But corpses didn’t stand.
And she did.
The girl swung her legs out of bed, and when her bare feet hit the floor, the wooden boards began to petrify, color leaching out of the timber as it withered, decayed. Her heart glowed through her chest like a coal.
When she tried to speak, no sound came out, only the crackling of embers, as the thing in her continued to burn.
Kell knew that the girl was already gone.
“Nis?” said her brother again, stepping toward her. “Can you hear me?”
Kell caught the captain’s arm and hauled him back just as the girl’s fingers brushed Alucard’s sleeve. The fabric greyed under her touch. Kell shoved Alucard into Rhy’s arms and turned back toward Anisa, reaching out to hold her at bay with his will, and when that didn’t work—it wasn’t her will he was fighting, not anymore, but the will of a monster, a ghost, a self-made god—he bent the ship around them, wood peeling away from the cabin walls to bar her path. She was disappearing from them, board by board, and then suddenly Kell realized he was warring with a second will—Alucard’s.
“Stop!” shouted the captain, struggling against Rhy’s grip. “We can’t leave her, I can’t leave her, not again—”
Kell turned and punched Alucard Emery in the stomach.
The captain doubled over, gasping, and Kell knelt before them, quickly drew a second circle on the cabin floor.
“Rhy, now,” said Kell, and as soon as the prince’s hand met his shoulder, he said the words. The burning girl vanished, the cabin fell away, and they were back in Rhy’s room, crouched on the prince’s inlaid floors.
Hastra wilted in relief at the sight of them, but Alucard was already fighting to his feet, Rhy straining to hold him back, murmuring “Solase, solase, solase” over and over.
I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.
Alucard grabbed Kell by the collar, eyes wide and desperate. “Take me back.”
Kell shook his head. “There’s no one left on that ship.”
“My sister—”
He gripped Alucard’s shoulders hard. “Listen to me,” he said. “There’s no one left.”
It must have finally registered, because the fight went out of Alucard Emery. He slumped back onto the nearest sofa, shaking.
“Kell—” started Rhy.
He rounded on his brother. “And you. You’re a fool, do you know that? After everything we’ve been through, you just walked outside? You could have been killed. You could have been poisoned. It’s a miracle you didn’t fall ill.”
“No,” said Rhy slowly, “I don’t think it is.”
Before Kell could stop him, the prince was at the balcony, unlatching the doors. Hastra surged forward, but it was too late. Rhy threw open the doors and stepped out into the fog, Kell reaching him just in time to see the shadows meet the prince’s skin—and pull away.
Rhy reached toward the nearest one, and it recoiled from his touch.
Kell did the same. Again, the tendrils of Osaron’s magic retreated.
“My life is yours,” said Rhy softly, thoughtfully. “And yours is mine.” He looked up. “It makes sense.”
Footsteps, and then Alucard was there beside them. Kell and Rhy both turned to stop him from stepping out, but the shadows were already pulling away.
“You must be immune,” said Rhy.
Alucard looked down at his hands, considering the scars that traced his veins. “And to think, all I had to give up were my good looks.”
Rhy managed a ghost of a smile. “I rather like the silver.”
Alucard raised a brow. “Do you? Maybe it will start a trend.”
Kell rolled his eyes. “If you two are done,” he said, “we should show the king.”
IX
There were moments when Lila wondered how the hell she’d gotten here.
Which steps—and missteps—she’d taken. A year ago she’d been a thief in another London. A month ago she’d been a pirate, sailing on the open seas. A week ago she’d been a magician in the Essen Tasch. And now she was this. Antari. Alone, and not alone. Severed, but not adrift. There were too many lives tangled up in hers. Too many people to care about, and once again, she didn’t know whether to stay or to run—but the choice would have to wait, because this city was dying and she wanted to save it. And maybe that was a sign she’d already chosen. For now.
Lila looked around the Sanctuary cell, with nothing but its cot and the symbols on the floor. Lila had been here once before, a dying prince draped around her shoulders. The Sanctuary had seemed cold and remote even then, but it was colder now. The hall beyond, once quiet, sat deathly still, her breath the only motion in the air. Pale light burned in sconces along the walls with a steadiness she’d come to recognize as spelled. A gust tore through, strong enough to rustle her coat, but the wind barely stirred the torches. The priests were all gone, most taking refuge while holding up the wards at the palace, and the rest scattered through the city, lost in the fog. Strange, she thought, that they weren’t immune, but she supposed that being closer to magic wasn’t always a good thing. Not when magic played the devil as well as god.
The Sanctuary’s silence felt unnatural—she’d spent years slipping through crowds, carving out privacy in tight quarters. Now, she moved alone through a place meant for dozens, hundreds, a church of sorts that felt wrong without its worshippers, without the soft and steady warmth of their combined magic.