So Lila tried to summon fire.

Tyger Tyger, burning bright …

Nothing. Not even a spark. It couldn’t be the knife wound; that had dried, and the spell dried with it. That was how it worked. Was that how it worked? It seemed like it should work that way.

Panic. More panic. Clawing panic.

She closed her eyes, and swallowed, and tried again.

And again.

And again.

* * *

“Focus,” said Alucard.

“Well it’s a little hard, considering.” Lila was standing in the middle of his cabin, blindfolded. The last time she’d seen him, he was sitting in his chair, ankle on knee, sipping a dark liquor. Judging by the sound of a bottle being lifted, a drink being poured, he was still there.

“Eyes open, eyes shut,” he said, “it makes no difference.”

Lila strongly disagreed. With her eyes open, she could summon fire. And with her eyes shut, well, she couldn’t. Plus, she felt like a fool. “What exactly is the point of this?”

“The point, Bard, is that magic is a sense.”

“Like sight,” she snapped.

“Like sight,” said Alucard. “But not sight. You don’t need to see it. Just feel it.”

“Feeling is a sense, too.”

“Don’t be flippant.”

Lila felt Esa twine around her leg, and resisted the urge to kick the cat. “I hate this.”

Alucard ignored her. “Magic is all and none. It’s sight, and taste, and scent, and sound, and touch, and it’s also something else entirely. It is the power in all powers, and at the same time, it is its own. And once you know how to sense its presence, you will never be without it. Now stop whining and focus.”

* * *

Focus, thought Lila, struggling to stay calm. She could feel the magic, tangled in her pulse. She didn’t need to see it. All she needed to do was reach it.

She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to trick her mind into thinking that the darkness was a choice. She was an open door. She was in control.

Burn, she thought, the word striking like a match inside her. She snapped her fingers and felt the familiar heat of fire licking the air above her skin. The rope caught, illuminating the dimensions of the box—small, very small, too small—and when she turned her head, a grisly face stared back at her, which resolved into the demon’s mask right before Lila was thrown by searing pain. When the fire hovered above her fingers, it didn’t hurt, but now, as it ate through the ropes, it burned.

She bit back a scream as the flame licked her wrists before finally snapping the rope. As soon as her hands were free, she rolled over the fire, plunging herself back into darkness. She tugged the gag off and sat up to reach her ankles, smacking her head against the top of the box and swearing roundly as she fell back. Maneuvering carefully, she managed to reach the ropes at her feet and unknot them.

Limbs free, she pushed against the lid of the box. It didn’t budge. She swore and brought her palms together, a tiny flame sparking between them. By its light she could see that the box had no latches. It was a cargo crate. And it was nailed shut. Lila doused the light, and let her aching head rest against the floor of the crate. She took a few steadying breaths—Emotion isn’t strength, she told herself, reciting one of Alucard’s many idioms—and then she pressed her palms to the wooden walls of the crate, and pushed.

Not with her hands, but with her will. Will against wood, will against nail, will against air.

The box shuddered.

And exploded.

Metal nails ground free, boards snapped, and the air within the box shoved everything out. She covered her head as debris rained back down on her, then got to her feet, dragging in air. The flesh of her wrists was angry and raw, her hands shaking from pain and fury as she fought to get her bearings.

She’d been wrong. She was in a cargo hold. On a ship. But judging by the boat’s steadiness, it was still docked. Lila stared down at the remains of the crate. The irony of the situation wasn’t lost on her; after all, she’d tried to do the same thing to Stasion Elsor. But she liked to believe that if she’d actually put him in a crate, she would have given him air holes.

The devil’s mask winked at her from the wreckage, and she dug it free, pulling it down over her head. She knew where Ver-as-Is was staying. She’d seen his crew at the Sun Streak, an inn on the same street as the Wandering Road.

“Hey,” called a man, as she climbed to the deck. “What do you think you’re doing?”

Lila didn’t slow. She crossed the ship briskly and descended the plank to the dock, ignoring the shouts from the deck, ignoring the morning sun and the distant sound of cheers.

Lila had warned Ver-as-Is what would happen.

And she was a girl of her word.

* * *

“What part of you need to lose don’t you understand?”

Rhy was pacing Kell’s tent, looking furious.

“You shouldn’t be here,” said Kell, rubbing his sore shoulder.

He hadn’t meant to win. He’d just wanted it to be a good match. A close match. It wasn’t his fault that ‘Rul the Wolf’ had stumbled. It wasn’t his fault that the nines favored close combat. It wasn’t his fault that the Veskan had clearly had a little too much fun the night before. He’d seen the man fight, and he’d been brilliant. Why couldn’t he have been brilliant today?

Kell ran a hand through his sweat-slicked hair. The silver helmet sat, cast off, on the cushions.