It was a crooked old structure—she hadn’t noticed, in her short time in Red London last fall, that most of the buildings felt new—that looked like boxes stacked rather haphazardly on top of each other. It actually reminded her a bit of her haunts back in Grey London. Old stones beginning to settle, floors beginning to slouch.
The main room was crammed with tables, each of which in turn was crammed with Arnesian sailors, and most appeared well in their cups, despite the fact it was barely sundown. A single hearth burned on the far wall, a wolfhound stretched in front, but the room was stuffy from bodies.
“Living the life of luxury, aren’t we?” grumbled Stross.
“We’ve got beds,” said Tav, ever the optimist.
“Are we sure about that?” asked Vasry.
“Did someone replace my hardened crew with a bunch of whining children?” chided Alucard. “Shall I go find you a teat to gnaw on, Stross?”
The first mate grumbled but said nothing more as the captain handed out the keys. Four men to a room. But despite the cramped quarters, and the fact that the inn looked like it was far exceeding capacity, Alucard had managed to snare a room of his own.
“Captain’s privilege,” he said.
As for Lila, she was bunked with Vasry, Tav, and Lenos.
The group dispersed, hauling their chests up to their chambers. The Wandering Road was, as the name suggested, wandering, a tangled mess of halls and stairs that seemed to defy several laws of nature at once. Lila wondered if there was some kind of spell on the inn, or if it was simply peculiar. It was the kind of place where you could easily get lost, and she could only imagine it got more confusing as the night and drink wore on. Alucard called it eccentric.
Her room had four bodies, but only two beds.
“This’ll be cozy,” said Tav.
“No,” said Lila in decisive, if broken, Arnesian. “I don’t share beds—”
“Tac?” teased Vasry, dropping his chest on the floor. “Surely we can work something ou—”
“—because I have a habit of stabbing people in my sleep,” she finished coolly.
Vasry had the decency to pale a little.
“Bard can have a bed,” said Tav. “I’ll take the floor. And Vasry, what are the odds of you actually spending your nights here with us?”
Vasry batted his long, black lashes. “A point.”
So far, Lenos had said nothing. Not when they got their key, not when they climbed the stairs. He hugged the wall, obviously unnerved to be sharing quarters with the Sarows. Tav was the most resilient, but if she played her cards right, she could probably have the room to herself by tomorrow.
It wasn’t a bad room. It was roughly the same size as her cabin, which was roughly the same size as a closet, but when she looked out the narrow window, she could see the city, and the river, and the palace arcing over it.
And the truth was, it felt good to be back.
She pulled on her gloves, and a cap, and dug a parcel out of her chest before heading out. She closed the door just as Alucard stepped out of a room across the hall. Esa’s white tail curled around his boot.
“Where are you off to?” he asked.
“Night Market.”
He raised a sapphire-studded brow. “Barely back on London soil, and already off to spend your coins?”
“What can I say?” said Lila evenly. “I’m in need of a new dress.”
Alucard snorted but didn’t press the issue, and though he trailed her down to the stairs, he didn’t follow her out.
For the first time in months, Lila was truly alone. She drew a breath and felt her chest loosen as she cast off Bard, the best thief aboard the Night Spire, and became simply a stranger in the thickening dark.
She passed several scrying boards advertising the Essen Tasch, white chalk dancing across the black surface as it spelled out details about the various ceremonies and celebrations. A couple of children hovered around the edges of a puddle, freezing and unfreezing it. A Veskan man lit a pipe with a snap of his fingers. A Faroan woman somehow changed the color of her scarf simply by running it through her fingers.
Wherever Lila looked, she saw signs of magic.
Out on the water, it was a strange enough sight—not as strange as it would have been in Grey London, of course—but here, it was everywhere. Lila had forgotten the way Red London glittered with it, and the more time she spent here, the more she realized that Kell really didn’t belong. He didn’t fit in with the clashes of color, the laughter and jostle and sparkle of magic. He was too understated.
