Eva always said Aunt Cata tended to monitor Soltair with a tighter fist, which Daron found ironic as Aunt Cata had looked to Eva as her successor. Even he couldn’t deny she was a more obvious choice; more naturally talented and quick-thinking, strategic and powerful.
Without her, the pressure was on him, and his aunt’s weekly letters had burned a hole in his courier case every time one arrived. Opened, but unanswered.
“It’s definitely an option.” Daron’s gaze dropped to where she’d folded back her cuffs to expose the delicate white skin beneath. “How’s your wrist?”
“Oh, much better!” Janette’s spark of delight soured almost instantly. “No apology from her, of course.”
He resisted looking at Kallia. The challenge of the night for him, it seemed. “For what?”
“The candle.” With a huff, she smoothed out her dress’s skirt. “Squandering magic on such pettiness. Can you believe it?”
She spoke of magic like it was hers to speak of. He bit the inside of his cheek. “No, I can’t.”
In a curious flash, Janette’s demeanor went from sweet to assessing as a spider. “You know what the judges say about you? That despite your past and your family, you’re something of a monk magician now.”
Heat abruptly raced up his neck. He glanced at the others, holding back a glare.
Petty gossips.
“They say you don’t use magic anymore. Wastefully, at least.”
“They don’t know me.” He spoke tersely, just as her fingers trailed over his wrist.
“Well, if it were true,” she said, humoring him, “I’d find it admirable. Magic could be used for so much more than tricks on a stage. Father told me all about her gaudy audition—imagine how fire like that could warm a home, burn waste, anything!”
“We have labor magicians who choose that sort of work.” Daron withdrew his hand to reach for his drink. Her talk was out of touch, like the beliefs of those long ago who didn’t understand that magicians were more than just chattel to put to work. That their magic was not simply there to be used for those without.
Soltair had moved forward from that thinking. Except for Glorian, apparently.
“Sure, but why waste power for some vanity show?” Janette growled as she unfolded her wrist cuffs. “This town has not seen magic for ages, and we’ve survived. It’s nothing but a mistake to start again.”
He almost pressed her for more on what she’d meant, but she’d already begun talking up the other magician near her. The moment, lost.
Glumly, Daron turned back to his plate. He wasn’t very good at this. After years of interacting with only his house staff, with his butler, Gastav, he’d grown rusty in the ways of cunning conversation. Not that he was an expert in the first place. But here, he came off even more graceless than usual. The Patrons might’ve gotten him this far, but it did not guarantee smoothness.
This pointless dinner had ended up being more of a trial than he’d imagined. Daron only attended in hopes of hearing more about Glorian. Unfortunately, it turned into a night of meaningless talk about places outside of the city. As well as prying into his showman’s past and family, which he artfully dodged. A skill he’d acquired through no grace at all, but necessity.
If Daron had taken a drink for every time someone dropped his stage name or the Patrons, they’d have to cart him back to his room.
“Got any plans after this, Daring?” Ives nudged his shoulder with a hushed whisper. “Some of the gents and I were thinking of having some fun. Come out with us tonight.”
His brow jutted up high. “In Glorian? Doesn’t seem like there’s much of a nightlife here at all.” Not much of a day life, either.
“No, not in the city.” Ives winked, with a warning nod the mayor’s way. His voice dropped lower. “There’s a club out in the Woods. Best kept secret in town.”
Daron couldn’t think of a more unappealing idea. “Sorry, don’t think I’ll be able to join.”
“Oh, come on,” Ives drawled. “You need to let loose a little!”
Monk magician. He wouldn’t be surprised if this contestant threw the term around behind his back with everyone else. As if he gave a damn about it. Or some nightclub in a cursed forest. He wasn’t that kind of magician anymore.
Without a second thought, Daron placed his napkin over his plate.
“Turning in so soon, Demarco?” the mayor observed, red-cheeked and rather loudly, enough to rouse the whole table’s attention.
