Chapter Text
Exhausted and aching, Kell forces himself up, crossing to Holland’s body. He takes Holland’s hand, curling his fingers around the spent Vitari. The warmth that lingers in them gives him pause. Holland isn’t dead, not yet. Antari are quite difficult to kill, he had said.
Kell hesitates, watches Holland’s chest weakly rise and fall. How many regrettable choices has he made lately? What’s one more? He fumbles at Holland’s clothes, hand snaking under the shirt collar where he finds a coin, the unpleasant edges of the White London token biting into his hand. One Antari would be trapped in Black London, but perhaps two could make it back.
“What the hell are you doing?” Lila’s voice is as sharp as her blades, like she already knows the answer. She crouches at his side, pain still clinging to her.
“He’s not dead,” Kell says slowly.
“I can fix that.” There’s a knife in Lila’s hand before Kell can blink. He catches her by the wrist.
“I can’t shut him in there. I’m going too.”
“You’ve lost it.” Lila stares at him, incredulous and a little betrayed. “What if you can’t get back? I’m—I can’t…”
Or more than a little betrayed. She’s right. If he tries to save Holland, he could strand all three of them. He could throw everything away on a stupid gamble for a man who had nearly killed him not hours ago. But Holland hadn’t. He had given in. He let Kell win. That shouldn’t have been possible, not with Athos’s brand.
Holland’s hand stirred weakly under Kell’s mismatched eyes fluttered open. Black and green finding black and blue. “Kell… you should’ve finished me.”
Lila looks like she quite agrees, knife still in her hand. Kell sucks in a slow breath. “Is that what you want? To die?”
He’s already given his life to tether Rhy’s, taken the choice away from his brother. Kell doesn’t have another life to give. But if he can save Holland, he has to try. The last two Antari, how lonely it would be to just be one.
Holland breathes, raspy and wet. The hole in his chest isn’t doing him any favors. His eyes flit about, brow furrowing as recognition sets in. “This is… where are they? Astrid and Athos?”
“Dead.”
Surprise flickers across Holland’s face, relief replacing it an instant later. “Good. I would’ve liked to have seen that…”
Lila makes a noise between a laugh and a scoff. She doesn’t understand, Kell isn’t sure she would want to. Barron is still fresh and raw, an open wound.
Kell squeezes Holland’s hand between both of his. “Holland, please. They’re gone, the stone is gone. We need to get rid of it. I can send you with it to Black London, or I can go with you and bring us both back.”
“You know you can’t.” Holland’s eyes narrow, his fingers limp and unmoving around the stone.
“I can’t, but maybe we can. If anyone can get past the locks, it’s us, Holland. But you need to try, you have to live,” Kell says, desperation creeping over him.
Holland looks at him for a painfully long moment, the smallest of furrows between his dark brows. He takes a raspy breath, it still sounds pained. “You are a fool, Kell. But fine. I’ve nowhere else to go.”
Relief and dread rush over Kell in the same instant. Holland’s hand shifts beneath his, finally curling right around the spent stone. One thing sorted. Kell turns to Lila, mouth half forming an apology when one of her hands clamps tight around his wrist, the other around Holland’s. Two sets of mismatched eyes blink at her.
“Lila,” Kell starts. She doesn’t let him finish, her nails digging in.
“You’re not leaving me behind,” she says. “I’ve come this far, what’s one more London?”
“I can’t let you. You’re not—“
“Not like you? I’ve made it here, haven’t I? And look at the pair of you, he’s half dead and you’re not much better.”
Holland coughs, it sounds like there might be a laugh hidden in it. Traitor. Kell shoots him a glare. How have the two of them managed to team up against him? He shuts his eyes, trying to steal himself. But she’s right. Lila shouldn’t have been able to make it this far. A Grey Londoner in Red or White London isn’t possible, and yet, here she is, still bright and burning and defiant.
