Gathering of Shadows (A Darker Shade of Magic) (56 page)

Lila had never been good at trust, but she’d come this far, and now that she was in the dress, she was committed to following through. So she closed her eyes and let the woman dab something between lash and brow and then against her lips.

Lila kept her eyes closed as she felt a brush running through her hair, fingers tousling the strands.

Calla hummed as she worked, and Lila felt something in her sag, sadden. Her mother had been dead a very long time, so long she could barely remember the feeling of her hands smoothing her hair, the sound of her voice.

Tyger Tyger, burning bright.

Lila felt her palms begin to burn and, worried that she’d accidentally set fire to her dress, pressed them together and opened her eyes, focusing on the rug of the tent and the faint pain of pins sliding against her scalp.

Calla had set a handful of the hairpins in Lila’s lap. They were polished silver, and she recognized them from the chest she’d brought ashore.

“These you bring back,” said Calla as she finished. “I like them.”

“I’ll bring it all back,” said Lila, getting to her feet. “I have no use for a dress like this beyond tonight.”

“Most women believe that a dress need only matter for one night.”

“Those women are wasteful,” said Lila, rubbing her wrists. They were still chafed raw from the ropes that morning. Calla saw, and said nothing, only fastened broad silver bracelets over both.
Gauntlets
, thought Lila, even though the first word to come to mind was
chains.

“One final touch.”

“Oh for god’s sake, Calla,” she complained. “I think this is more than enough.”

“You are a very strange girl, Lila.”

“I was raised far away.”

“Yes, well, that will explain some of it.”

“Some of what?” asked Lila.

Calla gestured at her. “And I suppose where you were raised, women dressed as men and wore weapons like jewelry.”

“… I’ve always been unique.”

“Yes, well, it is no wonder you and Kell attract. Both unique. Both … a bit …” Suddenly, conveniently, the language seemed to fail her.

“Mean?” offered Lila.

Calla smiled. “No, no, not mean. Guard up. But tonight,” she said, fastening a silver brim-veil into Lila’s hair, “you bring his guard down.”

Lila smiled, despite herself. “That’s the idea.”

VI

The knife glinted in Ojka’s hand.

The king stood behind her, waiting. “Are you ready?”

Her fingers tightened on the blade as fear hummed through her. Fear, and power. She had survived the marking, the blood fever, even that collar. She would survive this.

“Kosa,”
she said, the answer barely a whisper.
Yes.

“Good.”

They were standing in the castle courtyard, the gates closed and only the statues of the fallen twins bearing witness as the king’s gaze warmed her spine and the winter wind bit at her face. Life was returning to the city, coloring it like a bruise, but the cold had lingered at the edges. Especially at night. The sun was warm, and things grew beneath it, but when it sank, it took all the heat with it. The king said that this was normal, that a healthy world had seasons of warmth and light, and others of shadow.

Ojka was ready for heat.

That was the first thing she had felt, back when the blood fever came. Glorious heat. She’d seen the burnt-up shells of her failed predecessors, but she’d welcomed the fire.

She’d believed, then, in Holland’s power. In her potential.

She’d still believed, even when the king’s collar had closed around her throat.

And now, he was asking her to believe again. Believe in his magic. In the magic he had given her. She had done the blood spells. Summoned ice and fire. Mended some things and broken others. Drawn doors within her world. This would be no different. It was still within her reach.

She stared down at the knife, hilt against one palm, edge pressed to the other. She had her orders. And yet she hesitated.

“My king,” she said, still facing the courtyard wall. “It is not cowardice that makes me ask, but …”

“I know your mind, Ojka,” said Holland. “You wonder why I ask this errand of you. Why I do not go myself. The truth is, I cannot.”

“There is nothing you cannot do.”

“All things come at a cost,” he said. “To restore this world—
our
world—I had to sacrifice something of myself. If I left now, I am not certain I would be able to return.”

So that was where the power came from. A spell. A deal. She had heard the king speaking to himself as if to someone else, had seen what lurked in the shadow of his eye, even thought she’d seen his reflection move when he did not.

