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Grey for the magic-less city. Red, for the healthy empire. White, for the starving world.
men who waded into waters claiming they could swim should not need a raft.
She dragged her head up and saw Kell standing in the road, the strange magical boy in his black coat, looking breathless and angry. Lila couldn’t believe it. He’d come back. But why had he come back? Before she could ask, he looked straight at her—one eye black and one blue and both wide—and said a single word. “Run.”
“You believe that magic is an equal. A companion. A friend. But it is not. The stone is proof. You are either magic’s master, or its slave.”
“Aren’t you afraid of dying?” he asked Lila now. She looked at him as if it were a strange question. And then she shook her head. “Death comes for everyone,” she said simply. “I’m not afraid of dying. But I am afraid of dying here.”
“I’d rather die on an adventure than live standing still.”
“Love doesn’t keep us from freezing to death, Kell,” she continued, “or starving, or being knifed for the coins in our pocket. Love doesn’t buy us anything, so be glad for what you have and who you have because you may want for things but you need for nothing.”
But Master Kell is aven—blessed—a jewel in our city’s crown. And if you are his, or he is yours, my shop is yours as well.”
“How did you know?” she asked, looking down at the rubble of the queen. “How did you know she wasn’t me?” Kell managed an exhausted smile. “Because she said please.” Lila stared at him, aghast. “Is that a joke?”
Rhy laughed silently. “I apologize for anything I might have done. I was not myself.” “I apologize for shooting you in the leg,” said Lila. “I was myself entirely.”
He would see her again. He knew he would. Magic bent the world. Pulled it into shape. There were fixed points. Most of the time those points were places. But sometimes, rarely, they were people.