If any of the three of them have a shot at making it back from Black London, he has a sneaking suspicion she’ll be the one to manage it. He breathes out slow and opens his eyes, jaw set. “Alright. We travel, leave the stone, and come back. No detours, no distractions.”
Lila’s lips press to a thin line as she nods, determination etched into her too young face. Holland’s other hand swings up, covering Kell’s. His grip is still weak, breathing less even than it ought to be, but Kell knows he won’t waver. After all, he’s only done so once before, the only reason Kell is still there now.
They’re all bloodied, so Kell doesn’t even reach for a knife as he focuses on Vitari. “ As Travars .”
For a moment, White London remains still around them, then, suddenly, they’re sinking. Kell has melted through worlds dozens of times before. At first, this feels just the same. Then it shifts. He blinks, eyes wide open, nothing but blackness around him. His mouth opens, but any sound is swallowed up, carried away by the darkness. He’s not in Black London, or White, still in between. Panic rises in his voiceless throat. He’s ruined all of it. It’s not working.
But there’s still a shift of fingers beneath his and nails digging into his wrist. Holland and Lila. Still there, still holding tight to him. Kell shuts his eyes, though it hardly matters. As Travars , he thinks, trying to scream the words.
The ground rushes up sharply beneath his knees and for a moment, he’s winded, toppling back. Kell gasps, acrid air rushing into his lungs. His eyes flutter open and he blinks at a dim, black sky. Black London. He made it. But the others--
Kell scrambles up on his elbows, looking around frantically. “Lila? Holland?”
His words echo in the empty world as he forces himself unsteadily to his feet. No. No he can’t have lost them. Not here, not after everything.
Black London is vast and dark, stretching out around him. If White London is a world stripped of magic, Black London is polluted with it. There’s a sort of static cling to Kell’s fingers and an itch creeping up his spine. The air itself feels thick with it, almost heavy. It strikes him then, the stillness, the quiet. There isn’t any wind. Even in White London, there had been whispers and footsteps in the dark. Here, there’s nothing.
He’s landed in some sort of courtyard, though anything that had grown in it is long dead. Kell takes unsteady steps towards what looks like it might have been a flowering bush. It’s overgrown itself to death. Long rotted flowers cover the ground around it, the vines and leaves growing around each other in a ferocious sort of snarl, the whole thing rotting and dark gray. Something about it turns his stomach. But as he looks closer, a single bud grows and shudders.
And then it blooms, a blood red rose. Kell stares. Black London is dead, everyone knows that. But the bloom grows before his eyes. The smell of it is strange, nothing like the flowers in Red London. It’s sweet, almost sickeningly so. He reaches for it despite himself, fingers rising toward the deep red petals.
“Kell?”
Kell jerks back, turning in a quick circle. That’s Lila’s voice, cutting through the quiet, he’s sure. Almost sure. This London is wrong, broken. It could be a trick.
“Kell, you rat bastard, where are you?” That does sound awfully like Lila though. Maybe it’s worth the risk.
Kell starts toward her voice, stumbling steps carrying him out of the courtyard as he yells back. “Lila? Lila, I’m here!”
The ground is a broken mess of cobblestones and rough earth under his feet. None of the buildings look familiar. Each London is different, but there are always things that mark them, that scream a certain sort of London-ness. Not here. The buildings are all ramshackle and tilted, standing at impossible angles. A slight breeze should knock half of them over. Perhaps that’s why there’s not so much as a breath of wind.
Kell staggers around the corner, gripping at the off kilter building beside him as he startles to a halt. Lila’s kneeling over Holland, red up to the elbows, hands pressing to Holland’s spasming chest. He shakes off the shock, if not the panic, and darts over, sinking to his knees opposite her. “What happened?”
“I don’t fucking know,” she spits out the words, anger apparently rising to the top, her eyes still fixed on Holland’s jerking, writhing form. “We landed and he said he heard a voice and then started having a fit.”
