Lenos felt his own gaze drawn back into the murk and madness, stammered a prayer to the nameless saints even as his long limbs took a single step forward.

And then another.

His boots sank into the loamy soil of the riverbank, his thoughts quieting, vision narrowing to that mesmerizing dark. At the edge of his mind, he heard the rumble of hooves, like thunder, and then a voice, cutting through the chaos like a knife.

“Get back!” it shouted, and Lenos blinked, stumbling away from the reaching river right before a royal horse could crush him underfoot.

The massive steed reared up, but it was the figures mounted on top that held Lenos’s attention now.

The Antari prince sat astride the horse, disheveled, his crimson coat open to reveal bare skin, a streak of blood, a detailed scar. And behind the black-eyed prince, clinging to him for dear life, was Lila Bard.

“Fucking beast,” she muttered, nearly falling as she tried to free herself from the saddle. Kell Maresh—Aven Vares—hopped easily down, coat billowing around him, one hand resting on Bard’s shoulder, and Lenos couldn’t tell if the man was seeking balance or offering it. Bard’s eyes scanned the crowd—one of them was decidedly wrong, a starburst of glassy light—before landing on Lenos. She managed a quick, pained smile before someone screamed.

Nearby a woman collapsed, a tendril of shadow wrapping itself around her leg. She clawed at it, but her fingers went straight through. Lila spun toward her, but the Antari prince got there first. He tried to force the fog back with a gust of wind, and when that didn’t work, he produced a blade and carved a fresh line across his palm.

He knelt, hand hovering over the shadows that ran between the river and the woman’s skin.

“As Anasae,” he ordered, but the substance only parted around the blood. The air itself seemed to vibrate with laughter as the shadows seeped into the woman’s leg, staining skin before sinking into vein.

The Antari swore, and the woman shuddered, clutching at his sliced hand in fear. Blood streaked her fingers and, as Lenos watched, the shadows suddenly let go, recoiled from their host.

Kell Maresh was staring down at the place where his hand met hers.

“Lila!” he called, but she’d already seen, already had her own knife out. Blood welled across her skin as she shot toward a man on the bank, grabbing him a breath before the shadows could. Again, they recoiled.

The Antari and—no, the two Antari, thought Lenos, for that was what Bard was, that was what she had to be—began to grab everyone in reach, brushing stained fingers over hands and cheeks. But the blood did nothing to those already poisoned—they only snarled, and wiped it away, as if it were filth—and for every one they marked, two more fell before they could.

The royal Antari spun, breathless, taking in the scope, the scale. Instead of running from body to body, he held up his hands, palms a span apart. His lips moved and his blood pooled in the air, gathering itself into a ball. It reminded Lenos of the Isle itself, its red glow, an artery of magic, pulsing and vibrant.

With a single surging motion, the sphere rose above the panicked crowds and—

That was all Lenos saw before the shadows came for him.

Fingers of night snaked toward him, serpent fast. There was nowhere to go—the Antari was still casting his spell, and Lila was too far away—so Lenos held his breath and began to pray, the way he’d learned back in Olnis, when the storms got rough. He closed his eyes and prayed for calm as the shadows broke against him. For balance as they washed—hot and cold at once—over his skin. For stillness as they murmured soft as shoretide in his head.

Let me in, let me in, let me—

A drop of rain landed on his hand, another on his cheek, and then the shadows were retreating, taking their whispers with them. Lenos blinked, let out a shaky breath, and saw that the rain was red. All around him, dew-fine drops dotted faces, and shoulders, settled in mist along coats and gloves and boots.

Not rain, he realized.

Blood.

The shadows in the street dissolved beneath the crimson mist, and Lenos looked at the Antari prince in time to see the man sway from the effort. He’d carved a slice of safety, but it wasn’t enough. Already the dark magic was shifting focus, form, dividing from a fist into an open hand, fingers of shadow surging inland.

“Sanct,” cursed the prince as hooves pounded down the street. A wave of royal guards reached the river and dismounted, and Bard moved quick as light between the armored men, brushing bloodied fingertips against the metal of their suits.

“Round up the poisoned,” ordered Kell Maresh, already moving toward his horse.

The afflicted souls didn’t flee, didn’t attack, simply stood there, grinning and saying things about a shadow king who whispered in their ears, who told them of the world as it could be, would be, who played their souls like music and showed them the true power of a king.

The Antari prince swung up onto his mount.

“Keep everyone away from the banks,” he called. Lila Bard hoisted herself up beside him with a grimace, arms wrapped tight around his waist, and Lenos was left standing there, dazed, as the prince kicked the horse into motion and the two vanished into the streets of London.

VI

They had to split up.

Kell didn’t want to, that much was obvious, but the city was too big, the fog too fast.

He took the horse, because she refused it—plenty of other ways to die tonight.

“Lila,” he’d said, and she’d expected him to chastise her, to order her back to the palace, but he’d only caught her by the arm and said, “Be careful.” Tipped his forehead against hers and added, almost too low to be heard, “Please.”