Daron only continued buttoning up his jacket. “Thank you for the meal, Mayor Eilin, but I’m not sure I have room for much more.”
“Nonsense! We were just about to run through the layout of the competition. Can’t imagine you’d want to miss that, for how eager you’ve been to judge and all.”
Eager. A generous word.
“Oh, if the pup wants to go, let him,” Judge Bouquet muttered, dabbing at his mouth with a napkin. “Not everything can be fun and games. We’ve got important business to discuss here.”
Daron’s fingers paused. Rather than stalk back to his room, he very deliberately unbuttoned his jacket and lowered back into his seat. “I would hate to miss it, then.”
The bite in his reply irked the old judge all the same. The rest of the table saw nothing of it, pressing closer as the mayor began to rise.
Erasmus triumphantly shot up first.
“Congratulations, contestants,” he said, beaming. “You ten have made it here from all corners of Soltair to be a part of something truly spectacular. Over the years, I’ve put on grand caravans of side acts, large-scale theatricals, and all manner of shows to entertain and amaze, but never one like this. A competitive audition, live to the public, to reveal who will be crowned as the next headlining act in my Conquering Circus.”
A small chill ran down Daron’s spine at the ringleader’s words, and a quick glance across the table was proof the effect was not lost on anyone. Especially Kallia, who bore the hungriest expression from her eyes alone, burning with a hope that charged the room.
“Over the next month, our competition will consist of three acts. The remaining contestants, determined by voters’ choice and judges’ scores—with the first round shaving off three of the weakest showmen. After the second, another three,” Erasmus continued. “And the last performance, the mentor round, will be overseen by the audience who’ll then choose my future headliner.”
Daron stiffened. “Mentor round?”
“We can’t have the judges sitting behind a table the whole time, can we?” chortled Erasmus. “The mayor and myself aside, you four will pair up with the final four competitors to craft their grand finale. Imagine how fun it will be, to see you take the stage once more!”
Fun. Just imagining the last time he’d been on stage almost sent him fleeing. The other three judges, retired much longer than he, appeared just as displeased. No one hung up their top hats for good only to don them again.
“We’ll discuss it more later.” The mayor eyed them all in reassurance. “Since it’s still a ways off, we’re open to change. Right, Rayne?”
A long pause stretched in the air before Erasmus straightened his gaudy orange bow tie, tight-lipped. “Of course,” he said. “Though, before we move forward, I do have one simple request that I’m afraid cannot be negotiated.”
The proprietor slid from his coat pocket a narrow scroll of purple-tinted paper that unrolled all the way to the floor. “The Conquerors Contract.”
The length made Daron’s stomach drop. From where he sat, the lighting only bore glimmers of the fine print and text blocks spanning the scroll. At the bottom, by his feet, he found a row of blank lines. One for each participant.
“Excuse me?” Mayor Eilin snatched the paper from Erasmus’s hand, squinting hard at the text. “Y-you said nothing of a contract.”
“Really, have you fallen that out of touch with the world that you’ve forgotten the basic principles of business? Contracts exist for a reason. For records and protection. Reassura
nce,” Erasmus listed, nonchalant. “I never start a venture without one. All my performers had to sign as soon as they entered my troupe. It’s standard procedure.”
“Yes, but what’s the catch?” The mayor frantically skimmed. “I’ll have to take time going over this—”
“Honestly, Eilin, it only says our party here agrees to play and will stay for the duration of the game. Forgive me if I’d rather not take your word for it.”
“Then why is the contract so bloody long?”
“After much experience, I am very thorough with every scenario. Cheaters I can stand, because they make things interesting. But nothing ruins a good show more than deserters who think running is a better fate than losing.” Erasmus scoffed. “That, I think, we can all agree on.”
Every muscle in Daron tensed. He hadn’t planned on staying in Glorian longer than he needed to. “And if we don’t sign?”
Silence hardened the air, before a long, expectant sigh.
