When he climbed aboard, the crew didn’t stop, didn’t bow, didn’t treat him as anything but another pair of hands, and soon the Spire pushed away from the docks, sails catching the morning breeze. His heart was thudding in his chest, and when he closed his eyes, he could feel a twin pulse, echoing his own.

Lila came to stand beside him, and he handed back her knife. She said nothing, slipping the blade into some hidden sheath, and leaning her shoulder into his. Magic ran between them like a current, a cord, and he wondered who she would have been if she’d stayed in Grey London. If she’d never picked his pocket, never held the contents ransom for adventure.

Maybe she would never have discovered magic.

Or maybe she would have simply changed her world instead of his.

Kell’s eyes went to the palace one last time, and he thought he could almost make out the shape of a man standing alone on a high balcony. At this distance, he was little more than a shadow, but Kell could see the band of gold glinting in his hair as a second figure came to stand beside the king.

Rhy raised his hand, and so did Kell, a single unspoken word between them.

Anoshe.