Night of Masks and Knives (The Broken Kingdoms, #4)

by L.J. Andrews

Those were the nights when a poor boy and a forgotten girl dreamed aloud of the new lives they’d live far across the sea. Of good kings and gods’ magic. Tales where they were not hunted, where they were not afraid.

Those were nights when the girl told the boy he was valiant and steady like a raven, and he said she looked as pretty as a rose. The boy whittled them, a raven and rose, then tied the raven to her neck, the rose to his, and told her he’d always keep her secrets. Always.

No one ever said the kind brother would be lost to them. No one mentioned how brave little boys would grow to become killers. Or how sweet little girls would someday be the trickiest of thieves.

The trouble with being an Alver, a user of mesmer, was most of us ended up bartered and indentured to the Lord Magnate Ivar. A man who’d become a wretched connoisseur of Alvers, whose authority was the most feared and most revered in all four regions of the east. Ivar ruled from the Black Palace a hundred lengths away, and I had no plans to be his shiny new ornament.

To survive here, thieves and crooks needed to be clever. Vicious, even. I’d simply made myself cleverer. I’d become more vicious.

The woman died before I could walk. I was left with a man who resented me, and two older step-brothers. One who’d like to slit my throat for the sport of it. The other who loved me well, but had been locked in a Howl sea prison for two turns after a business deal went wrong in a distant kingdom.

A kiss, strange as it seemed, was the swiftest way to take breath. The same as final moments were scoured from the bone of a corpse, a living memory could only be taken through living breath.

All gods. My stepfather was involved heavily in the masque this turn and it was no small feat. The festival was the most anticipated event held at the Black Palace. Folk from all the regions surrounding the Howl came to see fortune tellers and Black Palace Alvers perform. They came to drink and eat, to watch tricks and illusions. To play the game of queens where wretched folk would try to don a boring glass ring.

But buried in the revelry was something more sinister. Folk entered the masquerade, and some never came back out.

the Master of Ceremonies. The villain behind the wretchedness of the Masque av Aska. He was responsible for every corner, every drop of entertainment, everyone who was lost at the masquerade.

shimmering silver cloaks. The color of Rifter mesmer. Wicked magic with the power of breaking bodies.

Most of my life he’d traveled to the Northern Kingdoms on foreign business for House Strom.

Jens did not love me, but he gave me his name, kept me with a roof over my head, and meals in my belly.

“Need something dännisk?” ″Not from you.” Elof didn’t pause his work, but that intoxicating twitch played at his mouth again. “How could you know such a thing?” ″Hmm. Call it a bit of indigestion telling me you would never have anything I want.” ″You speak in such definitive ways. I’ve been told by many I have a talent at delivering one’s deepest desires.”

go to them. Don’t let them suffer, I beg of you. Free them.”

The Guild of Kryv belonged to the Nightrender, a wraith of a man. A crook who hated the Lord Magnate and folk of status. Some called him the dark faerie. A man who’d appear when one’s darkest desires needed to become reality. I believed him to be nothing more than a killer who thrived in chaos.

The trouble came when she’d stepped out of line. If she’d kept her head, if she’d disappeared into the stables, I would not still be fighting this bleeding fight.

because Malevolent mesmer didn’t exist. A myth—it must be. Pure evil and darkness couldn’t survive in one person alone.

when I take memories, I leave only bits and pieces behind, but that is in those who are living. The dead, I only get the final memory.”

The old Alver woman had flipped over one of her mystic wooden runes and told Kase he needed to guard my heart—it’d be his to vow with someday.

Almost the same as peeking into his thoughts, and as if his kiss were a key, my mesmer sparked to life.

That night, with his declaration he’d vow himself to me someday, was the last memory I had of Kase Eriksson.

A heady desire to hear my name from her mouth, a desire to break her;

She needed to despise me, to leave this bleeding place whenever this ended. I could live with her disdain if she drew breath far from the shores of Klockglas. They’d take her in the North. She’d be free to use mesmer in the open. Find some fae to love as devotedly as she did Hagen, as she . . . as she always loved. I had no room in the scabrous, maggot-rotted thing in my chest to be hers anymore.

Made of glass that looked like silver. Runes said to glow gold should fate’s queen return and heal the broken kingdom of the east.

Malin Strom was a thorn in my side. A hope in my heart.

What hurt most was all these turns of bribing and scheming were done for a man who was not worth it.

Once a comfort to imagine the boy I lost. Now, a cruel reminder the boy had grown to be a killer.

″From what I was told it was to keep him from this bleeding festival here. House Strom made an arrangement—should he play and win in the name of the Klockglas, then the Lord Magnate would not punish him for using his mesmer to protect . . .”

Hagen had used his mesmer gift of blocking magic to conceal Kase and me time and again. I never imagined his protection had cost him so much.

Raum can see obstacles at impossible distances and Val can hear the drop of rain ten lengths away. If, of course, they focus, which they often don’t. Bleeding sods.”

Elof was Prince Fell. A secret of the Nightrender unraveled, and I doubted he knew I’d stolen a piece of him in a few breaths.

The killer of the east created illusions, but he’d unmistakably created one around our story. The tale we’d shaped together. As if he, too, still held onto a past he said died long ago. My skin bubbled in angry heat. To sit there and play as if he cared for nothing, well, the Nightrender could hide behind those damn shadows all he wanted. They were not so dark to me anymore.

they were vicious and unforgiving. The same as I tried to be. So, it made little sense to me how a few harrowed glances from a woman who couldn’t even strap her knives correctly had me unsettled and wanting to lash out at anything that moved.

Power over the Nightrender was not something I had. Not the way he had power over me. Kase held a piece of me, and no matter what he’d become, I couldn’t find a way to take it back.

You’re always going to be safe with me, got it?

He’d promised to keep me safe. Brutal as it was, the Nightrender was still keeping his promise.

“When we say we know the Black Palace and its brutality, we do. We broke out and were hunted for turns. The guild was formed out of the need to survive. And just so you know, we wouldn’t have made it without Kase.”

Had she had many lovers? The thought of anyone knowing how soft her skin was, or how the curves of her body felt beneath their hands left me sick with a lust for blood. I was a damn fool.

imagine he’s a sight to see beneath all those battle leathers, don’t you think?” “I’ve never given it much thought.” “Right, and I’m the queen of Skítkast.”

I’d lived a wretched life but had only one regret. I should’ve found a way to tell Malin Strom the truth. About everything.

Twine hung around his neck, and a sob scraped from my throat at the sight of what was on the end. The wooden raven I’d returned, but the second pendant was a terribly shaped rose with rough-cut petals.

I could not lose Malin. Not because she was an Alver. Not because she’d paid the guild her stolen penge. I could not lose her.

“You have withheld something that could change the lives of everyone, something that could change the very fate of this land.”

Oh, and take my advice on something for I am wiser than you—don’t be the Nightrender to her. Be Kase. I think you will be glad you did.”

Truth be told, I didn’t know how to be Kase. Not anymore. But for the first time in turns, I wanted to be.

″I know,” I said. “You put yourself at risk not knowing if I was alive. It was stupid.” ″It was,” she agreed. “Because it turns out you’re quite rude.”

″When you spend turns becoming someone new, facing the past is like a snag in a tapestry. I thought if you hated what I’d become, we would remain distant, and you would not unravel everything I buried long ago.” ″Did it work?” ″No.” I whispered. “You’ve always been my undoing.”

If she hated me, at least I’d still be in her head. What I received was unmistakable need and devotion.

“Set your heroic standards higher. I survive by darkness, Malin. I keep it close, and it keeps me.”