Read Online A Darker Shade of Magic by V.E. Schwab - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: V.E. Schwab
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supplicant.”
Rhy sighed and rubbed his eyes. “I know. I know. I only wish …” he trailed off.
Kell frowned. Rhy looked genuinely upset. “Wish what?”
Rhy’s gaze lifted to meet Kell’s, the pale gold glittering even as a wall went up behind them. “I wish I had a drink,” he said, burying the matter. He shoved up from his chair and crossed the chamber to pour himself one from a sideboard against the wall. “I do try, Kell. I want to be good, or at least better. But we can’t all be …” Rhy took a sip and waved his hand at Kell.
The word he assumed Rhy was looking for was
Antari
. The word he used was
“You.”
“What can I say?” said Kell, running his hand through his hair. “I’m one of a kind.”
“Two of a kind,” corrected Rhy.
Kell’s brow creased. “I’ve been meaning to ask; what was Holland doing here?”
Rhy shrugged and wandered back toward the chest of elements. “The same thing he always is. Delivering mail.” Kell considered the prince. Something was off. Rhy was a notorious fidgeter whenever he was lying, and Kell watched him shift his weight from foot to foot and tap his fingers against the open lid of the chest. But rather than press the issue, Kell let it drop and, instead, reached down and plucked another of the glass balls from the chest, this one filled with water. He balanced it in his palm, fingers splayed.
“You’re trying too hard.” Kell bid the water in the glass to move, and it moved, swirling first loosely within the orb and then faster and tighter, creating a small, contained cyclone.
“That’s because it
is
hard,” said Rhy. “Just because
you
make it look easy doesn’t mean it is.”
Kell wouldn’t tell Rhy that he didn’t even need to speak in order to move the water. That he could simply think the words, feel them, and the element listened, and answered. Whatever flowed through the water—and the sand, and the earth, and the rest—flowed through him, too, and he could will it, as he would a limb, to move for him. The only exception was blood. Though it flowed as readily as the rest, blood itself did not obey the laws of elements—it could not be manipulated, told to move, or forced to still. Blood had a will of its own, and had to be addressed not as an object, but as an equal, an adversary. Which was why
Antari
stood apart. For they alone held dominion not only over elements, but also over blood. Where elemental invocation was designed simply to help the mind focus, to find a personal synchronicity with the magic—it was meditative, a chant as much as a summoning—the
Antari
blood commands were, as the term suggested,
commands
. The words Kell spoke to open doors or heal wounds with his blood were
orders
. And they had to be given in order to be obeyed.
“What’s it like?” asked Rhy out of nowhere.
Kell dragged his attention away from the glass, but the water kept spinning inside it. “What’s what like?”
“Being able to travel. To see the other Londons. What are
they
like?”
Kell hesitated. A scrying table sat against one wall. Unlike the smooth black panels of slate that broadcast messages throughout the city, the table served a different purpose. Instead of stone, it held a shallow pool of still water, enchanted to project one’s ideas, memories, images from their mind onto the surface of the water. It was used for reflection, yes, but also to share one’s thoughts with others, to help when words failed to convey, or simply fell short.
With the table, Kell could show him. Let Rhy see the other Londons as he saw them. A selfish part of Kell wanted to share them with his brother, so that he wouldn’t feel so alone, so that someone else would see, would know. But the thing about people, Kell had discovered, is that they didn’t
really
want to know. They thought they did, but knowing only made them miserable. Why fill up a mind with things you can’t use? Why dwell on places you can’t go? What good would it do Rhy,
Rhy sighed and rubbed his eyes. “I know. I know. I only wish …” he trailed off.
Kell frowned. Rhy looked genuinely upset. “Wish what?”
Rhy’s gaze lifted to meet Kell’s, the pale gold glittering even as a wall went up behind them. “I wish I had a drink,” he said, burying the matter. He shoved up from his chair and crossed the chamber to pour himself one from a sideboard against the wall. “I do try, Kell. I want to be good, or at least better. But we can’t all be …” Rhy took a sip and waved his hand at Kell.
The word he assumed Rhy was looking for was
Antari
. The word he used was
“You.”
“What can I say?” said Kell, running his hand through his hair. “I’m one of a kind.”
“Two of a kind,” corrected Rhy.
Kell’s brow creased. “I’ve been meaning to ask; what was Holland doing here?”
Rhy shrugged and wandered back toward the chest of elements. “The same thing he always is. Delivering mail.” Kell considered the prince. Something was off. Rhy was a notorious fidgeter whenever he was lying, and Kell watched him shift his weight from foot to foot and tap his fingers against the open lid of the chest. But rather than press the issue, Kell let it drop and, instead, reached down and plucked another of the glass balls from the chest, this one filled with water. He balanced it in his palm, fingers splayed.
“You’re trying too hard.” Kell bid the water in the glass to move, and it moved, swirling first loosely within the orb and then faster and tighter, creating a small, contained cyclone.
“That’s because it
is
hard,” said Rhy. “Just because
you
make it look easy doesn’t mean it is.”
Kell wouldn’t tell Rhy that he didn’t even need to speak in order to move the water. That he could simply think the words, feel them, and the element listened, and answered. Whatever flowed through the water—and the sand, and the earth, and the rest—flowed through him, too, and he could will it, as he would a limb, to move for him. The only exception was blood. Though it flowed as readily as the rest, blood itself did not obey the laws of elements—it could not be manipulated, told to move, or forced to still. Blood had a will of its own, and had to be addressed not as an object, but as an equal, an adversary. Which was why
Antari
stood apart. For they alone held dominion not only over elements, but also over blood. Where elemental invocation was designed simply to help the mind focus, to find a personal synchronicity with the magic—it was meditative, a chant as much as a summoning—the
Antari
blood commands were, as the term suggested,
commands
. The words Kell spoke to open doors or heal wounds with his blood were
orders
. And they had to be given in order to be obeyed.
“What’s it like?” asked Rhy out of nowhere.
Kell dragged his attention away from the glass, but the water kept spinning inside it. “What’s what like?”
“Being able to travel. To see the other Londons. What are
they
like?”
Kell hesitated. A scrying table sat against one wall. Unlike the smooth black panels of slate that broadcast messages throughout the city, the table served a different purpose. Instead of stone, it held a shallow pool of still water, enchanted to project one’s ideas, memories, images from their mind onto the surface of the water. It was used for reflection, yes, but also to share one’s thoughts with others, to help when words failed to convey, or simply fell short.
With the table, Kell could show him. Let Rhy see the other Londons as he saw them. A selfish part of Kell wanted to share them with his brother, so that he wouldn’t feel so alone, so that someone else would see, would know. But the thing about people, Kell had discovered, is that they didn’t
really
want to know. They thought they did, but knowing only made them miserable. Why fill up a mind with things you can’t use? Why dwell on places you can’t go? What good would it do Rhy,
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