Lila cocked a brow. “You came all this way for a knife?”
“No,” said Valick. “I came all this way for you.”
Lila’s gaze narrowed. “If you plan to add me to your collection—”
“You owe Maris a favor,” he cut in. “She’s calling it in.”
A favor. Lila should have known, when Maris offered her the glass black eye, should have paid then and there, given up a year or two of her life and called it even instead of trading for a favor. A favor was just a nice word for a debt, and Lila hated owing. She had been waiting for the old bat to call it in, had begun to wonder, over the years, if she’d forgotten.
Obviously not.
“Well? What does she want?”
Valick held out his other hand. “She’ll tell you herself.” In his palm was a ring. Not black, like the one around her neck, but silver, a small hourglass stamped into its surface. Still, she recognized the queen’s handiwork, and was willing to bet there was a twin ring, on the old woman’s hand.
“We’ll need to find a scrying board,” he began, but Lila was already stepping toward him.
“Nonsense,” she said, nicking her palm with one of her knives. “Waste of perfectly good magic.”
She reached out, closing her fingers over the ring, and Valick’s hand, pinning the metal between their palms. And before he could pull back, she whispered the words into the air, and the whole world shivered and came apart.
XII
Lila Bard stepped out of the darkened road, and into a ship’s cabin, dragging Valick Patrol behind her. The floor rocked a little beneath her boots, the air rumbling with something like thunder. The room was narrow, lantern light spilling over cabinets and chests and across a desk, behind which sat Maris Patrol, captain of the floating market.
The old woman was dressed in a white silk robe, her silver hair loose and flowing down her back. She had a glass of wine in one hand, a book in the other, and a moment before she had obviously been enjoying both. Now, however, she was looking up, and Lila had the rare pleasure of seeing surprise scrawled across the captain’s face, right before it—and the book—snapped shut.
“You absolute fool,” said Maris in Arnesian, as the thunder trailed off. “You do know this ship is warded against magical intrusion.” So that was the source of the crackling air.
“I had a feeling it would work.”
“A feeling,” said the old woman dryly. “You risked my nephew’s life for a feeling.”
“An educated guess, then.” Lila twirled Valick’s ring on her finger. “The palace wards are bound to blood, so the royal family can come and go without a dozen stuffy spells. I figured the Ferase Stras would be the same. And as you can see, your nephew is fine.” She glanced at Valick, whose brown skin had taken on a grey pallor. He looked like he was about to be sick.
“More or less,” she added.
“Not in my room,” snarled Maris, and Valick nodded and bolted, stumbling out into the dark. A gust of cold sea air blew in before the door swung shut. Lila turned to survey the contents of the cabinets. It had been seven years since she’d stood in this very room, seven years since she’d come aboard this ship in search of a way to beat Osaron. She’d been waiting for a chance to come back.
“What are you doing here?” demanded Maris.
“I was invited,” said Lila, holding out the silver ring. Its twin glinted, one of several on the woman’s bony hand.
“That was an invitation to talk,” she said without reaching for the band. “Not visit. I’m sure Valick made that clear.”
“Must have slipped his mind,” said Lila, letting the ring fall onto the table. “I suppose I could ask how you got your hands on a piece of the queen’s craft, but…” She trailed off, gesturing at the ship, whose very purpose was to trade in, and store, risky magic.
“She is a clever thing, isn’t she?” mused Maris. “Of course, Her Majesty did not invent paired magic, but still, an elegant execution of the principle. A mind like that can be a dangerous thing.”
“By all means, take her. Store her in one of the crates on your ship.”
Maris inclined her head. “You don’t like her.”
“I don’t trust her,” said Lila, sinking into the chair opposite the desk. A pale sack lay beside her boot, and it took her a moment to realize it was, in fact, an ancient-looking dog. It was suspiciously still. She toed it gently with her boot, just to make sure that it was breathing. It sighed, and she turned her attention back to Maris. “You look old.”