When they were gone, Rhy sighed and slumped back against the pillows.
“They mean only to help,” said Kell.
“Perhaps it wouldn’t be so bad,” he said, “if they were prettier to look at.” But the boyish jab rang strangely hollow. His eyes found Kell’s, and his look darkened. “Tell me everything,” he said. “But start with this.” He touched the place over his heart, where he wore a scar that matched Kell’s own. “What foolish thing have you done, my brother?”
Kell looked down at the rich red linens on the bed and pulled aside his collar to show the mirroring scar. “I did only what you would have done, if you were me.”
Rhy frowned. “I love you, Kell, but I had no interest in matching tattoos.”
Kell smiled sadly. “You were dying, Rhy. I saved your life.”
He couldn’t bring himself to tell Rhy the whole truth: that the stone hadn’t only saved his life but had restored it.
“How?” demanded the prince. “At what cost?”
“One I paid,” said Kell. “And would pay again.”
“Answer me without circles!”
“I bound your life to mine,” said Kell, “As long as I live, so shall you.”
Rhy’s eyes widened. “You did what?” he whispered, horrified. “I should get out of this bed and wring your neck.”
“I wouldn’t,” advised Kell. “Your pain is mine and mine is yours.”
Rhy’s hands curled into fists. “How could you?” he said, and Kell worried that the prince was bitter about being tethered to him. Instead, Rhy said, “How could you carry that weight?”
“It is as it is, Rhy. It cannot be undone. So please, be grateful, and be done with it.”
“How can I be done with it?” scorned Rhy, already slipping back into a more playful tone. “It is carved into my chest.”
“Lovers like men with scars,” said Kell, cracking a smile. “Or so I’ve heard.”
Rhy sighed and tipped his head back, and the two fell into silence. At first, it was an easy quiet, but then it began to thicken, and just when Kell was about to break it, Rhy beat him to the act.
“What have I done?” he whispered, amber eyes cast up against the gossamer ceiling. “What have I done, Kell?” He rolled his head so he could see his brother. “Holland brought me that necklace. He said it was a gift, and I believed him. Said it was from this London, and I believed him.”
“You made a mistake, Rhy. Everybody makes them. Even royal princes. I’ve made many. It’s only fair that you make one.”
“I should have known better. I did know better,” he added, his voice cracking.
He tried to sit up, and winced. Kell urged him back down. “Why did you take it?” he asked when the prince was settled.
For once, Rhy would not meet his gaze. “Holland said it would bring me strength.”
Kell’s brow furrowed. “You are already strong.”
“Not like you. That is, I know I’ll never be like you. But I have no gift for magic, and it makes me feel weak. One day I’m going to be king. I wanted to be a strong king.”
“Magic does not make people strong, Rhy. Trust me. And you have something better. You have the people’s love.”
“It’s easy to be loved. I want to be respected, and I thought …” Rhy’s voice was barely a whisper. “I took the necklace. All that matters is that I took it.” Tears began to escape, running into his black curls. “And I could have ruined everything. I could have lost the crown before I ever wore it. I could have doomed my city to war or chaos or collapse.”
“What sons our parents have,” said Kell gently. “Between the two of us, we’ll tear the whole world down.”
Rhy let out a stifled sound between a laugh and a sob. “Will they ever forgive us?”
Kell mustered a smile. “I am no longer in chains. That speaks to progress.”
The king and queen had sent word across the city, by guard and scrying board alike, that Kell was innocent of all charges. But the eyes in the street still hung on him, wariness and fear and suspicion woven through the reverence. Maybe when Rhy was well again and could speak to his people directly, they would believe he was all right and that Kell had had no hand in the darkness that had fallen over the palace that night. Maybe, but Kell doubted it would ever be as simple as it had been before.
“I meant to tell you,” said Rhy. “Tieren came to visit. He brought some—”
He was interrupted by a knock at the door. Before either Rhy or Kell could answer, Lila stormed into the room. She was still wearing her new coat—patches sewn over the spots where it had been torn by bullet and blade and stone—but she’d been bathed at least, and a gold clasp held the hair out of her eyes. She still looked a bit like a starved bird, but she was clean and fed and mended.
“I don’t like the way the guards are looking at me,” she said before glancing up and seeing the prince’s gold eyes on her. “I’m sorry,” she added. “I didn’t mean to intrude.”
“Then what did you mean to do?” challenged Kell.
Rhy held up his hand. “You are surely not an intrusion,” he said, pushing himself up in the bed. “Though I fear you’ve met me rather out of my usual state of grace. Do you have a name?”
“Delilah Bard,” she said. “We’ve met before. And you looked worse.”
Rhy laughed silently. “I apologize for anything I might have done. I was not myself.”
“I apologize for shooting you in the leg,” said Lila. “I was myself entirely.”
Rhy broke into his perfect smile.
“I like this one,” he said to Kell. “Can I borrow her?”
“You can try,” said Lila, raising a brow. “But you’ll be a prince without his fingers.”
Kell grimaced, but Rhy only laughed. The laughter quickly dissolved into wincing, and Kell reached out to steady his brother, even as the pain echoed in his own chest.
