She thrust her hand into her pocket, and curled her fingers around the silver pocket watch that hung like a weight in the bottom of the silk-lined fold.
“Kers la, Bard?”
She looked up, and realized that Alucard was holding the door open for her. She shook her head.
“Skan,” she said. Nothing.
Stepping inside, the power hit her in a wave. She couldn’t see magic as Alucard did, but she could still feel it, filling the air like steam as it wafted off the gathered magicians. Not all the competitors traveled with a full entourage. Some—like the tan woman on the back wall, her black hair twisted into ropes and studded with gold—were the center of their own universe, while others sat in small groups or wandered the room alone, an aura of power drifting in their wake.
Meanwhile, the déjà vu continued. She did her best to shake it off and focus. After all, she wasn’t just here to be part of Alucard’s tableau. There was the issue of finding a mark, of performing her own little magic trick. The tavern was full of magicians, and Delilah Bard was going to make one of them disappear.
Someone boomed a greeting to Alucard, and the entourage came to a halt as the two clasped wrists. Tav went to round up drinks, while Stross surveyed the room with keen appraisal. She guessed he’d been brought along for the same reason she had, to size up the competition.
Vasry, meanwhile, eyed the room as if it were a feast.
“That’s the reigning champion, Kisimyr,” he whispered to Lila in Arnesian as the woman with the roped hair strode toward Alucard, boots ringing out on the worn wood floor. The man who’d greeted Alucard retreated a few steps as she approached.
“Emery,” she said with a feline grin and a heady accent. “You really don’t know how to stay out of trouble.” She wasn’t from London. She was speaking Royal, but her words all ran together—not in the serpentine way of the Faroan tongue, more like she’d hacked off all the edges and taken out the space between. She had a low, resonant voice, and when she spoke, it sounded like rumbling thunder.
“Not when trouble is more fun,” said Alucard with a bow. Kisimyr’s grin widened as the two fell to quiet conversation—there was something sharp about that grin, and paired with the rest of her face, the slanted brow and straight-on gaze, it read like a taunt. A challenge. The woman exuded confidence. Not arrogance, exactly—that was usually unfounded, and everything about Kisimyr said she’d just love an excuse to show you what she could do.
Lila liked that, found herself mimicking the features, wondering what kind of whole they’d add up to on her own face.
She didn’t know if she wanted to fight the woman or be her friend, but she certainly wouldn’t be replacing her. Lila’s attention shifted, trailing across a pair of brawny figures, and a very pretty girl in blue with cascades of dark hair, not to mention a fair number of curves. No good matches there. She continued to scan the room as Alucard’s entourage made its way toward a corner booth.
Kisimyr had retreated into the folds of her own group, and she was talking to a young, dark-skinned man beside her. He was fine-boned and wiry, with bare arms and gold earrings running the length of both ears to match the ones in Kisimyr’s.
“Losen,” said Alucard softly. “Her protégé.”
“Will they have to compete against each other?”
He shrugged. “Depends on the draw.”
A man with a stack of paper appeared at Kisimyr’s elbow.
“Works for the Scryer, that one,” said Stross. “Best avoid him, unless you want to find yourself on the boards.”
Just then, the tavern doors flung open, and a young man blew in—quite literally—on a gust of wind. It swirled around him and through the tavern, shuddering candle flames and rocking lanterns. Alucard twisted in his seat, then rolled his eyes with a smile. “Jinnar!” he said, and Lila couldn’t tell by the way he said it if that was a name or a curse.
Even next to the broad Veskans and the jewel-marked Faroans she’d met in Sasenroche, the newcomer was one of the most striking men Lila had ever seen. Wisp-thin, like a late shadow, his skin had the rich tan of an Arnesian and his black hair shot up in a vertical shock. Below black brows, his eyes were silver, shining like a cat’s in the low tavern light and scored only by the beads of black at their center. A fringe of thick black lashes framed both silver pools, and he had a jackal’s grin, not sharp but wide. It only got wider when he saw Alucard.
“Emery!” he called, tugging the cloak from his shoulders and crossing the room, the two gestures wound together in a seamless motion. Beneath the cloak, his clothes weren’t just close fitting; they were molded to his body, ornamented by silver cuffs that circled his throat and ran the lengths of his forearms.
Alucard stood. “They let you out in public?”
The young man threw his arm around the captain’s shoulder. “Only for the Essen Tasch. You know that old Tieren has a soft spot for me.”
He spoke so fast Lila could barely follow, but her attention prickled at the mention of London’s head priest.
“Jin, meet my crew. At least, the ones I like best.”
The man’s eyes danced over the table, flitting across Lila for only a moment—it felt like a cool breeze—before returning to Alucard. Up close, his metallic gaze was even more unsettling.
“What are we calling you these days?”
“Captain will do.”
“How very official. Though I suppose it’s not as bad as a vestra title.” He dipped into an elaborate gesture that vaguely resembled a bow, if a bow were paired with a rude hand gesture. “His Eminence Alucard, second son of the Royal House of Emery.”