The killers were gone.

  Lila Bard sighed, and dropped her hand, but Kell Maresh buckled forward, heaving, sweat shining on his brow. The threads around him spasmed and sparked. Tes was right—something was very wrong with the Antari’s magic.

  She watched, expecting Bard to hurry to the prince’s side, to help him up, but she just shook her head and said, “Honestly, Kell.” And then she turned, and grabbed Tes’s arm, fingers vising as she dragged her toward the stairs.

  “Can’t stay here” was all she said by way of explanation. Kell straightened, and made his way to the bar, where the innkeeper had risen to her feet.

  “What’s wrong with him?” she asked as Lila Bard hauled her up the stairs.

  “He’s an idiot,” answered the Antari, glancing back over her shoulder.

  “The palace will pay for everything,” the prince was saying to the frazzled innkeeper. “And I’ll send magicians round to fix the damage.”

  They reached the landing—what was left of it, the walls cracked, the rug rucked up, one corner quietly burning—and the Antari steered them past a pool of blood on the landing that was definitely hers, and several more that weren’t. She pushed Tes into a bedroom. A chest sat open at the foot of the bed, black clothes spilling out, a ghoulish face jutted up, and Tes recoiled before realizing it was a horned mask.

  “Let me go,” she protested, but Lila only snorted, pushing her toward the wall where a small stain darkened the wood.

  She reached up and touched her cheek, where blood leaked from a deep cut, and then used that blood to draw the symbol fresh. Tes watched as a single silver thread drew away from the net and laid itself over the mark.

  “Kell?” she called over her shoulder, and moments later the prince appeared, looking weary as he brought his hand to Tes’s shoulder.

  “Hold on,” he said gently, and then Lila was saying something, and the room was tumbling away, and Tes was falling, not down, but apart, the whole world unraveling around her, thread by thread and all at once. And when it wove itself together again, she was no longer in the ruined tavern, but standing in a massive marble-floored room, with gilded curtains and an ornate bed. She looked up, and saw the night sky, only it wasn’t a sky, but hundreds of gossamer lengths that stretched and billowed to form the illusion.

  A pair of glass doors gave way onto a balcony, the crimson ribbon of the Isle shining far below, and Tes realized that she was in the royal palace. A wave of dizziness swept through her, and she reached out to steady herself, but the instant her hand met the cloth edge of a sofa, she recoiled, half in pain, and half in horror. Her hand. She’d tied a kerchief around it at some point, but the cloth had long soaked through, and a stain now darkened the ornate fabric.

  “Don’t worry,” said the prince, sinking heavily into a chair. “The servants are well versed in removing blood.”

  The silver threads around him twitched. Tes found herself following the path they made, as if he were an object open on her desk, her fingers tracing their way to find the breaks.

  Kell Maresh saw her staring. “What is it?”

  Tes ducked her head, and said nothing.

  Lila Bard had stopped before a full-length mirror, and seemed to be taking note of her own injuries, examining the cut on her brow, the tear in her shirt. Her gaze met Tes’s in the reflection.

  “That was a clever ruse,” she said, turning from the glass. “Now where is it?”

  Tes stared at the Antari. “Where is what?”

  “The persalis.”

  Tes’s head was spinning. She didn’t understand. “I destroyed it. In the tavern. You saw me.”

  “I saw what you wanted them to see. But it was obviously a decoy.”

  Tes said nothing, and the amusement died on Lila’s face, replaced by a slow but vivid horror.

  Her boots echoed sharply as they crossed the floor. “You mean to tell me,” she said, enunciating every word, “that what you destroyed back there was the real persalis.”

  Tes’s silence spoke for itself.

  Lila shook her head. “Empty your pockets.”

  When Tes did not, Lila grabbed her roughly by the arm.

  “Gently,” warned Kell. “She’s clearly injured.”

  But Lila began to search them for her. When her hand grazed Tes’s injured side, she hissed in pain, the whole room threatening to disappear. When it steadied, the Antari was holding, of all things, the dead owl. It stared up at her, one eye blue, the other black.