“A voice?” Kell shakes himself. That can wait. He shuffles on his knees, lifting Holland’s head onto his lap, trying to steady him. His hands fall to Holland’s face, fingers pressing to his neck, finding a frantic, thumping pulse there. He can’t begin to guess if that’s better or worse than the faint one from before. “Holland, can you hear me?”
The question feels stupid as soon as it leaves his mouth. Holland had been dying in White London, and somehow Kell’s made it worse bringing him here. His eyes flutter, the green one dazed, unfocused. Holland coughs and sputters, blood flecking his chin and Kell’s eyes shoot wide. “He’s choking, turn him on his side, quick!”
Lila doesn’t bother arguing, her bloodied hands leaving great prints all over Holland’s shirt as she helps Kell roll him to his side. One of her hands presses back to the wound at his chest.
“It’s too much blood,” she mutters, shaking her head. She’s right. It’s pooling beneath Holland, enough to fill a small pond. How he has any left at all is a mystery.
The blood seeps into the ground and Kell stares, mouth falling open. Beneath Holland, the blackened ground turns green. It drinks up the blood, sprouting grass and clovers. A breeze plucks at Kell’s hair and he shivers. That’s wrong. This is wrong. He looks to Lila and freezes when she looks back.
“Lila, your eyes--”
She blinks at him, incredulous. “What about them?”
Kell stares. No… no he must have imagined it. Lila’s brown eyes stare back at him, one slightly lighter than the other, the way they’ve always looked. He shakes himself. This place, it has to be getting to him. “Nothing, I don’t know. I thought I saw--it doesn’t matter.”
For a split second, the briefest instant, Kell had been sure one of Lila’s eyes was as solid black as his own.
Between them, Holland takes a great shuddering breath and finally falls still. Kell’s heart rises into his throat. No. Not now. He pulls at Holland’s shoulders, tugging him back onto his lap. His fingers feel for a pulse and his own misses a beat. Nothing. A heavy weight sinks onto Kell’s shoulders as he screws up his face. He’s failed. He can’t save Holland. And now he’s trapped Lila here as well. She’s going to die here and Rhy will die two Londons away.
“Kell,” Lila says, something like confusion in her voice.
“It’s too late. He’s gone. You were right--”
“Kell, shut up and look.” The bite in Lila’s voice makes him open his eyes and obey. He follows her gaze to Holland’s chest. Wind whips around them again and Kell’s mouth falls open.
The hole in Holland’s chest is closing. Muscle and bone and sinew move like growing vines, coiling back together, sealing itself up. Skin slithers over the top, a mess of tangled, snarled scar tissue. Kell can’t help thinking of the overgrown, rotting bush.
Holland’s chest goes still then slowly rises and falls. With a choking, shaking gasp, Holland opens his eyes, his hands scratching at the ground beside him, panicked. Kell steadies him, hands on his shoulders. Holland clutches at him, seemingly on impulse, his eyes still wild with shock.
“It’s alright, Holland. You’re alright,” Kell says, not quite believing it. One of his hands shifts from Holland’s shoulder to the side of his neck. His pulse is hammering, his skin warm, almost feverish. Maybe he’s not alright. Kell doesn’t say so.
Holland takes a few breaths, his eyes finally focusing on Kell’s face. His brow furrows and slowly calm comes back to his face. “Did you hear them?”
Kell slowly shakes his head. “I haven’t heard anyone but you and Lila.”
A frown tugs at Holland’s lips, but he doesn’t ask again. He shifts, making to sit up, pain flashing across his face. Kell’s arms go around Holland’s shoulders, steadying.
Lila’s already up and wandering. Even she seems hesitant to go far. She slowly turns back toward them. “So, what now? Back to White London? Or do we follow his garden path?”
Kell stares at her, brows knitting together until she nods at the patch of earth beneath Holland. She’s right. The patch of green stretches out a long, thin tendril, new grass poking up between dead dirt and rock. It’s fresh and smells like spring. Kell doesn’t trust it for a second. “We brought the stone back… didn’t we?”
