He forced himself back up onto his hands and knees as a drop of red hit the ground. Blood was dripping from his nose, his body pleading with him to stop. Instead, he wiped his hand across his face and pressed his stained palm to the damp floor, and summoned his Antari power.

  “As Isera,” he said, bracing for what happened next. Magic bloomed between the blood and the command. A sheen of ice spread beneath his hand, coating the wooden planks, and Kell felt a bright, brief flare of relief that the power still worked. And then his vision dropped away, and his world went black as the white-hot horror carved beneath his skin.

  He fought the urge to scream, and failed, the sound tearing free as he collapsed, his burning cheek against the icy patch of floor, and sobbed in pain, and anger, and grief.

  Who was he without magic?

  What was he worth?

  His sight flickered back, but the room was spinning now, and he squeezed his eyes shut, and tried to force air back into his aching lungs. He was still lying there when he heard the door open, boots stomping across the wooden floor. The world darkened behind his eyes as a shadow fell across his face.

  “Enough,” said Lila, and he could hear the anger in her voice.

  But it wasn’t enough. He couldn’t stop, not until the magic spoke to him again. Not until it remembered who and what he was. Not until he was strong enough to take it back.

  “You’re scaring the crew.”

  “My apologies,” he murmured.

  If she were someone else, she might have stroked his hair, might have even lain down there beside him on the cabin floor, tangled her fingers with his, and told him it would be all right, they would get through this, they would find a way, he would be whole again.

  Instead, she took out a knife.

  He heard the scrape of the weapon sliding free from its sheath, and a moment later, the steel dropped to the floor beside him, the edge within reach. The message seemed rather clear.

  “If I could put myself out of my misery, I would,” he muttered, and in that moment, it felt true. But Lila only hissed through her teeth.

  “Idiot,” she said, dropping into a nearby chair. “Do you know what else you are, Kell?”

  “Tired?”

  “Spoiled,” she said. “And lazy.”

  “I’m already down,” he said with a wince. “You don’t have to kick me.”

  Lila sighed and leaned back in the chair. “There was a sellsword, back in London.”

  She never called it Grey London, but he knew that’s what she meant. Her voice took on a different quality whenever she spoke of her other life, the one before.

  Kell took a questing breath. The pain had faded, leaving exhaustion in its wake. He tried to sit up, but couldn’t manage yet, so he summoned the strength to roll onto his back, and looked at the ceiling instead of her. “What was his name?”

  “Jack? Jones?” Lila shrugged. “It doesn’t matter. He was the best at what he did. A genius with a blade. Could fight three at once, or slit a man’s throat before he even felt the kiss of the knife. And then they caught him.”

  “Who?” asked Kell.

  He could feel her annoyance. “What? It doesn’t matter who. Someone that good is always in danger of being caught. So they caught him. Didn’t kill him, but they did take his life. You know how?” She didn’t wait for Kell to answer. “They took his sword hand. Cut it off right at the wrist. Even burned the wound so he wouldn’t bleed out. They thought that living like that was a fate worse than death. And do you know what he did?”

  Lila sat forward in the chair, and Kell looked at her. He couldn’t help it.

  “He found those men, and he used his sword to cut their throats. Every single one.”

  “How?” asked Kell, and Lila flashed him a wicked smile, and rose to her feet again.

  “Isn’t it obvious?” she said, walking past Kell, and the blade she’d left beside him. “He learned to use his other hand.”

  VI

  NOW

  It was fully dark by the time the Barron had docked at Verose.

  Stross and Vasry, who’d sobered a bit in the intervening hour, stumbled off the ship as if they were still drunk, and made their laughing way down the docks. They returned an hour later with a few more bottles of wine, and a count.

  Nine.

  That was the number of sailors aboard the Crow.

  “You’re sure?” asked Lila. Vasry bobbed his head, and nearly lost his balance. Not so sober, then. She turned to Stross, who confirmed the tally.

