“And if you die before then?”

Hastra’s cheery mood didn’t dampen. “Then someone else will get my gift. And hopefully they’ll be less stubborn. That’s what my mother says.” He leaned in conspiratorially. “I tend the courtyards, though, when no one’s looking.”

Kell smiled. The palace grounds had looked suspiciously lush, for this time of year. Hastra straightened, his gaze flicking to the stairs. “We should go—”

“We still have time,” Kell assured him, getting to his feet.

“How do you know?” asked Hastra. “We can’t hear the bells down here, and there are no windows to gauge the light.”

“Magic,” said Kell, and then, when Hastra’s eyes widened, he gestured to the hourglass sitting on the table with his other tools. “And that.”

There was still sand in the glass, and Kell wasn’t ready to face the world above just yet. “Let’s go again.”

Hastra took up his position. “Yes, sir.”

“Call me Kamerov,” said Kell, slipping the helmet back over his head.

IV

Sessa Av!

The words ran across the tops of the scrying boards throughout London.

Two days!

The city was counting down.

Two days until the Essen Tasch!

Two days, and Lila Bard had a problem.

She’d hoped there’d be an obvious chink in the system, a way to threaten or bribe her way onto the tournament roster, or snag a wild card spot, but apparently the champions had all been chosen weeks ago. There were twelve names on that list, and two alternates, which meant if Lila Bard wanted a chance to play—and she did—she was going to have to steal a name.

Lila had nicked plenty of things in her time, but an identity wasn’t one of them. Sure, she’d taken up pseudonyms, played a variety of made-up parts, but she’d never impersonated anyone real.

And of course, she couldn’t simply impersonate them. She’d have to replace them.

Not worth it, warned a voice in her head, that pesky, pragmatic one that sounded too much like Kell. Maybe it was madness. Maybe she should just take her place in the stands and cheer for her captain, earn a few extra coins in the betting pools. It wouldn’t be an unpleasant way to spend the week. And after all, what place did she have in the ring? She’d only been practicing a few months.

But.

There was that one word, lodged in her skin like a splinter.

But.

But she was restless.

But she wanted a thrill.

But it would be a challenge.

And when it came to magic, Lila wasn’t just a quick study. She was a natural.

Master Tieren had told her months ago that something powerful lay inside her, waiting to be woken. Well, Lila had poked it with a stick, and it was wide awake—a living, humming thing as restless as she was.

And restlessness had always made her reckless.

Still, there was that pesky matter of the roster.

Lila had spent the day wandering Red London, learning everything she could about the Essen Tasch and its competitors. She’d passed enough time in taverns and brothels and public houses to know where you were most likely to find answers to questions without ever asking. Sure, you could always garnish pockets, but often if you sat in one place long enough, you’d learn more than anyone you paid would tell you. And everyone seemed to be talking about the tournament.

Alucard, apparently, was one of the Arnesian favorites, along with a woman named Kisimyr, the tournament’s previous victor, and a man named Jinnar. But names were names. She needed to see the lineup before they took the stage. If there were no good marks, she told herself, she would let it go, stick to the stands with the rest of the crew. If there were no good marks. But she had to see. Had to know.

Frustrated, Lila finished her drink and pushed off her stool and headed back to the inn.

Somewhere on the way, her feet changed course, and by the time she focused on where she was, she found herself standing across the main road from the royal palace, staring up. She wasn’t surprised. All day her legs had been tugging her here. All day she’d found her gaze drifting to the gleaming structure.

Go in, said a voice.

Lila snorted. What would she do? Walk up the front steps? She’d done it once before, but that had been as a guest, with a stolen invitation. The doors had been cast open then, but now they were closed, a dozen guards in polished armor and red capes standing sentinel.

What would she say to them? I’m here to see the black-eyed prince. Her English might get her through the front door, but then what? Would the king and queen recognize her as the scrawny girl who’d helped Kell save their city? Lila suspected Rhy would remember her. She found herself warming at the thought of the prince—not as he was under the control of Astrid Dane, or bleeding to death on a sanctuary cot, but after, surrounded by pillows, dark circles below his amber eyes. Tired and kind and flirting through the pain.

And Kell?

How fared the black-eyed prince? Would he welcome her in? Hand her a drink and ask after her travels, or frown and ask if she was ready to leave, return to her own world where she belonged?

Lila squinted up in the dusk—the high balconies of the palace reduced to haloes of light in the cold evening—and thought she could make out a shadow standing on one of the tallest patios. It was too far to tell, that distance where everything was reduced to vague shapes, and the mind could twist them into anything. Still, the shadow seemed to curl over before her eyes, as if leaning on the rail, and in that moment the smudge of darkness became a magician in a high-collared coat. Lila stood and watched until the shape dissolved, swallowed up by the thickening night.