Lila had appeared just behind him. “Still in one piece. And the crew wants you to know they like me better.”
Alucard’s mouth twitched in a smile, but Kell’s ears were still ringing. He dug his fingers into the edge of the table. “How could you let this happen?”
The amusement flickered and died on the consort’s face. “Me?”
“You have one job.”
Alucard leaned forward. “Believe it or not, I have many. We can’t all be off playing pirate. Tell me, do you still dress up? I heard you even have a fancy name.”
“Oh, stop flirting,” said Rhy, drifting into the frame. His robe was drawn tight, hiding the damage, but red water dripped from his black hair, staining the collar.
And Kell wanted to throttle his brother for being reckless, wanted to point out that while Rhy would not die as long as he lived, Kell did indeed require air to do that, and if he’d drowned for long enough, who knew what might happen to the spell that held them both together. But the apology was already written all over Rhy’s face, so Kell resisted the urge to shout and asked only, “Are you all right?”
Rhy managed a smile, but it was thin. “Thanks to you, I think I’ll live.” He noticed Lila and rallied. “Ah, how’s my favorite captain?”
Alucard shot Rhy an insulted look, then turned his ire back on Kell. “As you can see, your brother is in one piece, but I’ve got quite a mess to clean up here, so if you’ll excuse us—”
Kell closed his eyes and took a steadying breath. “We’re on our way.”
“Oh no, that won’t be necessary,” said the consort, and before he could explain that it had nothing to do with the latest attempt on Rhy’s life, Alucard Emery lifted the ring from the scrying board, and the image went dark.
“Bastard,” muttered Kell, taking back his own ring. He pushed off the table and made his way back into the galley, sinking onto the bench even though his appetite was thoroughly ruined. Lila took up her apple, and returned to peeling it.
“You know,” she said, “it’s not a terrible idea.” Kell dragged his head up. “I mean,” she went on, carving a piece of apple from the core, “he does make good bait.”
“He’s the king,” said Kell.
“He can’t die,” she shot back, jabbing the air with her knife.
“I’d rather not test the limits of that theory,” he said, remembering the water in his lungs, the pressing dark. “Just because he’s prone to self-destruction—”
Lila snorted. “Have you ever heard the saying about the kettle and the pot?”
Kell scowled, but she just shrugged and popped the slice of apple in her mouth.
V
Alucard drew the dropper from the vial, and watched three dark beads fall and bloom in the glass of pale wine. Behind him, Rhy sat on the edge of their bed, reading the day’s reports as if he hadn’t been stabbed an hour before. He wore only a pair of silk trousers, and his chest was smooth and dark, the signs of his encounter with the Hand already smoothed away like dust instead of mortal wounds.
Alucard turned from the cart, and crossed to the bed, holding out the glass.
“Drink,” he said, less an offer than an order. He was still mad—mad that Rhy had not confided in him. Mad that after all this time, there were moments he could not read the king’s face, did not know the workings of his mind.
Rhy set his work down and took the glass, staring down into the contents. A tonic, meant to ease the body and quiet the mind.
“My nightly poisoner,” he mused, setting the laced wine on the table by the bed. Alucard started to turn away, but Rhy caught his sleeve.
“Alucard.” Just that name, on those lips. It had always been enough to undo him. Or at least to loosen his anger. Rhy saw it, and smiled, pulled him close, ringed fingers tangling in the sides of his robe as he dragged Alucard down into bed. He caught himself, hands sinking into the lush fabric on either side of Rhy’s head.
Rhy reached up, tracing the line of his jaw.
“My heart,” he said softly, gold eyes bright, and Alucard bent to kiss his king, but Rhy’s nose crinkled in distaste. “You smell like the training ground.”
“I planned to wash,” he said, “but a king was busy drowning in the bath.”
“How rude of him,” teased Rhy, fingers splaying across his chest.
“Very rude,” growled Alucard. “He tries my patience every day, the king.”
“He sounds maddening.” Rhy’s hand drifted lower, tracing the muscles of Alucard’s stomach. “And yet you stay. You must love him very much.”