Gathering of Shadows

A Gathering of Shadows

By V.E. Schwab

Kell strolled the Night Market for the first time in weeks.

He'd taken to avoiding such public appearances, his moments of defiance too rare compared to those of self-consciousness. Let the, think what they want was a thought that visited him with far less frequency and force than They see you as a monster.

But he was in need of air and Rhy, for once in his life, was too busy to entertain him. Which was fine. In the growing madness of the approaching games, Kell simply wanted to move, to wander, and so he found himself strolling through the market under the heavy cover of the crowds. The influx of strangers in the city afforded him shelter. There were son many foreigners here for the locals to look at, they were far less likely to notice him. Especially as Kell had taken Rhy's advice and traded his stark black high coat for a dusty blue one more in fashion, and pulled a winter hood up over his reddish hair.

Hastra walked beside him in common clothes. He hadn't tried to ditch his guard tonight, and in return, the young man had agreed to change his red and gold cloak and armor for something less conscious, even if the royal sword still hung sheathed at his side.

Now, as initial hesitation gave way to relief, Kell found himself enjoying the market for the first time in ages, moving through the crowd with a blissful degree of anonymity. It made him impatiens to don the competitor's mask, to become someone else entirely.

Kamerov.

Hastra vanished and reappeared a few minutes later with a cup of spiced wine, offering it to Kell.

“Where is yours?” asked Kell, taking the cup.

Hastra shook his head. “Isn't proper, sir, to drink on guard.”

Kell sighed. He didn't care for the idea of drinking alone, but he was in dire need of the wine. His first stop hadn't been to the market. It had been to the docks. 

And there he'd found the inevitable: dark hull, silver trim, blue sails.

The Night Spire had returned to London.

Which meant that Alucard Emery was here. Somewhere.

Kell had half a mind to sink the ship, but that would only cause trouble, and if Rhy found out, he'd probably throw a tantrum or stab himself out of spite.

So he had settled for glaring at the Spire, and letting his imagination do the rest.

“Are we on a mission, sir?” Hastra had whispered (the young guard was taking his new role as confident and accomplice very seriously.)

“We are,” muttered Kell, feigning severity.

He'd lingered in the shadowed overhang of a shop and scowled at the ship for several long and uneventful minutes before announcing that he needed a drink.

Which was how Kell ended up in the market, sipping his wine and absently scanning the crowds.

“Where's Staff?” he asked. “Did he get tired of being left behind?”

“Actually, I think he's been sent to see to Lord Sol-in-Ar.:

See to? Thought Kell. Was the king that nervous about the Faroan lord?”

He set off again through the market, with Hastra a few strides behind.

Gathering of Shadows. Illustration by Elena.