Holland shifts against him, holding up the stone in one bloody hand. Kell doesn’t have to touch it to know it’s still empty, the pull of it long gone. A slight breath of relief slips from his lips. At least that’s done.
“Then we need to find our way out,” Kell says. “If anything here is speaking, I think it’s best if we don’t listen.”
Lila crosses her arms, frowning at him. “Don’t go getting all sensible on me.”
“I’m always sensible.” Not entirely true, particularly not today, but it’s been a very, very long day. Kell’s certain he deserves a pass.
“Kell’s lies aside,” Holland says, pain lacing his words as he shifts unsteadily onto one knee. “We ought to make our way back. Preferably before I die.”
Holland’s balance seems to waver. Kell’s at his side in an instant, catching his shoulders before he topples over. “But your wound--it’s closed itself.”
“Has it?” Holland sounds almost surprised, patting at his chest. “Strange. Your doing, I take it?”
Kell has to grimace. “No. It just… healed on its own…”
Holland’s lips press to a thin line. Kell can practically hear his thoughts. That sort of magic doesn’t come from nowhere, and it doesn’t come without a price. The wind tugs at Kell’s coat and he wants nothing more than to be back in Red London.
“We’ll have Master Tieren look at you,” Kell says, pulling Holland’s arm over his shoulders and helping him stagger to his feet. “I’ve got a coin for White London. If we both travel at the same time, we might get past the locks.”
Holland looks less than convinced, that small furrow still between his brows. “You think it’s going to be so easy?”
Kell huffs out a breath. “Do you have a better plan?”
“Not particularly. But we ought to find our other passenger before we try,” Holland says, a wry note creeping into his voice.
Kell’s eyes widen as he looks around sharply. No sign of Lila. Sanct . He can’t take his eyes off her for a second. Turning as best he can with Holland’s weight at his side--a shockingly light weight for a man his height--Kell looks around, furious and frantic. A hint of dark movement catches his eyes, a figure in a dark coat following the trail of greenery. Kell curses under his breath.
“Can you walk?” His eyes flick over Holland, half debating leaving him there.
But Holland takes a deep breath and steps forward, his legs holding firm, still leaning on Kell’s shoulders. “Well enough for this.”
“Good.”
Kell starts along the trail of green, arm locked firmly around Holland’s upper back. He tries not to think, to let his mind drift only hours earlier, to holding his brother much the same. Holland’s steps are at least steadier, stronger than Rhy’s, though his face is pale, jaw clenched. Still dying , whispers a wretched part of Kell’s mind that he does his best to silence.
Their pace is slower than Kell likes, but as long as Lila remains on the green path, they’ll likely find her at the end of it. He keeps his eyes focused ahead, searching out the dark coat disappearing around corners and down alleyways. To his credit, Holland’s strides are long if not quick, though his breath comes in uneven puffs and pained hisses. He never complains, never asks Kell to slow.
The green leads them to a river and Kell wishes it was a surprise. Black London is a more apt title than he ever could have guessed. The river that isn’t the Thames or the Isle or the Sijlt is dark, deep, and blacker than night. It’s still, impossibly so, looking more like glass than water. Kell doesn’t want to look at it a second longer than necessary. He doesn’t want to look at the buildings or the sky or the green beneath their feet.
Every inch of Black London feels like the stone. Vitari. Magic, pure magic.
More and more, Kell feels it. The pull. He hadn’t understood, not really. Even with the stone tugging at him, trying to draw him in, he couldn’t quite see how an entire world could fall to magic. Now though, he knows. And it’s all he can do to keep his eyes from drifting, to put one foot in front of the other.
Holland’s foot catches a loose bit of earth and they both stumble, Kell just barely managing to keep them upright. “Stay with me, Holland.”
Holland breathes out shakily, it almost sounds like a laugh. “I’ve nowhere else to go. I am fine.”