  “Nine,” he said, and she nodded, was already trying to decide how to dispatch them all, when Kell shot her a warning look. Lila sighed. Of course, he’d insist on keeping them alive.

  “Nine were aboard the ship,” clarified Vasry. “But two set off for the cliffs.”

  “And four left for the Red Robes,” added Stross. “I paid the hosts there to take their time.”

  “That leaves three,” said Vasry.

  “Yes,” said Lila dryly, “I can count.” She tapped her fingers on her sleeve as she played it out. Killing three men was easy enough. Not killing them was harder. Alucard’s orders weren’t to stop the ship, only to find out what it was carrying, which meant she needed time to search the hold. Stross would serve as watch, and diversion if need be. Tav was good for blunt force, and always game for a fight. And Kell, well, what was the point of sharpening a knife if you never let it cut?

  “Vasry, Raya, you stay put,” she said.

  “If you insist,” said Vasry, palming his wife’s waist. “This is meant to be a pleasure vessel. We’ll keep up appearances.”

  “You keep wind in the sails,” she warned. “In case we need a quick break. And you,” she added, nodding at Raya. “Don’t let anyone touch my ship.”

  She looked at Kell, then, who was tightening the holsters beneath his black coat. He met her gaze, and straightened, pulling the hood up until it hid his copper hair. Tav and Stross stood waiting, ready.

  “Well then,” she said, spreading her arms. “Let’s go and say hello.”

  * * *

  Four people ambled down the Verose dock.

  They looked like they’d come from a good time, and were on their way to find a better one. Lila smiled and tipped her head back, as if savoring the night. A few steps ahead, Tav laughed softly, as if Stross had just told a joke, though she didn’t think Stross had ever told a joke. Wasn’t sure he even knew one.

  Beside her, Kell smelled like summer wine.

  Before they’d left, she’d tipped the last of the ruined bottle into her palm and run it through his hair.

  “At least it won’t be wasted,” she’d said, splashing him with the dregs.

  Now his arm was slung around her shoulders and hers was wrapped around his waist, her narrow body tucked against him, and he half sang, half hummed a sea song into her hair.

  “Who knew you were such an actor,” she said when he swayed, leaning his weight into hers. “Where did you learn this art?”

  “You forget my brother’s reputation,” he said, lips brushing her temple. “I had plenty of time to study his form while I was dragging him home at dawn.”

  “Always the keeper,” she mused with a sigh. “Never the kept.”

  “Believe it or not,” he said, “I am capable of having a good time.”

  She laughed, a buoyant sound that carried down the dock. “Capable, perhaps. Willing? Never.”

  Their steps slowed as they neared the Crow.

  Stross reached out to brace himself against the pale, wing-painted hull, as if he didn’t trust his legs to carry him on, simply needed a moment to rest. Tav slipped into the shadow along the ship and hauled himself up, dropping silently over the side onto the deck.

  “We get in, we get out,” Kell reminded her. “We don’t cause a scene.”

  Lila rolled her eyes. “Next you’ll say you want them unscathed.”

  “Preferably, yes.”

  She sighed. “So much for a good time.” As she said it, she pulled him into the shadow of the ship. Kell reached back to brace himself against the hull as Lila ran her hands down his front. Even in the dark, she could see him blush, before her fingers dipped into the pocket of his coat and drew out the small black shape. She leaned close enough to kiss him, and instead placed the mask on his face. It settled like a cool hand against his skin, and he smiled, a stranger’s smile, as Kell Maresh fell away like a coat.

  VII

  SOMEWHERE AT SEA

  SIX YEARS AGO

  “Any day now,” said Lila, picking at her nails.

  They were on the ship’s deck, the sails down and the tide still. The sun was just rising, and the night’s chill had yet to burn off, and the only mercy, as far as Kell could tell, was that she’d told the crew to make themselves scarce, though he assumed that they were watching from whatever perch they could find.

  “Pointy end toward me,” she teased.

  He glared, fingers tightening on the short sword in his hand.

