by V. E. Schwab
He stared up into her mismatched brown eyes.
Did she know it was him behind the silver mask?
“Hello,” she said, and in that one word, he knew that she did. Before he could say anything, Lila pushed herself off again. Kell quickly rolled backward, leveraging himself into a fighting crouch.
She had two knives now (of course she had chosen the blades—one made of fire, one made of ice), and she was twirling them casually. Kell had chosen nothing. (It was a bold move, one Kamerov would make, and one designed to sink him. But not this fast.) He lashed his water into a whip and struck, but Lila rolled out of reach and threw her icy blade. Kell dodged, and in that distracted moment she tried to strike again, but this time his earth caught hold of her boot and his whip lashed out. Lila got her fire knife up to block his blow, the water whip breaking around the blade, but the whip’s end managed to find her forearm, shattering a plate.
Lila was still pinned in place, but she was smirking, and an instant later her ice blade hit Kell from behind. He staggered forward as a second plate broke and he lost his hold on her foot.
And then the real fight began.
They sparred, a blur of elements and limbs, hits marked only by a flare of light. They came together, lunged apart, matching each other blow for blow.
“Have you lost your mind?” he growled as their elements crashed together.
“Nice to see you, too,” she answered, ducking and spinning behind him.
“You have to stop,” he ordered, narrowly dodging a fireball.
“You first,” she chided, diving behind a column.
Water slashed, and fire burned, and earth rumbled.
“This is madness.”
“I’m not the only one in disguise.” Lila drew near, and he thought she’d go in for a strike, but at the last second she changed her mind, touched the fire blade to her empty palm, and pushed.
For an instant, the air around them faltered. Kell saw pain flash across Lila’s face behind the mask, but then a wall of flame erupted toward him, and it was all he could do to will his water up into a wave over his head. Steam poured forth as the two elements collided. And then Lila did something completely unexpected. She reached out and froze the water over Kell’s head. His water.
The audience gasped, and Kell swore, as the sheet of ice cracked and splintered and came crashing down on top of him. It wasn’t against the rules—they’d both chosen water—but it was a rare thing, to claim your opponent’s element for yourself, and overpower them.
A rarer thing still, to be overpowered.
Kell could have escaped, could have drawn the fight out another measure, maybe two. But he had to lose. So he held his ground and let the ceiling of ice fall, shattering the plates across his shoulders and back, and sending up flares of light.
And just like that, it was over.
Delilah Bard had won.
She came to a stop beside him, offered him her hand.
“Well played, mas vares,” she whispered.
Kell stood there, dazed. He knew he should bow to her, to the crowd, and go, but his feet wouldn’t move. He watched as Lila tipped her mask up to the stands, and the king, then watched as she gave him one last devilish grin and slipped away. He gave a rushed bow to the royal platform and sprinted after her, out of the stadium and into the tents, throwing open the curtain marked by the two crossed blades.
An attendant stood waiting, the only figure in an otherwise empty tent.
“Where is she?” he demanded, even though he knew the answer.
The devil’s mask sat on the cushions, discarded along with the rest of the armor.
Lila was already gone.
V
Lila leaned back against Elsor’s door, gasping for air.
She’d caught him off guard, that much was sure, and now Kell knew. Knew she’d been in London for days, knew she’d been there, right beside him, in the tournament. Her heart was pounding in her chest; she felt like a cat who’d finally caught its mouse, and then let it go. For now.
The high began to settle with her pulse. Her head was throbbing, and when she swallowed, she tasted blood. She waited for the wave of dizziness to pass, and when it didn’t, she let her body sink to the wooden floor, Kell’s voice ringing in her ears.
That familiar, exasperated tone.
This is madness.
So superior, as if they weren’t both breaking all the rules. As if he weren’t playing a part, just like her.
You have to stop.
She could picture his frown behind that silver mask, the crease deepening between those two-toned eyes.
What would he do now?
What would she do?
Whatever happened, it was worth it.
Lila got to her knees, frowning as a drop of blood hit the wooden floorboards. She touched her nose, then wiped the streak of red on her sleeve and got up.
She began to strip off Elsor’s clothes, ruined from Ver-as-Is’s assault and the subsequent match. Slowly she peeled away the weapons, and the fabric, then stared at herself in the mirror, half clothed, her body a web of fresh bruises and old scars.
A fire burned low in the hearth, a basin of cold water on the chest. Lila took her time getting clean and dry and warm, rinsing the darkening grease from her hair, the blood from her skin.