He isn’t, but Kell presses on. Holland gets no lighter at his side, but his steps don’t falter again, his breathing still uneven and pained. Kell tries not to think about the root of it, about the metal rod he had forced through Holland’s chest. There’s too much guilt clinging to him, anymore might stop him dead.
The thin strand of greenery winds between buildings and over bridges, taking them down a skinny alleyway before emerging onto a main thoroughfare. Kell curses under his breath as his eyes follow where it leads. He should have known this London would have a palace as well. And the line of green leads right up its steps, to where Lila is pushing the doors open wide.
“Lila!” Kell yells, but the wind suddenly rushes past him, whipping away his voice, the sound not reaching nearly far enough. Lila disappears into the palace, the doors still open behind her. He grimaces, readjusting Holland’s arm more tightly over his shoulders.
His eyes stay fixed on the open doors, but he can’t help noticing the wind. There had been none, but now it seems steady, if strange. It brushes past his ears toward the palace, then away, then back toward the open doors, then away once more. Kell tries not to let his steps hitch as the thought crosses his mind. Almost like it’s breathing. And the pull, he tries not to notice, tugs in time. A heartbeat.
The people of Black London may be long dead, but Kell knows as he hauls Holland up the palace steps, something here still lives.
His eyes flit to Holland as they reach the top step. A trickle of sweat rolls down Holland’s temple, but he meets Kell’s gaze unflinching and nods. Kell squares his shoulders and strides through the doors, Holland’s firm weight at his side.
The palace looks to be carved from black glass, the surfaces polished to mirror like perfection. Kell casts a glance about and nearly stumbles. His reflection looks back at him, two black eyes blinking from the glass. Lila’s voice pulls him forward, makes him break the reflection’s stare.
She isn’t far. The entryway leads straight into a throne room, a grand, high ceiling stretching up above them. Kell’s brow furrows as he stares past Lila to the throne. A figure sits there--no, a statue. But the most lively statue he’s ever seen. It’s black glass like the palace, except the eyes. The eyes are alive. As Kell and Holland draw closer, the eyes flick to them and Kell feels the pull pulse, sharper, stronger than before.
Antari , says the statue, its voice ringing inside Kell’s mind. Holland stiffens at his side and Kell swallows hard.
It knows them. And… Kell knows it. “Vitari.”
There’s a ripple in the wind, like the statue is laughing at him. No, not Vitari. Vitari was merely a piece of me.
Kell feels the color drain out of his face. A piece? Just part of this… creature?
“ Oshoc ,” mutters Holland, demon . Kell doesn’t look at him, but Holland’s fingers have curled almost painfully tight where they grip at him.
“Then what are you? Who are you?” Kell's voice at least sounds sure, unwavering.
You may call me Osaron. I am a king , the statue answers. Welcome, Antari .
The statue, the oshoc, Osaron stares into him. Kell can’t look away, can’t shake the feeling of being seen, body and soul. “Lila,” he says, hating the quiver in his voice, “we need to go.”
Lila doesn’t move, her eyes locked on the statue as well. Her hands are white knuckled fists at her sides. Dread rushes over Kell, white and hot. Holland is too still at his side, his breathing ragged. Osaron must be speaking to them too.
“What happened here? To this city?” Holland demands. The wind ripples and twists, for a moment, Kell could almost swear the statue frowns. “Did you kill it?”
Kell doesn’t hear the answer, he doesn’t want to. He’s certain he already knows. He takes a half step back. “Holland… don’t.”
You misjudge, Antari , Osaron says in his head. I can help you. I healed him, I can heal you, cleave your bond and make it right .
Kell’s hand flies to the mark over his heart. Rhy.
I can make him whole again. I can set you free . Osaron’s voice is honey sweet, dripping like melting wax.
There’s a lump in Kell’s throat he works to swallow. It’s a trick, a trap. “Don’t listen,” he hisses. “Whatever it promises you, whatever it offers--”
Your memories, Antari , Osaron says. I can bring them back. Don’t you want to know who you truly are?