“Save your flirting for when you’re well,” he said.
Kell pushed to his feet and began to usher Lila out.
“Will I see more of you, Delilah Bard?” called the prince.
“Perhaps our paths will cross again.”
Rhy’s smile went crooked. “If I have any say in it, they will.”
Kell rolled his eyes but thought he caught Lila actually blushing as he guided her out and shut the door, leaving the prince to rest.
IV
“I could try and take you back,” Kell was saying. “To your London.”
He and Lila were walking along the river’s edge, past the evening market—where people’s eyes still hung too heavy and too long—and farther on toward the docks. The sun was sinking behind them, casting long shadows in front of them like paths.
Lila shook her head and pulled the silver watch from her pocket. “There’s nothing for me there,” she said, snapping the timepiece open and shut. “Not anymore.”
“You don’t belong here, either,” he said simply.
She shrugged. “I’ll find my way.” And then she tipped her chip up and looked him in the eyes. “Will you?”
The scar over his heart twinged dully, a ghost of pain, and he rubbed his shoulder. “I’ll try.” He dug a hand in the pocket of his coat—the black one with the silver buttons—and withdrew a small parcel. “I got you something.”
He handed it over and watched Lila undo the wrappings of the box, then slide the lid off. It fell open in her hand, revealing a small puzzle board and a handful of elements. “For practice,” he said. “Tieren says you’ve got some magic in you. Better find it.”
They paused on a bench, and he showed her how it worked, and she chided him for showing off, and then she put the box away and said thank you. It seemed to be a hard phrase for her to say, but she managed. They got to their feet, neither willing to walk away just yet, and Kell looked down at Delilah Bard, a cutthroat and a thief, a valiant partner and a strange, terrifying girl.
He would see her again. He knew he would. Magic bent the world. Pulled it into s
hape. There were fixed points. Most of the time those points were places. But sometimes, rarely, they were people. For someone who never stood still, Lila still felt like a pin in Kell’s world. One he was sure to snag on.
He didn’t know what to say, so he simply said, “Stay out of trouble.”
She flashed him a smile that said she wouldn’t, of course.
And then she tugged up her collar, shoved her hands into her pockets, and strolled away.
Kell watched her go.
She never once looked back.
* * *
Delilah Bard was finally free.
She thought of the map back in London—Grey London, her London, old London—the parchment she’d left in the cramped little room at the top of the stairs in the Stone’s Throw. The map to anywhere. Isn’t that what she had now?
Her bones sang with the promise of it.
Tieren had said there was something in her. Something untended. She didn’t know what shape it would take, but she was keen to find out. Whether it was the kind of magic that ran through Kell, or something different, something new, Lila knew one thing:
The world was hers.
The worlds were hers.
And she was going to take them all.
Her eyes wandered over the ships on the far side of the river, their gleaming sides and carved masts tall and sharp enough to pierce the low clouds. Flags and sails flapped in the breeze in reds and golds, but also greens and purples and blues.
Boats with royal banners, and boats without. Boats from other lands across other seas, from near and far, wide and away.
And there, tucked between them, she saw a proud, dark ship, with polished sides and a silver banner and sails the color of night, a black that hinted at blue when it caught the light just so.
That one, thought Lila with a smile.
That one’ll do.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
We think of authors as solitary creatures hunched over work in cramped but empty rooms, and while it’s true that writing is a pursuit most often done alone, a book is the result not of one mind, or pair of hands, but of many. To thank every soul would be impossible, but there are some I cannot forget to mention. They are as much responsible for this book as I am.
To my editor, Miriam, my partner in crime, for loving Kell and Lila and Rhy as much as I do, and for helping me pave the foundation of this series with blood, shadow, and stylish outfits. A great editor doesn’t have all the answers, but they ask the right questions, and you are a truly great editor.
To my agent, Holly, for being such a wonderful advocate of this strange little fantasy, even when I pitched it as pirates, thieves, sadist kings, and violent magic-y stuff. And to my film agent, Jon, for matching Holly’s passion stride for stride. No one could ask for better champions.
To my mother, for wandering the streets of London with me in Kell’s footsteps, and to my father, for taking me seriously when I said I was writing a book about cross-dressing thieves and magical men in fabulous coats. In fact, to both of my parents, for never scoffing when I said I wanted to be a writer.
To Lady Hawkins, for traipsing with me through the streets of Edinburgh, and to Edinburgh, for being its magical self. My bones belong to you.
To Patricia, for knowing this book as well as I do, and for always being willing and able eyes, no matter how rough the pages.
To Carla and Courtney, the best cheerleaders—and the best friends—a neurotic, caffeine-addicted author could ask for.
To the Nashville creative community—Ruta, David, Lauren, Sarah, Sharon, Rae Ann, Dawn, Paige, and so many others—who welcomed me home with love and charm and margaritas.
To Tor, and to Irene Gallo, Will Staehle, Leah Withers, Becky Yeager, Heather Saunders, and everyone else who has helped to make this book ready for the world.
And to my readers, both the loyal and the new, because without you, I’m just a girl talking to myself in public.