She looked around the room, trying to decide what to wear.
And then she had an idea.
A novel, dangerous idea, which was, of course, her favorite kind.
Maybe it’s time, she thought, to go to a ball.
* * *
“Rhy!” called Kell, the crowd parting around him. He’d shed the helmet and switched the coat, but his hair was still slicked with sweat, and he felt breathless.
“What are you doing here?” asked the prince. He was walking back to the palace, surrounded by an entourage of guards.
“It was her!” hissed Kell, falling in step beside him.
All around them, people cheered and waved, hoping to get so much as a glance or a smile from the prince. “Who was her?” Rhy asked, indulging the crowd.
“Stasion Elsor,” he whispered. “It was Lila.”
Rhy’s brow furrowed. “I know it’s been a long day,” he said, patting Kell’s shoulder, “but obviously—”
“I know what I saw, Rhy. She spoke to me.”
Rhy shook his head, the smile still fixed on his mouth. “That makes no sense. Tieren selected the players weeks ago.”
Kell looked around, but Tieren was conveniently absent. “Well, he didn’t select me.”
“No, but I did.” They reached the palace steps, and the crowd hung back as they climbed.
“I don’t know what to tell you—I don’t know if she is Elsor, or if she’s just posing as him, but the person I just fought back there, that wasn’t some magician from the countryside. That was Delilah Bard.”
“Is that why you lost so easily?” asked the prince as they reached the top of the steps.
“You told me to lose!” snapped Kell as the guards held open the doors. His words echoed through the too-quiet foyer, and Kell’s stomach turned when he glanced up and saw the king standing in the center of the room. Maxim took one look at Kell and said, “Upstairs. Now.”
“I thought I made myself clear,” said the king when they were in his room.
Kell was sitting in his chair beside the balcony, being chastised like a child while Hastra and Staff stood silently by. Rhy had been told to wait outside and was currently kicking up a fuss in the hall.
“Did I not instruct you to stay within the palace walls?” demanded Maxim, voice thick with condescension.
“You did, but—”
“Are you deaf to my wishes?”
“No, sir.”
“Well I obviously didn’t make myself clear when I asked you as your father, so now I command you as your king. You are hereby confined to the palace until further notice.”
Kell straightened. “This isn’t fair.”
“Don’t be a child, Kell. I wouldn’t have asked if it wasn’t for your own good.” Kell scoffed, and the king’s eyes darkened. “You mock my command?”
He stilled. “No. But we both know this isn’t about what’s good for me.”
“You’re right. It’s about what’s good for our kingdom. And if you are loyal to this crown, and to this family, you will confine yourself to this palace until the tournament is over. Am I understood?”
Kell’s chest tightened. “Yes, sir,” he said, his voice barely a whisper.
The king spun on Staff and Hastra. “If he leaves this palace again, you will both face charges, do you understand?”
“Yes, Your Majesty,” they answered grimly.
With that the king stormed out.
Kell put his head in his hands, took a breath, then swiped everything from the low table before him, scattering books and shattering a bottle of avise wine across the inlaid floor.
“What a waste,” muttered Rhy, sagging into the opposite chair.
Kell sank back and closed his eyes.
“Hey, it’s not so bad,” pressed Rhy. “At least you’re already out of the competition.”
That sank Kell’s spirits even lower. His fingers drifted to the tokens around his neck, as he struggled to suppress the urge to leave. Run. But he couldn’t, because whatever the king believed, Kell was loyal, to his crown, to his family. To Rhy.
The prince sat forward, seemingly oblivious to the storm in Kell’s head. “Now,” he said, “what shall we wear to the party?”
“Hang the party,” grumbled Kell.
“Come now, Kell, the party never did anything to you. Besides, what if a certain young woman with a penchant for cross-dressing decides to show? You wouldn’t want to miss that.”
Kell dragged his head up off the cushions. “She shouldn’t be competing.”
“Well, she made it this far. Maybe you’re not giving her enough credit.”
“I let her win.”
“Did everyone else do the same?” asked Rhy, amused. “And I have to say, she looked like she was holding her own.”
Kell groaned. She was. Which made no sense. Then again, nothing about Lila ever did. He got to his feet. “Fine.”
“There’s a good sport.”
“But no more red and gold,” he said, turning his coat inside out. “Tonight I’m wearing black.”
* * *
Calla was humming and fastening pins in the hem of a skirt when Lila came in.
“Lila!” she said cheerfully. “Avan. What can I help you with this night? A hat? Some cuffs?”