How much had Holland sacrificed already?

“Besides …” She felt his hands come to rest on her shoulders, heat and magic flaring through her with his touch. “I gave you power so you could use it.”

“Yes, my king,” she whispered.

Her right eye pulsed as he folded his broad frame around her narrower one, shaping his body to hers. His arms shadowed her own, tracing from shoulders to elbows to wrists, his hands coming to rest against hers. “You will be fine, Ojka, so long as you are strong enough.”

And if I am not?

She didn’t think she’d said the words aloud, but the king heard her either way.

“Then you will be lost, and so will I.” The words were cold, but not the way he said them. His voice was as it always was, a stone worn smooth, with a weight that made her knees weaken. He brought his lips to her ear. “But I believe in you.” With that, he guided her knife hand with his own, dragging the blade against her skin. Blood welled, dark as ink, and he pressed something against her bloody palm. A coin, as red as her hair, with a gold star in the center.

“You know what I ask of you,” he said, guiding her wounded hand and the coin within to the cold stone wall. “You know what you must do.”

“I will not let you down, my king.”

“I hope not,” said Holland, withdrawing from her, taking the heat with him.

Ojka swallowed and focused on the place where her searing palm met the cold stones as she said the command, just as he’d taught her.
“As Travars.”

Her marked eye sang in her skull, her blood shuddering with the words. Where her hand met stone, shadow blossomed out into a door. She meant to step forward, step through, but she never had the chance.

The darkness ripped her forward. The world tore. And so did she.

A rending in her muscles. A breaking in her bones.

Her skin burned and her blood froze and everything was pain.

It lasted forever and an instant, and then there was nothing.

Ojka crumpled to her knees, shuddering with the knowledge that somehow she had failed. She wasn’t strong enough. Wasn’t worthy. And now she was gone, ripped away from her world, her purpose, her king. This calm, this settling feeling, this must be death.

And yet.

Death was not supposed to have edges, and this did. She could feel them, even with her eyes closed. Could feel where her body ended, and the world began. Could death be a world unto itself? Did it have music?

Ojka’s eyes drifted open, and she drew in a breath when she saw the cobbled street beneath her, the night sky tinged with red. Her veins burned darkly across her skin. Her eye pulsed with power. The crimson coin still dug into her palm, and her knife glinted on the stones a few feet away.

And the understanding hit her in a wave.

She’d done it.

A sound escaped her throat, something tangled up in shock and triumph as she staggered to her feet. Everything hurt, but Ojka relished the pain. It meant she was alive, she had
survived.
She had been tried, tested, and found able.

My king?
she thought, reaching through the darkness of space and the walls between worlds. Worlds that
she
had crossed.

For a long moment, there was no answer. Then, incredibly, she heard his voice, paired with the thrumming of her pulse in her head.

My messenger.

It was the most beautiful sound. A thread of light in the darkness.

I am here
, she thought, wondering where exactly
here
was. Holland had told her about this world. That red glow, that must be the river. And that beacon of light, the palace. She could hear the sounds of people, feel their energy as she readjusted her pale cloak and shifted her red hair in front of her marked eye.
What now?

There was another pause, and when the king’s voice came again, it was smooth and even.

Find him.

I

The city glittered from the palace steps, a stretch of frost and fog and magic.

Lila took it in, and then turned and presented Elsor’s invitation. The stairs were filled with foreigners and nobles, and the guards didn’t bother to look at the name on the slip, simply saw the royal seal and ushered her inside.

It had been four months since she’d last set foot in the heart of the royal palace.

She had seen the Rose Hall, of course, before the tournament, but that had been separate, impersonal. The palace itself felt like a grand house. A royal
home.
The entry hall was once again lined with heaping flower bouquets, but they had been arranged into a path, ushering Lila left through the foyer and past another set of large doors that must have been shut before, but were now thrown open, like wings. She stepped through into a massive ballroom of polished wood and cut glass, a honeycomb of light.