This is for you.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Victoria “V.E.” Schwab is the product of a British mother, a Beverly Hills father, and a southern upbringing. Because of this, she has been known to say “tom-ah-toes”, “like”, and “y’all”. She also suffers from a wicked case of wanderlust, made worse by the fact that wandering is a good way to stir up stories. When she’s not haunting Paris streets or trudging up English hillsides, she’s usually tucked in the corner of a coffee shop, dreaming up monsters. She is the author of several books for teens, including The Near Witch, about a village where the children begin to disappear, and The Archived series, about a library of the dead. Her first book for adults, Vicious, was named a Best Book of 2013 by both Publisher’s Weekly and Amazon.
ALSO AVAILABLE FROM TITAN BOOKS
VICIOUS
V.E. SCHWAB
Victor and Eli started out as college roommates—brilliant, arrogant, lonely boys who recognized the same ambition in each other. A shared interest in adrenaline, near-death experiences, and seemingly supernatural events reveals an intriguing possibility: that under the right conditions, someone could develop extraordinary abilities. But when their thesis moves from the academic to the experimental, things go horribly wrong.
Ten years later, Victor breaks out of prison, determined to catch up to his old friend (now foe), aided by a young girl with a stunning ability. Meanwhile, Eli is on a mission to eradicate every other super-powered person that he can find—aside from his sidekick, an enigmatic woman with an unbreakable will. Armed with terrible power on both sides, driven by the memory of betrayal and loss, the arch-nemeses have set a course for revenge—but who will be left alive at the end?
“Supremely plotted and incredibly well-written.”
The Independent on Sunday
TITANBOOKS.COM
“Schwab’s characters feel vital and real… [T]his is a rare superhero novel as epic and gripping as any classic comic. Schwab’s tale of betrayal, self-hatred, and survival will resonate with superhero fans as well as readers who have never heard of Charles Xavier or Victor von Doom.”
Publishers Weekly (starred review)
“Vicious is the superhero novel I’ve been waiting for: fresh, merciless, and yes, vicious.”
Mira Grant, New York Times bestselling author
“Schwab writes with the fiendish ingenuity, sardonic wit, and twisted imagination of a true supervillian.”
Greg Cox, New York Times bestselling author
“A dynamic and original twist on what it means to be a hero and a villain. A killer from page one… highly recommended!”
Jonathan Maberry, New York Times bestselling author
“Schwab gathers all the superhero/supervillain tropes and turns them on their sundry heads… I could not put it down.”
F. Paul Wilson, New York Times bestselling author
“Vivid, highly original, Vicious is a masterclass in storytelling, a superlative left-field take on familiar superhero tropes that is, quite simply, unmissable.”
Adam Christopher, author of Empire State
“An epic collision of super-powered nemeses. The writing and storycraft is Schwab’s own superpower as this tale leaps off the page in all its dark, four-color comic-book glory.”
Chuck Wendig, author of Blackbirds
TITANBOOKS.COM
AFTERPARTY
DARYL GREGORY
In the years after the smart drug revolution, any high school student with a chemjet can print drugs… or invent them. A teenaged girl finds God through a new brain-altering drug called Numinous, used as a sacrament by a Church that preys on the underclass. But she is arrested and put into detention, and without the drug, commits suicide.
Lyda Rose, another patient in the detention facility, has a dark secret: she was one of the original scientists who developed the drug, and is all too aware of what it can do; she has her own personal hallucinated angel to remind her. With the help of an ex-government agent and the imaginary, drug-induced Dr. Gloria, Lyda sets out to find the other
three survivors of the five who made the Numinous to try and set things right…
“A great giggling psychedelic trip down the big pharma rabbit hole.”
Paolo Bacigalupi, Hugo and Nebula Award-winning author of The Windup Girl
TITANBOOKS.COM
“Smart, funny, fast, more than a little terrifying.”
Kim Stanley Robinson, Hugo Award-winning author of the Mars trilogy
“Brain-stretching speculation in brain science and metaphysics.”
Walter Jon Williams, Nebula Award-winning author of Daddy’s World
“[A] new highpoint in the subgenre of Future Noir.”
Gregory Benford, Campbell Award-winning author of Timescape
“A technothriller that asks big, philosophical questions and catches the answers on the hoof. It’s smart, stoned neurofiction for the post-everything world.”
Cory Doctorow, Campbell Award-winning author of Little Brother
“A good engrossing read… smart biological cyberpunk focusing on designer drugs rather than AIs and virtual reality. Recommended.”
Neal Asher, Philip K. Dick Award-nominated author of Cowl
“His best yet, combining interesting ideas about religion and the brain with the distinctive Gregory brand of wit and the superb Gregory writing. I can’t recommend this novel highly enough!”
Nancy Kress, Hugo and Nebula Award-winning author of Probability Space
TITANBOOKS.COM
ECKO RISING
DANIE WARE
Ecko is an unlikely saviour: a savage, gleefully cynical rebel/ assassin, he operates out of hi-tech London, making his own rules in a repressed and subdued society, When the biggest job of his life goes horribly wrong, Ecko awakes in a world he doesn’t recognise: a world without tech, weapons, cams, cables – anything that makes sense to him. Can this be his own creation, or is it something much more?