Read Online Gathering of Shadows (A Darker Shade of Magic) by V.E. Schwab - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: V.E. Schwab
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The pain came again, this time in his lower back, and Kell’s knife was out of its sheath as he stormed into the shadowed canopy, cursing the dense trees, the star-lights in the branches the only source of light. The only other things in these woods were couples entwined.
Dammit
, he cursed, his pulse raging as he doubled back.
He’d learned to keep one of Rhy’s tokens on him, just in case, and he was about to draw blood and summon a finding spell when his scar throbbed in a way that told him the prince was close. He twisted around and could hear a muffled voice through the nearest copse, one that might be Rhy’s; Kell shoved through, expecting a fight, and found something else entirely.
There, on a mossy slope, a half-dressed Rhy was hovering over the girl in white, the blue flower still in her hair, his face buried in her shoulder. Across his bare back, Kell could see scratch marks deep enough to draw blood, and a fresh echo of pain blossomed near Kell’s hips as her nails dug into Rhy’s flesh.
Kell exhaled sharply, in discomfort and relief, and the girl saw him standing there and gasped. Rhy dragged his head up, breathless, and had the audacity to smile.
“You bastard,” hissed Kell.
“Lover?” wondered the girl.
Rhy sank back onto his heels, and then twisted with a languid grace, reclining on the moss. “Brother,” he explained.
“Go,” Kell ordered the girl. She looked disconcerted, but she gathered her dress around her and left all the same, while Rhy got unsteadily to his feet and cast about for his shirt. “I thought you were being attacked!”
“Well …” Rhy slipped the tunic gingerly over his head. “In a way, I was.”
Kell found Rhy’s coat slung over a low branch and thrust it at him. And then he led the prince back through the woods and across the field, past the silver doors, and out into the night. It was a silent procession, but the moment they were free of Splendor, Kell spun on his brother.
“What were you
thinking
?”
“Must you ask?”
Kell shook his head in disbelief. “You are an incomparable ass.”
Rhy only chuckled. “How was I to know she would be so rough with me?”
“I’m going to kill you.”
“You can’t,” said Rhy simply, spreading his arms. “You made sure of it.”
And for an instant, as the words hung in the cloud of his winter breath, the prince seemed genuinely upset. But then the smile was back. “Come on,” he said, slinging an arm around Kell’s shoulders. “I’d had enough of Splendor anyway. Let’s find somewhere more agreeable to drink.”
A light snow began to fall around them, and Rhy sighed. “I don’t suppose you thought to grab my hat?”
III
“Saints,” cursed Rhy, “do
all
the Londons get this cold?”
“As cold,” said Kell as he followed the prince away from the bright beating heart of the city, and down a series of narrower roads. “And colder still.”
As they walked, Kell imagined this London ghosted against the others. Here, they would be coming upon Westminster. There, the stone courtyard where a statue of the Danes once stood.
Rhy’s steps came to a halt ahead, and Kell looked up to see the prince holding open a tavern door. A wooden sign overhead read IS AVEN STRAS .
The Blessed Waters.
Kell swore under his breath. He knew enough about this place to know that they shouldn’t be here.
Rhy
shouldn’t be here. It wasn’t as bad as the Three of Knives in the heart of the
shal
, where the black brands of limiters shone on almost every wrist, or the Jack and All, which had caused so much trouble on their last outing, but the Waters had its own rowdy reputation.
“Tac,”
chided Kell in Arnesian, because this wasn’t the kind of place to speak High Royal.
“What?” asked Rhy innocently, snatching the cap off Kell’s head. “It isn’t Rachenast. And I have business here.”
“What kind of business?” demanded Kell as Rhy settled the hat over his curls, but the prince only
The pain came again, this time in his lower back, and Kell’s knife was out of its sheath as he stormed into the shadowed canopy, cursing the dense trees, the star-lights in the branches the only source of light. The only other things in these woods were couples entwined.
Dammit
, he cursed, his pulse raging as he doubled back.
He’d learned to keep one of Rhy’s tokens on him, just in case, and he was about to draw blood and summon a finding spell when his scar throbbed in a way that told him the prince was close. He twisted around and could hear a muffled voice through the nearest copse, one that might be Rhy’s; Kell shoved through, expecting a fight, and found something else entirely.
There, on a mossy slope, a half-dressed Rhy was hovering over the girl in white, the blue flower still in her hair, his face buried in her shoulder. Across his bare back, Kell could see scratch marks deep enough to draw blood, and a fresh echo of pain blossomed near Kell’s hips as her nails dug into Rhy’s flesh.
Kell exhaled sharply, in discomfort and relief, and the girl saw him standing there and gasped. Rhy dragged his head up, breathless, and had the audacity to smile.
“You bastard,” hissed Kell.
“Lover?” wondered the girl.
Rhy sank back onto his heels, and then twisted with a languid grace, reclining on the moss. “Brother,” he explained.
“Go,” Kell ordered the girl. She looked disconcerted, but she gathered her dress around her and left all the same, while Rhy got unsteadily to his feet and cast about for his shirt. “I thought you were being attacked!”
“Well …” Rhy slipped the tunic gingerly over his head. “In a way, I was.”
Kell found Rhy’s coat slung over a low branch and thrust it at him. And then he led the prince back through the woods and across the field, past the silver doors, and out into the night. It was a silent procession, but the moment they were free of Splendor, Kell spun on his brother.
“What were you
thinking
?”
“Must you ask?”
Kell shook his head in disbelief. “You are an incomparable ass.”
Rhy only chuckled. “How was I to know she would be so rough with me?”
“I’m going to kill you.”
“You can’t,” said Rhy simply, spreading his arms. “You made sure of it.”
And for an instant, as the words hung in the cloud of his winter breath, the prince seemed genuinely upset. But then the smile was back. “Come on,” he said, slinging an arm around Kell’s shoulders. “I’d had enough of Splendor anyway. Let’s find somewhere more agreeable to drink.”
A light snow began to fall around them, and Rhy sighed. “I don’t suppose you thought to grab my hat?”
III
“Saints,” cursed Rhy, “do
all
the Londons get this cold?”
“As cold,” said Kell as he followed the prince away from the bright beating heart of the city, and down a series of narrower roads. “And colder still.”
As they walked, Kell imagined this London ghosted against the others. Here, they would be coming upon Westminster. There, the stone courtyard where a statue of the Danes once stood.
Rhy’s steps came to a halt ahead, and Kell looked up to see the prince holding open a tavern door. A wooden sign overhead read IS AVEN STRAS .
The Blessed Waters.
Kell swore under his breath. He knew enough about this place to know that they shouldn’t be here.
Rhy
shouldn’t be here. It wasn’t as bad as the Three of Knives in the heart of the
shal
, where the black brands of limiters shone on almost every wrist, or the Jack and All, which had caused so much trouble on their last outing, but the Waters had its own rowdy reputation.
“Tac,”
chided Kell in Arnesian, because this wasn’t the kind of place to speak High Royal.
“What?” asked Rhy innocently, snatching the cap off Kell’s head. “It isn’t Rachenast. And I have business here.”
“What kind of business?” demanded Kell as Rhy settled the hat over his curls, but the prince only
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