  “What the hell is this?” she asked.

  In response to the question, the owl cocked his skull, and fluttered his bone wings.

  Lila yelped, and dropped the bird. Tes lunged to catch it before it struck the floor. Her side screamed at the movement, and sweat broke out along her brow, but the little owl was safe.

  “His name,” she said, breathless, “is Vares.”

  Kell Maresh looked up at the mention. So did the bird. Tes had to resist the urge to laugh. It wasn’t funny. Nothing was funny. She had lost a lot of blood.

  Lila crossed her arms. “How do we know that was the real persalis? Maybe you’ve stashed it somewhere.”

  “Why would I? I never wanted anything to do with it! I run a repair shop. Someone brought it in to me, to be fixed. I didn’t even know what it did.”

  Lila’s eyes narrowed, and even though one was glass, they both seemed to look through her. “If you didn’t know, how could you fix it?”

  Tes hesitated. “I’m good at my job.”

  The Antari came closer. “The world is full of good liars,” she said. “You’re not one of them.”

  “Lila,” warned Kell, but the Antari’s focus hung entirely on Tes.

  “In my experience,” the woman said, “it takes one of two things to survive in the world. Talent. Or cunning. And a cunning person would have found a way to save the persalis. You must have quite the talent.”

  Tes swallowed, the truth rising in her throat. Her breath shuddered. At some point, she had begun to shake. She wondered if she was going into shock, thought it rude, that after everything she’d been through, her body was choosing now to fall apart.

  She reached to steady herself on a table, but her balance was off, or else the table had moved, because she missed it, stumbled, gasped in pain as the movement tore at her side.

  “She’s injured,” said Kell, getting to his feet.

  “Hands bleed,” said Lila with a dismissive wave.

  But the prince was staring at Tes’s stomach. “Not that much.”

  She followed his gaze. A dark stain was spreading across her shirtfront. “Oh,” she said slowly. “That.” Her teeth were chattering.

  “Lila, she’s hurt,” said Kell. “You should heal her.”

  But the Antari wasn’t listening. Her thin fingers found Tes’s chin, and forced it up to meet her gaze.

  “How did you fix the persalis?” Her face slid in and out of focus. Tes was so tired. Tired of running. Tired of keeping secrets. And if anyone would understand how it felt, to have a rare and wanted power, surely it was an Antari.

  “I can see it,” she said, the words sliding between her teeth. “I can see the threads of magic that run through spells. That’s how I knew what it was. And how to fix it.”

  For a moment, after she said it, all Tes felt was relief. Heavy as a blanket.

  The prince made a sound that might have been a laugh. Lila and Tes both turned to him.

  “Alucard will be devastated,” he said, “to learn he’s not the only one gifted with such sight.”

  Tes stiffened. “There are others?”

  “It would appear that way,” said Lila.

  “I didn’t know.” Tes looked down at Vares, the little strings of light wound like wire through his bones. “I’ve never met anyone else who could manipulate the threads of magic.”

  It was a very large room, but in that moment, all the air seemed to go out of it. Tes looked up, and found both Antari staring at her.

  She felt as if she’d said something wrong.

  “You’re a tinkerer,” said Lila slowly, as if understanding the words for the first time. “You see broken magic, and you fix it.” Tes nodded slowly. Lila looked to Kell Maresh. “Can you fix him?”

  The words hung in the air. Tes’s mind struggled to wrap itself around them. “I don’t tinker with living things.”

  “That isn’t what I asked,” said Lila. “You have just said you can not only see magic, but lay your hands on it. You can mend it when it’s broken.”

  “I repair broken objects,” said Tes. “I’ve never fixed a person.”

  “But can you do it?” she demanded.

  “I don’t know!” answered Tes. “To even try would be against the laws of magic—”

  “Hang the laws,” said Lila Bard, “if they are all that’s in your way.” She ran a hand through her dark hair. “If it can be done, then you will do it.” There it was. The order. Her power reduced to a tool, wielded by another hand.

