as she strode out and let the door swing shut behind her.
It wasn’t a good-bye, not really.
What was the word for parting?
Anoshe.
That was it.
Until another day.
Delilah Bard knew she’d be back.
The dock was full of ships, but only one caught her eye. A stunning rig with a polished dark hull and midnight-blue sails. She climbed the ramp to the deck, where the crew were waiting, some old, some new.
“Welcome to the Night Spire,” she said, flashing a smile like a knife. “You can call me Captain Bard.”
IX
Holland stood alone in the Silver Wood.
He had listened to the sounds of Kell’s departure, those few short strides giving way to silence. He tipped his head back and took a deep breath, squinting into the sun.
A spot of black streaked through the clouds overhead—a bird, just like in his dream—and his tired heart quickened, but there was only one, and there was no Alox, no Talya, no Vortalis. Voices long silent. Lives long lost.
With Kell gone, and no one left to see, Holland sagged back against the nearest tree, the icy surface of its side like cold steel against his spine. He let himself sink, lowering his tired body to the dead earth.
A gentle breeze blew through the barren grove, and Holland closed his eyes and imagined he could almost hear the rustle of leaves, could almost feel the feathery weight of them falling one by one onto his skin. He didn’t open his eyes, didn’t want to lose the image. He just let the leaves fall. Let the wind blow. Let the woods whisper, shapeless sounds that threaded into words.
The king is coming, it seemed to say.
The tree was beginning to warm against his back, and Holland knew, in a distant way, that he was never getting up.
It ends, he thought—no fear, only relief, and sadness.
He had tried. Had given everything he could. But he was so tired.
The rustle of leaves in his ears was getting louder, and he felt himself sinking against the tree, into the embrace of something softer than metal, darker than night.
His heart slowed, winding down like a music box, a season at its end.
The last air left Holland’s lungs.
And then, at last, the world breathed in.
X
Kell wore a coat that billowed in the wind.
It was neither royal red, nor messenger black, nor tournament silver. This coat was a simple, woolen grey. He wasn’t quite sure if it was new or old or something in between, only that he’d never seen it before. Not until that morning when, turning his coat past black and red, he’d come across a side he didn’t recognize.
This new coat had a high collar, and deep pockets, and sturdy black buttons that ran down the front. It was a coat for storms, and strong tides, and saints knew what else.
He planned to find out, now that he was free.
Freedom itself was a dizzying thing. With every step, Kell felt unmoored, as if he might drift away. But no, there was the rope, invisible but strong as steel, running between his heart and Rhy’s.
It would stretch.
It would reach.
Kell made his way down the docks, passing ferries and frigates, local vessels, the Veskan impounds, and Faroan skiffs, ships of every size and shape as he searched for the Night Spire.
He should have known she’d choose that one, with its dark hull and its blue sails.
He made it all the way to the boat’s ramp without looking back, but there at last he faltered, and turned, taking in the palace one last time. Glass and stone, gold and light. The beating heart of London. The rising sun of Arnes.
“Having second thoughts?”
Kell craned his neck to see Lila leaning on the ship’s rail, spring wind tousling her short dark hair.
“Not at all,” he said. “Just enjoying the view.”
“Well, come on, before I decide to sail without you.” She spun away, shouting orders at the ship’s crew like a true captain, and the men aboard all listened and obeyed. They leapt to action with a smile, threw off ropes and drew up anchor as if they couldn’t wait to set sail. He couldn’t blame them. Lila Bard was a force to be reckoned with. Whether her hands were filled with knives or fire, her voice low and coaxing or lined with steel, she seemed to hold the world in her hands. Maybe she did.
After all, she’d already taken two Londons as her own.
She was a thief, a runaway, a pirate, a magician.
She was fierce, and powerful, and terrifying.
She was still a mystery.
And he loved her.
A knife struck the docks between Kell’s feet, and he jumped.
“Lila!” he shouted.
“Leaving!” she called from the deck. “And bring me back that knife,” she added. “It’s my favorite one.”
Kell shook his head, and freed the blade from where it had lodged in the wood. “They’re all your favorite.”