A Darker Shade of Magic

The prince ended nearly every sentence with a period. Even the questions. Rhy was the same way, and Kell thought it must simply be a by-product of never being told no.

but men who waded into waters claiming they could swim should not need a raft

For the ones who dream of stranger worlds

I’m not bitter,” grumbled Parrish back. “I’m broke.”

And Antari could speak to blood. To life. To magic itself. The first and final element, the one that lived in all and was of none.

He was, after all, Antari.

Kell it felt like more, like a friend, like family. It was, after all, a part of him (much more than it was a part of most) and he couldn’t help feeling like it knew what he was saying, what he was feeling, not only when he summoned it, but always, in every heartbeat and every breath.

Is it true?” the Enthusiast persisted. “What they say?”

“Depends on who’s talking,” said Kell, closing the box, sliding the lid and clasp back into place, “and what’s being said.” He had done this dance a hundred times. Out of the corner of his blue eye he watched the man’s lips choreograph his next move. If he’d been a Collector, Kell might have cut him some slack, but men who waded into waters claiming they could swim should not need a raft.

“That you bring things,” said the Enthusiast, eyes darting around the tavern. “Things from other places.”

Kell took a sip of his drink, and the Enthusiast took his silence for assent.

“I suppose I should introduce myself,” the man went on. “Edward Archibald Tuttle, the third. But I go by Ned.” Kell raised a brow. The young Enthusiast was obviously waiting for him to respond with an introduction of his own, but as the man clearly already had a notion

Magic made things simple.

Not so and you know it,” grumbled the old king. “Turn out your pockets.”

Kell sighed. “You’ll get me in trouble.”

“Come, come,” said the king. “Our little secret.”