Kell’s breath catches in his throat. It’s a lie, he thinks. All of it. But the pull, the warm, pulsing tug of it… Rhy could live, safe and free, and he could know the truth, learn who he was always meant to be.
“What do you want for it?” Lila’s voice cuts through the haze. There’s a waver to her voice, a want.
Osaron speaks and Kell’s certain they all hear the same. To live. To leave this place. I’ve learned… how to be careful. I will be gentle with your world .
Kell’s blood runs cold. This thing, Osaron, set free in Red London. Nothing is worth that. Not freedom. Not his life… not any other.
Images press into his mind unbidden. Rhy, healthy and whole, waving him off with a smile. The world opening up before him, the mountains of Vesk, the sun shining down on Faro. A nameless woman with copper colored hair and eyes like the sky, opening her arms to him, welcoming him home.
“No!” He yells as he shakes his head, forcing the thoughts away. They aren’t real, they can’t be. Even if they could be… the cost. It’s too great. Too much. More than he has any right to give.
Kell opens his eyes, jaw set and defiant. But Osaron isn’t looking at him anymore. Its gaze flits between Lila to his right and Holland to his left. Gray smoke pours from the statue’s hands and curls across the floor, a thin tendril snaking toward Lila’s ankle, another creeping across black glass tile towards Holland’s shaking legs.
With a sharp jerk, Kell tugs Holland back. “Don’t. Holland, you can’t. You told me, didn’t you? Letting it in is to lose. Whatever it says--whatever it promises, you can’t believe it.”
Holland’s eyes remain locked with Osaron’s, the smoke creeping ever closer. Sanct . Kell wracks his brain, what can he do? The fight with Athos and Holland before, forcing Vitari out had drained him. His magic is there, but every bit of him aches, nearly spent. There has to be something--
But then Holland blinks. He jerks his head to the side, eyes still shut, a soft, pained noise slipping from his lips before they press to a hard line. “Enough,” he says, voice low, coated in gravel and blood. “You ask too much.”
There’s no time for Kell to revel in the relief as the smoke retreats from Holland. It’s still coiled at Lila’s feet.
“Lila,” Kell says, half gasping out her name. “Don’t--”
“I don’t need you to tell me,” Lila says, knives back in her voice. Her eyes are bright and burning as she lifts up a hand. “And I don’t need some shadow of a dead bastard telling me what I am.”
For an instant, the wind stills, the shadows retreat. The black smoke curls like hissing snakes at the shadow’s feet. Antari , Osaron whispers, I want a deal .
The smoke coils tight, then it surges. Kell stumbles back, Holland’s unsteady legs faltering at his side. It’s coming too fast. He can’t run like this, not properly, not without leaving Holland to the shadows. There has to be something, anything. He fumbles for the White London coin in his pocket.
Then, three very strange things happen.
Lila steps quick and steady into the shadow’s path. She lifts one arm, the other still limp at her side and a wall of fire rises with the motion, stopping the shadow in its tracks. She looks over her shoulder and Kell more sees the word on her lips than hears it. “ Run .”
Kell doesn’t need to be told twice. He tries to turn, frantic and scrambling. Holland’s legs have nearly gone out from under him. But he steadies and Kell looks across him to find Lila forcing herself under Holland’s arm. She shoots Kell a glare that could mean a dozen things, but he only nods back before helping her propel the three of them forward.
Their feet stumble and clatter across the black glass of the palace floor. Flames and shadows roar behind them. Kell tries not to think of how close they sound. The doors are still open ahead of them, though the wind starts tugging them shut. Too fast.
“Leave me,” Holland whispers, voice rasping. “Go.”
“Shut up,” Lila snaps at him before Kell has the chance. “You want to die so bad, I’ll kill you myself once we’re out.”
Holland makes a noise that, any other moment, Kell might call a chuckle. Another stumble and Holland finds his legs beneath him again. But the shadows are just behind them, licking at every heel.