“Actually …” Lila ran her hand along a rack of coats, then sighed, and nodded at the line of dresses. “I need one of those.” She felt a vague dread, staring at the puffy, impractical garments, but Calla broke into a delighted smile. “Don’t look so surprised,” she said. “It’s for Master Kell.”
That only made the merchant’s smile widen. “What is this occasion?”
“A tournament ball.” Lila started to reach for one of the dresses, but Calla rapped her fingers. “No,” she said firmly. “No black. If you are going to do this, you are going to do it right.”
“What is wrong with black? It’s the perfect color.”
“For hiding. For blending into shadows. For storming castles. Not for balls. I let you go to the last one in black, and it has bothered me all winter.”
“If that’s true, you don’t have enough things to worry about.”
Calla tsked and turned toward the collection of dresses. Lila’s gaze raked over them, and she cringed at a yolk-yellow skirt, a velvety purple sleeve. They looked like pieces of ripe fruit, like decadent desserts. Lila wanted to look powerful, not edible.
“Ah,” said Calla, and Lila braced herself as the woman drew a dress from the rack and presented it to her. “How about this one?”
It wasn’t black, but it wasn’t confectionary either. The gown was a dark green, and it reminded Lila of the woods at night, of slivers of moonlight cutting through leaves.
The first time she had fled home—if it could be called that—she was ten. She headed into St. James’s Park and spent the whole night shivering in a low tree, looking up through the limbs at the moon, imagining she was somewhere else. In the morning she dragged herself back and found her father passed out drunk in his room. He hadn’t even bothered looking for her.
Calla read the shadows in her face. “You don’t like it?”
“It’s pretty,” said Lila. “But it doesn’t suit me.” She struggled for the words. “Maybe who I was once, but not who I am now.”
Calla nodded and put the dress back. “Ah, here we go.”
She reached for another gown and pulled it from the rack. “What about this?” The dress was … hard to describe. It was something between blue and grey, and studded with drops of silver. Thousands of them. The light danced across the bodice and down the skirts, causing the whole thing to shimmer darkly.
It reminded her of the sea and the night sky. It reminded her of sharp knives and stars and freedom.
“That,” breathed Lila, “is perfect.”
She didn’t realize how complicated the dress was until she tried to put it on. It had resembled a pile of nicely stitched fabric draped over Calla’s arm, but in truth it was the most intricate contraption Lila had ever faced.
Apparently the style that winter was structure. Hundreds of fasteners and buttons and clasps. Calla cinched and pulled and straightened and somehow got the dress onto Lila’s body.
“Anesh,” said Calla when it was finally done.
Lila cast a wary glance in the mirror, expecting to see herself at the center of an elaborate torture device. Instead, her eyes widened in surprise.
That bodice transformed Lila’s already narrow frame into something with curves, albeit modest ones. It supplied her with a waist. It couldn’t help much when it came to bosom, as Lila didn’t have anything to work with, but thankfully the winter trend was to emphasize shoulders, not bust. The dress came all the way up to her throat, ending in a collar that reminded Lila vaguely of her helmet’s jawline. The thought of the demon’s mask gave her strength.
That’s all this was, really: another disguise.
To Calla’s dismay, Lila insisted on keeping her slim-cut pants on beneath the skirts, along with her boots, claiming no one would be able to tell.
“Please tell me this is easier to take off than it was to put on.”
Calla raised a brow. “You do not think Master Kell knows how?”
Lila felt her cheeks burning. She should have disabused the merchant of her assumption months ago, but that assumption—that Kell and Lila were somehow … engaged, or at least entangled—was the reason Calla had first agreed to help her. And matters of pride aside, the merchant was dreadfully handy.
“There is the release,” said Calla, tapping two pins at the base of the corset.
Lila reached back, fingering the laces of the corset, wondering if she could hide one of her knives there.
“Sit,” urged the merchant.
“I honestly don’t know if I can.”
The woman tsked and nodded to a stool, and Lila lowered herself onto it. “Do not worry. The dress won’t break.”
“It’s not the dress I’m worried about,” she grumbled. No wonder so many of the women she stole from seemed faint; they obviously couldn’t breathe, and Lila was fairly certain their corsets hadn’t been nearly as tight as this one.
For god’s sake, thought Lila. I’ve been in a dress for five minutes and I’m already whining.
“You close your eyes.”
Lila stared, skeptical.
“Tac, you must trust.”
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 throu
gh 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
WHITE LONDON
The knife glinted in Ojka’s hand.