  Tes stood as tall as her injuries would allow. “And if I refuse?”

  She didn’t see Lila draw a knife, but suddenly one was pressed against her throat. “Then so help me god, I will cut off pieces until you change your mind.”

  Kell was on his feet, at Lila’s side, his hand tight on her arm.

  “Enough,” he said, sliding into the royal tongue.

  Lila shook him off. “You want me to heal her?” she snapped in the same language, gesturing with the tip of her knife as she spoke. “Fine. I will. As soon as she agrees to heal you.”

  Tes shook her head. “There is a difference between an object and a human being,” she said to the prince, switching back to Arnesian. “If I make a mistake—”

  “Then do not make one,” warned Lila.

  But Tes held Kell Maresh’s two-toned gaze. She saw the strain in the set of his jaw, in the crease between his eyes, in the way he held himself, even now. Could it be done? She did not know. She felt herself wanting to reach for those broken threads, wanting to help. But this Antari was not an object in her shop. Repair was often trial and error. Half the time she fastened the threads wrong inside a spell, and had to undo the work and start again. But the vessel did not care when it was made of wood, or clay. A living body could fail under that strain.

  “Your Highness…” she began.

  He looked at her, tired, but resigned. “It’s all right,” he said, “I understand.”

  “I don’t,” snapped Lila. “I have watched you suffer for seven years. Seven years I have searched high and low for a cure, some way to fix what was broken. Here she is, and you refuse to even make her try.”

  Kell sighed, and rubbed his eyes. “She says she can’t—”

  “Can’t and won’t are different things.”

  Kell gave the other Antari a heavy look. “It is not worth the risk. Just heal her, Lila. Please.”

  Tes saw Lila’s anger waver on that last word, a door cracking to reveal something ragged, pained, before it slammed shut. She flung her blade at Kell’s feet. It skidded over the marble floor, came to rest against his boot.

  “Do it yourself,” she snapped, “since you don’t want any help.”

  Kell sighed. And then he knelt and retrieved the blade.

  “It’s all right,” said Tes, the room swaying in her sight. “You don’t have to.”

  “I know,” he said gently, bringing the knife to his thumb. A muscle ticced in Lila’s jaw. Her shoulders twitched, as if willing the rest of her to intervene.

  Tes watched the skin part, dark blood welling as he reached to touch her and—

  “Oh for fuck’s sake, stop,” said Lila, pulling the prince away. Her other hand was already bleeding, her fingers vising around Tes’s wrist.

  “As Hasari,” growled the Antari, and as the spell rolled over Tes, the pain dropped like a stone in a deep well.

  Healing was a gradual thing, pain lessening from a sharpened point to a dull ache before it faded. Now, it simply fell away. Tes could see the silver magic twining with her own, see it flare around her as her side knit itself beneath her shirt. Her hand closed beneath the kerchief. The weakness washed away, and left her pulse strong and steady in its wake.

  Tes sighed in relief as Lila’s fingers dropped from her wrist, leaving a smear of red behind. “That was the first and only time I bleed for you.”

  “Thank you,” she said.

  “Yes, thank you,” echoed Kell.

  “Oh, shut up,” snapped Lila, turning on him.

  Tes, meanwhile, started for the gilded door, hoping it led out, out of the room, out of the palace. She went to pull it open, but a hand slammed into the wood, forcing it closed.

  “Going somewhere?” demanded Lila, her tone full of menace, and Tes realized how wrong she’d been, to seek out the Antari’s aid. Lila Bard wanted the same thing as Bex and Calin—to use her.

  “I’m grateful you healed me,” said Tes. “But I can’t help you, with the persalis, or the prince. You have no reason to keep me here.”

  “We are doing you a favor,” said Lila. “It isn’t safe out there. Not with the Hand.”

  “She’s right,” said the prince. “The two we met today will still be looking for you.”

  Tes shook her head. She’d wanted a champion. Now all she wanted was to get as far away as possible.

  “I’ll take my chances,” she said, tugging on the door, but Lila must have been using magic to hold it fast, because it did not so much as give.