They’re close, less than a meter from the door. They’ll make it, just a bit more.
A biting cold closes around Kell’s leg and yanks him back. He staggers, trying to shake it off as Lila and Holland jerk violently forward at his side. Kell swings his hand desperately out of his pocket, hurling a heated burst of air at the shadow. It recoils and Kell barely has the time to acknowledge the sound of something small and metallic rolling across the floor as he and Lila force all three of them out the door just before it slams shut.
They stagger three steps down before it registers and Kell feels his heart sink. His hand pats at his pocket again. Empty. The coin. He looks to Lila, eyes wild and panicked. Her eyes are on the city before them. “Where do we go? Where can we travel from?”
“We can’t,” Kell says, pained.
Holland and Lila both turn to him sharply. Lila finds her voice first. “What do you mean we can’t?”
“The coin--I lost it. I need something of White London--”
Lila’s already digging through her pockets. She reaches across Holland pressing something, a jagged white stone, into his hand. Kell blinks at it. “What’s this?”
“It’s from White London. You just need a token, right? Will that do?”
Kell takes a breath, trying to fight down panic. He nods. “It should. Now we need a place.”
Lila casts her eyes back toward the door. “We don’t exactly have the time. Just do it here.”
She’s right. Black smoke creeps along the underside of the door, along the sides. It’ll be on them soon. Kell’s tongue drags across his lips uncertainly. “There’s no telling where we might land.”
“I think anywhere is better than here. Just do it,” Lila snaps.
“She’s right.” Holland sounds steadier now, even as he lets his arms slip from both of their shoulders and sinks to his knees on the steps. He takes a rattling breath and holds up a hand. “I assume one of you has a knife.”
Lila has one in his hand before Kell can blink as she drops to a crouch beside Holland. Kell has little choice but to drop alongside them, following the blade as Holland draws it along the back of his forearm, through dozens of faded scars. He passes the knife to Kell and begins drawing a symbol, muttering something under his breath.
Kell draws the knife across his palm and barely has time to blink before it’s out of his hand and in Lila’s. He stares as she drags it across her own hand as well. She meets his eyes with a wild, half crazed smile. The question must show on his face, because she just shrugs at him. “Figure it can’t make things any worse.”
She might be right about that.
“It’s ready,” Holland says, drawing Kell’s eyes to the symbol.
It’s careful, strangely intricate, moreso that Kell typically makes his own. Holland presses a blood covered palm to the symbol and nods to both of them. Kell presses his hand and the chunk of strange white stone to it as well, Lila’s hand falling just beside his a moment later. Kell isn’t sure which of them says it. Perhaps they all do.
“ As Travars .”
The pull is quick and violent this time. One moment, Kell is looking at the black stained steps of the palace, the next, he’s flat on his back staring up at a colorless sky. There’s a wheeze somewhere to his left, and a shocked, triumphant laugh to his right.
With a groan of effort, Kell pushes himself up on his elbows. He knows White London in an instant, though, as he glances around, he’s certain he’s never seen this particular alleyway before. Lila gives him a peculiar grin as he looks her way. There’s something sharp still in his hand. Kell inspects the piece of White London, brow furrowing.
“Lila,” he says slowly, still feeling a bit dazed. “What is this exactly?”
Lila laughs like a fire coming to life as she snatches it out of his hand and tucks it back into a pocket of her coat. “I didn’t think you’d want to know you were traveling with a piece of Astrid Dane.”
The wheezing turns into a soft, breathless laugh. Kell glances over and finds Holland sprawled on the ground, faintly shaking his head. “I knew I should’ve seen it myself.”
Holland’s eyes slip shut, but his chest keeps rising and falling. Kell lets him lay there for a moment. They need a breath, all of them. But soon enough, they’ll need to rise again and travel once more.
Red London is calling him home. And he’s certain there’s another storm waiting.