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

by V.E. Schwab

Chest heaving and pulse high, Lila swallowed and said the words, as boldly as she could. Words that belonged only on the lips of a blood magician. An Antari. Like Holland. Like Kell. “As Travars.”

Lila thought it would be easy or, at least, simple. Something you either survived, or did not. She was wrong.

He didn’t want to rule the world. He only wanted to save it.

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

the first thing he felt—the first and last and only thing he felt—was relief. That it was finally over. Only it wasn’t. It is a hard thing, to kill an Antari.

Kell’s heart faltered in his chest. No—not his heart. Rhy’s. A life bound to his with magic he no longer had.

“Take it … off,” choked Kell.

The king’s eyes glowed, as if molten, as he crushed the crown between his hands, and drew it out into a blade. A single, fluid gesture that spoke of days long past, when Maxim Maresh had been the Steel Prince instead of the Golden King.

Rhy always loved coming down here, but Kell thought that what his brother really loved was the going back upstairs afterward, the way he could simply shrug off his surroundings when he was done and trade the dank underbelly for lush robes and spiced tea, having been reminded how lucky he was to be a prince.

“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.”

He could see their magic, pale and shimmering, as it cast its net over the windows and the walls. It looked fragile compared with the heavy shadows that pushed against the glass, wanting in.

His body hurt with the memory of hurting, and he collapsed back against the pillows with a gasp.

You wanted him to kill for me, die for me, protect me at all costs. Well, Mother, you got your wish. You simply failed to realize that that kind of love, that bond, it goes both ways. I would kill for him, and I would die for him, and I will protect him however I am able, from Faro and Vesk, from White London, and Black London, and from you.”

“Sleep is for the rich and the bored,” she’d said. “I am neither, and I know my limits.”

On one side, the promise, on the other, the means. How tempting it had been, to turn the mirror over. Not because she wanted what she’d seen, but simply because there was power in the knowing.

“Master Tieren is wise.” “Master Tieren is a nag,”

Lila had always thought of secrets like gold coins. They could be hoarded, or put to use, but once you spent them, or lost them, it was a beast to get your hands on more.

“And what do you plan to do when she wakes back up?”

“Scars are not shameful,” said Ojka, “not unless you let them be.” The knight straightened. “If you do not wear them, they will wear you.”

“You asked what he wants,” he said. “But for Osaron, it’s not about want so much as need. Fire needs air. Earth needs water. And Osaron needs chaos. He feeds on it, the energy of entropy.”

“Do you truly believe that he’s a god?” Holland rolled his eyes. “It doesn’t matter what someone is. Only what they think they are.”

“Because it could have been me,” said Kell darkly. The words hung between them. “It almost was.”

“Personally,” said Rhy with sudden, hollow lightness, “I’m rather done with dying. It’s begun to lose its charm.”

When none of them moved, Kell sighed. “I want you to remember,” he said, “that I gave you a chance.”

“How do you know that the Sarows is coming.…”

“You don’t get it!” snapped Rhy. “Whatever part of me Osaron could take, it’s already gone.”

Her hands were bandaged, a deep scratch ran along her jaw, and Rhy watched his brother move toward her as naturally as if the world had simply tipped. For Kell, apparently, it had.

“Long story,” he echoed. Lila went to the sideboard to pour herself a drink. “Aren’t they all at this point?”

“Bring me answers,” he warned, “or I will find another way to get them.”

“No,” he cut in. “I will not let them think the Maresh have abandoned them. I will not hide within a warded palace when I can walk without fear through those streets. When I can remind our people that they are not alone, that I am fighting with them, for them. When I may be struck down but rise again and in so doing show them the immortality of hope. That is what I can do for my city, and I will gladly do it. You need not shield me from the darkness. It cannot hurt me anymore. Nothing can.”

“I’ll go with His Highness.” Maxim frowned. “Why should I trust you with my son’s safety?” She tilted her head when she spoke, shifting her dark hair so it framed her shattered eye. In that single defiant gesture, Rhy could see why Kell liked her so. “Why?” she echoed. “Because the shadows can’t touch me, and the fallen won’t. Because I’m good with magic, and better with a blade, and I’ve got more power in my blood than you’ve got in this whole damned palace. Because I’ve no qualms about killing, and on top of it all, I’ve got a knack for keeping your sons—both of them—alive.”

“I’ve never been fond of subtle,” he said.

“You think this is a bad idea,” he said. It wasn’t a question. But it sparked something in Lila, rekindled the fire in her eyes and ignited a grin. “Without a doubt.” “Then why are you smiling?” “Because,” she said, “bad ideas are my favorite kind.”

Lila was the first—the only—person to treat him like he didn’t need saving.

Silvers, that’s what some were calling them, those who’d been burned by Osaron’s magic and survived.

“All alone,” he murmured, breath hitching. “All alone.” “Not anymore,” said the prince.

This is why I run. Because caring was a thing with claws. It sank them in, and didn’t let go. Caring hurt more than a knife to the leg, more than a few broken ribs, more than anything that bled or broke and healed again. Caring didn’t break you clean. It was a bone that didn’t set, a cut that wouldn’t close.

“I’m not looking for kindness, Kell.” Holland tilted his chin up, attention settling on the cell’s high ceiling. “I’m looking to finish what I started.”

That was when she tried to cut his heart out.

The world was decaying, he’d explained. Only instead of going soft, like felled branches on a forest floor, it was going hard, calcifying into something like stone that wasn’t stone at all.

“What are we drinking to?” “The living,” said Rhy. “The dead,” said Alucard and Lila at the same time. “We’re being thorough,” added Rhy.

“You wouldn’t understand,” murmured Alucard. “Maybe if you chose the right words.” “I couldn’t make them short enough.”

He moved in silence, only that creak-creak-creak following him across the room, and then the oomph as he ran into the dresser, the eek of the metal lantern rocking, almost tipping, then humphing back into place, followed by the shhhh of tapers rolling off the table.

My name is Edward Archibald Tuttle, he thought, gripping the dagger, I am the third of that name, and I am not afraid.

“You are guilty of grievous sins against the empire, guilty of practicing forbidden magic, of inciting chaos and ruin, of bringing war.…”

“Gods don’t need bodies, but kings do!

“He designed a device that could be spelled to take and hold a person’s power until the next of kin could lay claim to it.”

The king didn’t look well—dark bruises stood out beneath his eyes, as though he hadn’t slept in days. Not that any of them had, but Lila liked to think she wore fatigue rather well, given her sheer amount of practice.

It was an insult, she knew, for one magician to strike another with a bare fist. As if they weren’t worth the use of power.

Across the room, Alucard folded his arms and scowled at Kell. “This can’t possibly go wrong,” he muttered. “You could stay behind,” snapped Kell. Alucard snorted, Kell seethed, Jasta watched, amused, and Lila poured herself another drink. She had a feeling she was going to need it.