A Conjuring of Light (Shades of Magic, #3)

by V.E. Schwab

Delilah Bard—always a thief, recently a magician, and one day, hopefully, a pirate—was running as fast as she could.

But there was no time to think, no time to be afraid, and certainly no time to wait.

The magic sang up her arm, and through her chest, and then the city lurched around her, gravity twisting as the world gave way. Lila thought it would be easy or, at least, simple. Something you either survived, or did not. She was wrong.

It was cowardice, he knew, but cowardice came so much easier than hope.

He’d done everything he could, given up everything he had, to keep it safe. But it still was not enough. Not for the shadow king, who always wanted more, who grew stronger every day and craved chaos, magic in its truest form, power without control.

“Show me you’re not weak!” Kell’s voice pushed through. “Prove you’re not still a slave to someone else’s will!”

You’ve just traded one master for another.

he screamed and screamed and screamed inside his head, until the darkness finally—mercifully—closed over him, forcing him under and down. And this time, Holland didn’t try to surface. This time, he let himself drown.

Spell work was scrawled down the sides of the contraption, and despite the quantity of Kell’s blood smeared on the steel, there was the collar circling his throat, cutting off everything he needed. Everything he had. Everything he was. The collar cast a shadow over his mind, an icy film over his thoughts, cold dread and sorrow and, through it all, an absence of hope. Of strength. Give up, it whispered through his blood. You have nothing. You are nothing. Powerless. He’d never been powerless. He didn’t know how to be powerless. Panic rose in place of magic. He had to get out. Out of this cage. Out of this collar. Out of this world. Rhy had carved a word into his own skin to bring Kell home, and he’d

magic wasn’t like black hair or brown eyes or elevated birth—it didn’t follow the rules of lineage, wasn’t passed down from parent to child. It chose its own course.

Is Anos Vol, read Rhy. The Eternal Flame.

Even at ten and three quarters, Kell’s face had the set of a serious man, down to the furrow between his brows. Kell’s red hair glinted even in the grey morning light, and his eyes—one blue, the other black as night—made people look down, away. Rhy didn’t understand why, but he always made a point of looking his brother in the face, to show Kell it didn’t matter. Eyes were eyes.

“A crown is a sort of magic, if you think about it. A magician rules an element. A king rules an empire.”

“You’re going to be a good king, if you don’t get yourself killed first.”

Others looked at the world and saw light and shadow and color, but Alucard Emery had always been able to see more. Had always been able to see the warp and weft of power, the pattern of magic. Not just the aura of a spell, the residue of an enchantment, but the tint of true magic circling a person, pulsing through their veins.

So she didn’t have a charm to guide her. People were more than what they owned, and surely objects weren’t the only things that held a mark. They were made of pieces, words … memories.

“Names are important,” she said, twirling the cord. “Mine is Ojka, and I have orders to keep you out.” Beyond the doors, Kell let out a scream of frustration, a sob of pain. “My name is Lila Bard,” she answered, drawing her favorite knife, “and I don’t give a damn.”

Lila blinked, dismayed. The bitch had tried to drive a knife through her eye. Fortunately, she’d picked the wrong one.

She tried the handle, but found it locked. There was probably a spell, but Lila didn’t know it, and she was too tired to summon air or wood or anything else, so instead she simply summoned the last of her strength and kicked the door in.

A queen could leave her throne. But a mother never leaves her son.

“My will is magic. And magic is my will.”

When they reached the rooftop doors, Lila grabbed his collar, hauling his face toward hers. Her eyes bore into his, one smooth, the other fractured into shadow and light. Beyond the doors, the scream had stopped. “Are you strong enough to win?” she asked. Was he? This wasn’t a tournament magician. Wasn’t even a sliver of magic like Vitari. Osaron had destroyed an entire world. Changed another on a whim. “I don’t know,” he said honestly. Lila flashed a glimmer of a smile, sharp as glass. “Good,” she answered, pushing open the door. “Only fools are certain.”

Alucard’s eyes were on Rhy’s chest as it rose and fell, a hundred silver threads knitting slowly, slowly back together.

was a natural thing, to kneel, a matter of gravity, of letting your weight carry you down. Most of them wanted to do it; he could feel their submission.

She’d seen so many versions of him in the past few hours. The broken boy. The grieving brother. The determined prince. This Kell was none of those and all of them, and when he kissed her, she tasted pain and fear and desperate hope.

“Life isn’t made of choices,” said Holland. “It’s made of trades. Some are good, some are bad, but they all have a cost.”

“Hatred is a powerful thing,” continued Holland through gritted teeth. “Hold on to it.”