  Kell knew how to wield a blade.

  He had been raised within the palace walls, with all the pretexts of a prince, but he was also raised to guard the royal family. More specifically, he’d been charged with Rhy’s protection. Rhy, who had no magic to arm himself, no power of his own to shield him. Rhy, who’d insisted on learning the sword, and so Kell had joined him as a sparring partner, until the prince was good enough to practice on the royal guards.

  Kell knew how to hold a blade, and how to use it, and yet the weight of the steel in his hand felt odd, clunky. Far less elegant than the weapons he’d conjured out of wind and stone and ice.

  Lila hopped down from the crate and spread her arms. “Come on, then.”

  “You’re not armed.”

  “Kell,” she said with a pitying grin. “I think you know me better than that.” Her fingers twitched in invitation. She had fought him once, back in Grey London, when he’d known her only as a thief, and she hadn’t known what magic was, let alone that she possessed it, and it had been her steel versus his spells. They had sparred more fiercely in the Essen Tasch, when he was pretending to be Kamerov Loste and she pretending to be Stasion Elsor, but that had been a game of magic, of fire and water and earth. A competition bound by rules.

  Kell had never faced Delilah Bard like this.

  He scanned the deck, taking in the ropes and boxes, the nets and nails, all the things he would have used as weapons once.

  Now, all he had was the sword in his hand.

  He marched toward Lila, expecting her to dodge back, retreat, but her boots stayed planted and her hands stayed wide, and the only part of her that moved was the corner of her mouth, which twitched in pleasure, right before he swung the blade at her head.

  Steel against steel, the sound rang out across the deck.

  Her hands had been empty the second before, but now a dagger flashed in one fist. His sword scraped free and he swung again, low and fast, a blow that should have carved a line across her ribs. But a second dagger appeared in her other hand, and she pinned the sword between her knives.

  He freed himself and swung again, thinking she should have picked a longer blade, but instead of dodging back she lunged in, twisting around his sword and tucking herself against him like a lover as she brought one dagger up beneath his chin.

  “Dead,” she whispered.

  And then she danced backward, out of the embrace, and said, “Again.”

  He ran a hand through his hair, slicking it out of his face, and readied himself, this time studying the way she balanced, turned her head to compensate for the lack of sight. If he could just—

  But this time she didn’t wait.

  She struck first, vicious and quick, forcing him to retreat.

  He dodged backward, and slashed again. And again. And somehow, despite the fact he had the longer blade, the better reach, she was always there to block, to parry. She wasn’t a graceful fighter, but she moved with all the speed of a whip, and no matter how Kell searched, there was no way past, no opening.

  He danced back, or tried to, but he’d lost track of his surroundings, and instead of open deck, he slammed into the mast. The force knocked the wind out of his lungs, and the sword slipped from his hand, but Lila was still coming, daggers glinting, and there was no time to think, so he didn’t, simply flung out his fingers and called a nearby coil of rope. It rose, flying toward Lila’s wrist, even as the pain tore through him, jagged and deep, and in the end, it was for nothing, because her blade sliced through the rope before it came to rest against his throat.

  “Dead,” she whispered. Her hand dropped. “What happened?”

  The words slid like a gasp between his teeth. “I forgot.”

  Lila studied the edge of her knife. “I forgot, too, at first. Ran into doors, fell down steps. It took me months to find my balance, to gauge distance. It was hard, but I learned. So will you.”

  Anger bloomed inside him. He wanted to tell her it was different, that her eye was gone, and his magic was still there. A limb he felt but couldn’t use. A weapon he was forced to hold but couldn’t wield.

  He wanted to lash out at her. To scream.

  Instead he knelt and picked up his sword, and said, “Again.”

  * * *

  FIVE YEARS AGO

  The sun bled into the sea, turning the world around them red.

  The Barron had dropped anchor off a Faroan port. The air held on to the day’s heat like a clay oven after the fire’s gone out. Kell’s lungs burned, his limbs ached.