  “This is the safest place in the city,” said the Antari, a grim smile tugging at her mouth. “Here, I’ll show you.” With that, she wrenched the door open, and shouted, “Guards!”

  “Lila,” said Kell wearily, as two soldiers appeared in the doorway.

  “Put her in a cell.”

  Tes tried to retreat into the room, but Lila put a hand in the center of her back.

  “We’re not done talking, you and I,” she hissed in Tes’s ear, before forcing her forward, into the hall, and the waiting arms of the palace guards.

  Tes fought, for whatever it was worth, which wasn’t much. Lila had healed her wounds, but she was still half the soldiers’ size, and before she could so much as reach to pluck a thread of their magic, her arms were forced behind her.

  The last thing she saw was Kell Maresh sinking into a chair behind Lila Bard, who smiled at Tes before she flicked her wrist, and the door slammed shut, and the guards hauled her away.

  V

  Tes should have gotten on a ship.

  She’d been right there, could have stolen away aboard one of the many vessels crowding the London docks, and dropped the doormaker over the side when they were safely out to sea, and started again in another city, on another shore. There would always be work for a man like Haskin, which meant there would always be work for a girl like her.

  And if Bex and Calin had followed?

  Better to be free and on the run than sitting safely in a cell.

  What’s the difference between a gamble and a good purchase? her father had quizzed her more than once. Retrospect.

  Two soldiers stood a short distance beyond the cell, their heads bent together, their voices little more than murmurs. She looked past them to the stairs they’d brought her down. The bedroom had been on the third floor. She was somewhere beneath the first now. She’d counted the steps down, reached thirty before they hit the cells, guessed that meant they were housed in one of the pillars that made up the palace base, held the soner rast aloft over the Isle. She wondered if that meant she was underwater. She looked around. There were three other cells, but all were empty.

  There was no cot, so Tes sat cross-legged on the cool stone floor. A pair of manacles hung around her wrists. They weren’t spelled to dampen magic. They didn’t need to be. The entire cell was warded. The air had a leaden weight that reminded her of that other London, the one without magic, but that had been an almost pleasant absence—this felt like a wet blanket dousing flames.

  She could see the spellwork of the ward—it was an odd, confusing magic required to negate itself. The lines of power hung suspended in the air, shivering in place, and when she pulled Vares from her pocket and set him on the ground, he sat there, lifeless, his skull drooping forward, the many tiny filaments that wove between his bones gone dark. Tes rose, and perched his little body between the bars, to see how far the wards reached.

  “Vares?” she whispered, her tone rising in question.

  He didn’t move.

  She left him on the ledge, and sank back to the ground, and waited.

  Tes studied her right hand, where Bex’s knife had gone through. Ran her fingers along her palm, the back of her hand. Nothing but a thin silver scar, painless and smooth. She knew the same was true for the wound in her side. It no longer hurt to breathe.

  Behind her eyes, Kell Maresh buckled to one knee.

  You could fix him, said a voice in her head. It sounded an awful lot like Lila Bard’s. Tes let her hands fall back into her lap.

  “Kers la?” said a voice.

  She looked up in time to see one of the soldiers pluck Vares from between the bars.

  “Don’t—” she said, feigning protest, but the guard was already retreating with the owl. One stride, that was all it took for Vares to come back to life, his little bone wings flapping in the soldier’s hand. That told Tes something. Only the cell itself was warded.

  The soldier gave a small, delighted laugh. “Hey, Hel,” he said. “It moves.”

  As if on cue, Vares gave another flutter, and clicked his beak.

  Traitor, thought Tes.

  “Let me see,” said the second, holding out his hand.

  The first shook his head. “Nas, you’re always breaking things.”

  “Come on, then.”

  “You have to be gentle.…”

  At least the soldiers were occupied.

  “Look at its eyes,” said the first. “One blue, one black. Just like the prince.”

  “Doesn’t have red feathers, though.”

  “Well, it might have, once. You never know.”

  Tes rolled her eyes, and slumped onto her back, staring up at the barred ceiling.