This was a place for performers. And that suited Lila just fine.
It wasn’t late, but winter darkness had settled over the city by the time she neared the Night Market. The stretch of stalls along the bank seemed to glow, lit not only by the usual lanterns and torches, but by pale spheres of light that followed the market-goers wherever they went. At first, it looked like they themselves were glowing, not head to toe, but from their core, as if their very life force had suddenly become visible. The effect was unsettling, hundreds of tiny lights burning against cloak fronts. But as she drew closer, she realized the light was coming from something in their hands.
“Palm fire?” asked a man at the mouth of the market, holding up a glass sphere filled with pale light. It was just warm enough to fog the air around its edges.
“How much?”
“Four lin.”
It wasn’t cheap, but her fingers were chilled, even with the gloves, and she was fascinated by the sphere, so she paid the man and took the orb, marveling at the soft, diffuse heat that spread through her hands and up her arms.
She cradled the palm fire, smiling despite herself. The market air still smelled of flowers, but also of burning wood, and cinnamon, and fruit. She’d been such an outsider last fall—she was still an outsider, of course, but now she knew enough to cover it. Jumbled letters that had meant nothing to her months before now began to form words. When the merchants called out their wares, she could glean their meaning, and when the music seemed to take shape on the air, as if by magic, she knew that was exactly what it was, and the thought didn’t set her off balance. If anything, she’d felt off balance all her life, and now her feet were firmly planted.
Most people wandered from stall to stall, sampling mulled wine and skewered meat, fondling velvet-lined hoods and magical tokens, but Lila walked with her head up, humming to herself as she wove between the tents and stalls toward the other end of the market. There would be time to wander later, but right now, she had an errand.
Down the bank, the palace loomed like a low red moon. And there, sandwiched between two other tents at the far edge of the market, near the palace steps, she found the stall she was looking for.
The last time she’d been here, she hadn’t been able to read the sign mounted above the entrance. Now she knew enough Arnesian to decipher it.
IS POSTRAN.
The Wardrobe.
Simple, but clever—just as in English, the word postran referred both to clothing and the place where it was kept.
Tiny bells had been threaded through the curtain of fabric that served as a door, and they rang softly as Lila pushed the cloth aside. Stepping into the stall was like crossing the threshold into a well-warmed house. Lanterns burned in the corners, emitting not only rosy light, but a glorious amount of heat. Lila scanned the tent. Once the back wall had been covered with faces, but now it was lined with winter things—hats, scarves, hoods, and a few accessories that seemed to merge all three.
A round woman, her brown hair wrestled into a braided bun, knelt before one of the tables, reaching for something beneath.
“An esto,” she called at the sound of the bells, then muttered quiet curses at whatever had escaped. “Aha!” she said at last, shoving a bauble back into her pocket before pushing to her feet. “Solase,” she said, brushing herself off as she turned. “Kers …” But then she trailed off, and burst into a smile.
It had been four months since Lila
had stepped into Calla’s tent to admire the masks along the wall. Four months since the merchant woman had given her a devil’s face, and a coat, and a pair of boots, the beginnings of a new identity. A new life.
Four months, but Calla’s eyes lit up instantly with recognition. “Lila,” she said, stretching out the i into several es.
“Calla,” said Lila. “As esher tan ves.”
I hope you are well.
The woman smiled. “Your Arnesian,” she said in English, “it is improving.”
“Not fast enough,” said Lila. “Your High Royal is impeccable as always.”
“Tac,” she chided, smoothing the front of her dark apron.
Lila felt a peculiar warmth toward the woman, a fondness that should have made her nervous, but she couldn’t bring herself to smother the feeling.
“You have been gone.”
“At sea,” answered Lila.
“You have docked along with half the world, it seems,” said Calla, crossing to the front of her stall and fastening the curtain shut. “And just in time for the Essen Tasch.”