“I’m sparing no expense for this. The least you can do is spare a signature.” Erasmus, a businessman to the core, tilted his shrewd gaze at the mayor. “Or the show won’t go on. And you’ll have to explain to your people why they’ll no longer have a city when it’s reduced to nothing but a block of ice in a cursed forest.”
Mayor Eilin appeared more stricken than before. Face pale, frozen in thought. Daron almost felt bad for the man carrying the deadweight of Glorian on his shoulders, trying in vain to revive it.
The candles flickered, as if moved by the sweeping chill, when the mayor finally exhaled and thrust an open palm toward Erasmus. “I assume you brought a pen?”
11
Kallia had only ever signed her name in journals. She’d filled every line, every space and corner, until the strokes and loops of her name drowned all the pages within stacks of diaries. All practice for the hurried autographs for her crowded audiences one day.
She’d perfected her signature so many times that the moment she needed to sign for her place in the game, it didn’t feel real.
“I’m all about doing whatever’s necessary, boss,” Aaros whispered. “But even you have to admit this seems horribly—”
“I know.” Her fingertip traced the the scrawls of contestants and judges already lining the bottom of the contract. “But if I don’t sign, there is no show.”
And no show meant no home, no money, no future.
Nothing.
Jaw tight, she penned her name on the next empty line. The finality of it pricked at her with a heavy, sinking weight. Still, the sight of her looped letters gave way to an odd surge of glee that pierced through it all.
No turning back now.
“Now that the boring business part is taken care of…” Erasmus rolled up the scroll once all names were signed. He slid it back into his pocket with a clap. “No one enjoys a silent meal. Eilin, you’re up.”
“Oh, is it finally my turn to host?” The mayor’s question bit with sarcasm.
“Yes,” Erasmus said, oblivious. “Entertain us with a story.”
“I have no stories.”
“Oh, sure you do. We’re living right in the heart of it!” The proprietor gestured around him before steepling his fingers. “Not even my best sources have been able to dig up much on this place, which only increased my curiosity. If I’m going to save a city from ruin, it’d be nice to know more than its name.”
Murmurs rippled across the room, a shift that swept the previous uneasiness away. All her life, the only thing Kallia had known about Glorian was that it was forbidden. Like a whole other world rather than the next city over. Hushing it all up, pretending it wasn’t there, only gave it more life.
All eyes focused on the mayor. Even Demarco looked rapt, barely touching his dessert.
“This is ludicrous,” Janette huffed, resting a hand on her father’s arm. “We are not fodder for your gossip vine.”
“Fear the pesky journalists, then,” Erasmus advised. “I’m not looking for gossip. Just answers. Anything, really.”
“The world does seem to have a sick fascination with us, don’t they?” The mayor gently pushed his daughter’s hand away. After taking a generous sip of his wine, he reached into his coat pocket, holding out a card that, when fanned out, became four. “Upon entering Glorian, you must’ve noticed our gates. We were once a city built around four suits of cards. Four suits for four families, each with their own corner of Glorian,” he said. “The Ranzas, the Vierras, the Fravardis, and the Alastors.”
At each name, he dropped a card. One with the symbol of a triangle at its corner, then a star, a square, and a circle. The black-rusted gates flashed in Kallia’s mind, their shapes cast from the cards on the table.
“Allegedly, my family’s blood has some Fravardi in it. They were the noble guards of Glorian. No natural magic in their blood, but they did possess the magician’s touch. A duty to the community.” Pride shone in his eyes. “They became one of the first teachers of acquired magic.”
“So you practice magic, Mayor Eilin?” Demarco asked.
“Oh goodness, no. I don’t have the skill, or the desire.” The mayor shrugged. “Magic doesn’t exist in everyone. The born, on the other hand, have it right in their blood.” He glanced at Demarco, briefly toward Kallia. “In Glorian, the families of born magic were the Vierras, whose gift was terrifying and rare—clairvoyance, mostly. And the Ranzas, who believed magic was a skill to be shared with the common people. Performers to the public, the lot of them.”
“And the Alastors?” asked another magician.