  “You’re too quick,” he said, gasping for breath.

  “So catch up,” said Lila as she ducked, and dodged, and danced out of reach.

  They sparred until the sun vanished and the red dusk gave way to night, until Stross went about lighting the lanterns across the deck. By the light, Kell could see the rest of the crew, perched like birds around the Barron, watching the match. Even the newest member, Raya, the woman from the south that Vasry had brought back to the ship. She sat up in the netting, pale eyes burning the dark.

  Kell ignored them. He had to. Staying alive took all of his focus.

  “You’re too good,” he said, narrowly dodging Lila’s latest cut.

  “So get better,” she answered. There was a ruthless focus to her movements, a precision he couldn’t seem to crack. No wonder she had made it here, he thought. Delilah Bard was a force of nature. The world hadn’t simply opened for her. It had been cleaved, parted like skin beneath her knife.

  She was incredible.

  “Has anyone told you,” he said, “that you’re gorgeous when you fight?”

  The words knocked her off-balance, like a boot catching on uneven ground. She stumbled, for just a second, and in that second, he swung. Her dagger came up at the last moment, but it was close, beautifully close, the two blades shivering against her throat.

  For once, Lila scowled.

  For once, Kell smiled.

  And then she kicked him in the chest.

  He hadn’t seen it coming, and he went down hard on the deck, gasping for breath.

  Rhy would feel that one, he thought, imagining his brother, leagues away, in the middle of some gala or feast, wincing at the force of Lila’s boot against his brother’s ribs. Kell said a silent apology as he lay there, exhausted, staring up at the sky. It was a moonless night, black and full of stars.

  And then Lila was there, holding out her hand, and helping him back onto his feet.

  He fell into bed that night, limbs aching and leaden.

  Everything hurt, but for the first time in months, he welcomed the pain.

  * * *

  FOUR YEARS AGO

  Kell’s coat lay cast aside, his shirt soaked through with sweat and rain.

  As Lila circled, he ran a hand through his damp hair, slicking it back—he’d cut it shorter, but somehow it still ended up in his face. A storm had swept through in the middle of the last match. It had passed, replaced by a scorching summer sun, but the deck was still damp beneath his feet, water dripping from the sails as Kell twisted out of the way of Lila’s blade.

  He dodged another blow, and a cheer went up.

  They were no longer alone on the deck. The Barron’s crew watched with giddy interest, whooping and hollering and making bets, though Kell doubted they ever bet on him. Even though he did win.

  Sometimes.

  Rarely.

  More often than not, it was only a question of how long he could hold her off, his victories measured in minutes. He’d gotten better in the last few months. He’d had to. But Lila always found a way to keep him on his toes. Dragging him out to spar at dawn, at midday, in the middle of the night, so he could learn how to see a weapon’s movement in sun and shade, noon glare and moonlight and full dark.

  Now and then, he still slipped, found himself reaching for his magic, and every time, he paid for the mistake. But his sword hand was getting stronger, and the steel began to feel, if not a part of him, then at least like something he could wield, not just competently, but well.

  As soon as he grew comfortable with the short sword, Lila gave Kell two, and by the time he could hold his own with those, the crew had stopped feigning indifference and gotten involved in the fights. The first mate, Stross, was the one who’d suggested the lottery.

  “A way to make things interesting,” he’d said, presenting the box in the galley one night as Raya spooned out helpings of stew. Kell suspected they were just tired of him losing, and were hoping to spice things up. Inside the box, scribbled out on scraps of paper, was the name of every weapon they had on board the ship.

  Lila had always possessed a fondness for sharp things, and since becoming captain of the Barron, her collection had only grown, expanding in impressive ways beyond the usual steel.

  Which was why, as they circled each other now, Kell found himself holding a pair of small scythes, their edges curved, while Lila hefted a broadsword. Vasry and Tav exchanged a look, and Kell suspected they must have added that one to the lot more recently. Maybe they were betting on him after all.