“It’s not a coincidence.”
“You come to watch, then,” she said.
“My captain is competing,” answered Lila.
Calla’s eyes widened. “You sail with Alucard Emery?”
“You know of him?”
Calla shrugged. “Reputations, they are loud things.” She waved her hand in the air, as if dismissing smoke. “What brings you to my stall? Time for a new coat? Green perhaps, or blue. Black is out of fashion this winter.”
“I hardly care,” said Lila. “You’ll never part me from my coat.”
Calla chuckled and ran a questing finger along Lila’s sleeve. “It’s held up well enough.” And then she tutted. “Saints only know what you’ve been doing in it. Is that a knife tear?”
“I snagged it on a nail,” she lied.
“Tac, Lila, my work is not so fragile.”
“Well,” she conceded, “it might have been a small knife.”
Calla shook her head. “First storming castles, and now fighting on the seas. You are a very peculiar girl. Anesh, Master Kell is a peculiar boy, so what do I know.”
Lila colored at the implication. “I have not forgotten my debt,” she said. “I’ve come to pay it.” With that, she produced a small wooden box. It was an elegant thing, inlaid with glass. Inside, the box was lined with black silk, and divided into basins. One held fire pearls, another a spool of silver wire, violet stone clasps and tiny gold feathers, delicate as down. Calla drew in a small, sharp breath at the treasure.
“Mas aven,” she whispered. And then she looked up. “Forgive me for asking, but I trust no one will come looking for these?” There was surprisingly little judgment in the question. Lila smiled.
“If you know of Alucard Emery, then you know he sails a royal ship. These were confiscated from a vessel on our waters. They were mine, and now they are yours.”
Calla’s short fingers trailed over the trinkets. And then she closed the lid, and tucked the box away. “They are too much,” she said. “You will have a credit.”
“I’m glad to hear that,” said Lila. “Because I’ve come to ask a favor.”
“It’s not a favor if you’ve purchased and paid. What can I do?”
Lila reached into her coat and pulled out the black mask Calla had given her months before, the one that had solidified her nickname of Sarows. It was worn by salt air and months of use; cracks traced across the black leather, the horns had lost some of their upward thrust, and the cords that fastened it were in danger of breaking.
“What on earth have you been doing with this?” chided Calla, her lips pursing with something like motherly disapproval.
“Will you mend it?”
Calla shook her head. “Better to start fresh,” she said, setting the mask aside.
“No,” insisted Lila, reaching for it. “I’m fond of this one. Surely you can reinforce it.”
“For what?” asked Calla archly. “Battle?”
Lila chewed her lip, and the merchant seemed to read the answer. “Tac, Lila, there is eccentricity, and there is madness. You cannot mean to compete in the Essen Tasch.”
“What?” teased Lila. “Is it unladylike?”
Calla sighed. “Lila, when we first met, I gave you your pick of all my wares, and you chose a devil’s mask and a man’s coat. This has nothing to do with what is proper, it’s only that it’s dangerous. Anesh, so are you.” She said it as though it were a compliment, albeit a grudging one. “But you are not on the roster.”
“Don’t worry about that,” said Lila with a smirk.
Calla started to protest, and then stopped herself and shook her head. “No, I do not want to know.” She stared down at the devil’s mask. “I should not help you with this.”
“You don’t have to,” said Lila. “I could find someone else.”
“You could,” said Calla, “but they wouldn’t be as good.”
“Nowhere near as good,” insisted Lila.
Calla sighed. “Stas reskon,” she murmured. It was a phrase Lila had heard before. Chasing danger.
Lila smiled, thinking of Barron. “A friend once told me that if there was trouble to be found, I’d find it.”
“We would be friends, then, your friend and I.”
“I think you would,” said Lila, her smile faltering. “But he is gone.”
Calla set the mask aside. “Come back in two days. I will see what I can do.”
“Rensa tav, Calla.”
“Do not thank me yet, strange girl.”