“Those devils believed magic could be stolen.” The mayor grimaced in distaste. “They acquired magic, but in all manner of vices: gambling, betting, bartering. They were more powerful in numbers. Conmen and showmen alike. Their gangs became the rot of this town.”
“Gangs? In quiet, little Glorian?” Erasmus’s face lit up in delight. “Fascinating.”
Janette shot him a glare. Mayor Eilin’s brow furrowed deeply, his mask of confusion so exaggerated it had to be fake. “I don’t know more than that. This was a time long, long before. Most of our records no longer exist.”
“On purpose?”
“Not everything needs to scandalized, Mister Rayne.” Janette dragged her fork over the remains on her plate, the sound of claws over glass. “We don’t need you spreading tall tales about us to fill your seats.”
“Pardon my curiosity.” Not even his charm could soften her. “But I can assure you, the rumors I’ve heard about Glorian are far more sensationalized than anything I could ever dream up.”
“What rumors?”
Demarco asked the very question Kallia had been thinking. The question everyone seemed keen to know.
Erasmus smiled knowingly. “That this place is cursed.”
* * *
Daron’s breath almost shuddered out in satisfaction. He’d been prepared to leave after the contract nonsense, and now he was glad he hadn’t.
With each casual, waiting sip from his glass, his pulse raced. This was what he’d come for.
“Don’t act so surprised—you’re quite literally surrounded by a cursed wood. It’s natural deduction. I’ve heard stories of this place ranging from being a dead city of haunting ghosts to a lurid den of glitz and sin,” Erasmus went on, chuckling. “You keep your mysterious, little town under such a lid, it’s inevitable that people’s imaginations run wild.”
“Do people really have nothing better to do than speculate over small towns?” the mayor grumbled.
“You say it like it’s a bad thing,” Erasmus said. “Fascination will work in our favor. It’s easier to rope in a crowd from the outside when they’re already itching for a peek within.”
“I’ve heard talk of hidden magic,” Daron cut in.
Everyone turned toward him, and the acute attention made his face grow hot.
“Or something strange and powerful, at least,” he added quickly, coughing over his words. “Concealed.”
That had everyone�
��s eyebrows rising.
“Thank you for adding that theory to the pile, but this isn’t Zarose Gate.” Janette let out a peal of laughter. “I can assure you, we’ve spent far too long keeping most forms of magic out. The last thing we would want is to hide any.”
“Then why open Glorian up to magic now?” Daron pushed harder than he should’ve. There could’ve been secrets she and the mayor were keeping, something they knew. And yet their manner screamed the opposite. At each theory, their expressions shifted from lost to downright insulted, especially at Daron’s.
Nothing frightened him more: the possibility of finding out Eva had been wrong all along. Or finding nothing that could lead him to her.
“Mister Demarco, you’re as bad as the circus man.” Janette shook her head, almost pitiably. “Like I said, wasteful stage shenanigans were never our priority. But unfortunately, they have become our last resort.”
“And the only thing that could save your city.” Kallia’s voice rang out. She rested her chin against her palm. “Not that it really matters, or anything.”
“Enough crackpot rumors.” Mayor Eilin swatted his hand dismissively. “What matters is we’re looking to move forward and rebuild. The renovations in Glorian have been an ongoing project, and it’s time to finish fixing what’s been broken. We can all agree that the Alastor Place has seen better days, am I right?”
That elicited a few chuckles, but Daron controlled his. The time for stories was over, and he knew to keep quiet. Too much interest led to scrutiny. And he already had enough eyes following him.
Daron sat back with a sigh. He didn’t even attempt to participate in the discussion about the Alastor Place. There was something sad about the Alastor Fold compared to the rest of Glorian. The architecture carried itself beautifully, in the way an old iron sword worn from war would. All sharp angles and grim edges. But having spent the auditions in that broken mess of a show hall, Daron wondered how such repairs could even be completed in time for the first performance night.
Where Dreams Descend Page 10