Lila turned to go, but hesitated when she reached the curtain. “I have only just returned,” she said carefully, “so I’ve not had time to ask after the princes.” She glanced back. “How are they?”
“Surely you can go and see for yourself.”
“I can’t,” said Lila. “That is, I shouldn’t. Kell and I, what we had … it was a temporary arrangement.”
The woman gave her a look that said she didn’t believe that, not as far as she could throw it. Lila assumed that was the end of things, so she turned again, but Calla said, “He came to me, after you were gone. Master Kell.”
Lila’s eyes widened. “What for?”
“To pay the debt for your clothes.”
Her mood darkened. “I can pay my own debts,” she snapped, “and Kell knows it.”
Calla smiled. “That is what I told him. And he went away. But a week later, he came back, and made the same offer. He comes every week.”
“Bastard,” mumbled Lila, but the merchant shook her head.
“Don’t you see?” said Calla. “He wasn’t coming to pay your debt. He was coming to see if you’d returned to pay it yourself.” Lila felt her face go hot. “I do not know why you two are circling each other like stars. It is not my cosmic dance. But I do know that you come asking after one another, when only a few strides and a handful of stairs divide you.”
“It’s complicated,” said Lila.
“As esta narash,” she murmured to herself, and Lila now knew enough to know what she said. All things are.
VII
Kell strolled the Night Market for the first time in weeks.
He’d taken to avoiding such public appearances, his moments of defiance too rare compared to those of self-consciousness. Let them think what they want was a thought that visited him with far less frequency and force than They see you as a monster.
But he was in need of air and Rhy, for once in his life, was too busy to entertain him. Which was fine. In the growing madness of the approaching games, Kell simply wanted to move, to wander, and so he found himself strolling through the market under the heavy cover of the crowds. The influx of strangers in the city afforded him shelter. There were so many foreigners here for the locals to look at, they were far less likely to notice him. Especially as Kell had taken Rhy’s advice and traded his stark black high coat for a dusty blue one more in fashion, and pulled a winter hood up over
his reddish hair.
Hastra walked beside him in common clothes. He hadn’t tried to ditch his guard tonight, and in return, the young man had agreed to change his red and gold cloak and armor for something less conspicuous, even if the royal sword still hung sheathed at his side.
Now, as initial hesitation gave way to relief, Kell found himself enjoying the market for the first time in ages, moving through the crowd with a blissful degree of anonymity. It made him impatient to don the competitor’s mask, to become someone else entirely.
Kamerov.
Hastra vanished and reappeared a few minutes later with a cup of spiced wine, offering it to Kell.
“Where is yours?” asked Kell, taking the cup.
Hastra shook his head. “Isn’t proper, sir, to drink on guard.”
Kell sighed. He didn’t care for the idea of drinking alone, but he was in dire need of the wine. His first stop hadn’t been to the market. It had been to the docks.
And there he’d found the inevitable: dark hull, silver trim, blue sails.
The Night Spire had returned to London.
Which meant that Alucard Emery was here. Somewhere.
Kell had half a mind to sink the ship, but that would only cause trouble, and if Rhy found out, he’d probably throw a tantrum or stab himself out of spite.
So he had settled for glaring at the Spire, and letting his imagination do the rest.
“Are we on a mission, sir?” Hastra had whispered (the young guard was taking his new role as confidant and accomplice very seriously).
“We are,” muttered Kell, feigning severity.
He’d lingered in the shadowed overhang of a shop and scowled at the ship for several long and uneventful minutes before announcing that he needed a drink.
Which was how Kell ended up in the market, sipping his wine and absently scanning the crowds.
“Where’s Staff?” he asked. “Did he get tired of being left behind?”
“Actually, I think he’s been sent to see to Lord Sol-in-Ar.”
See to? thought Kell. Was the king that nervous about the Faroan lord?
He set off again through the market, with Hastra a few strides behind.