Heat brushed her face. “‘Despise’ is rather harsh. I hardly know him,” she said, smoothing her hair. Looking straight ahead. “You have the dress?”
A slight crinkle came from the long garment bag hanging off his arm. “Then what did he have to apologize for? Did he do something to you?”
“Of course not.” It was the most serious he’d ever sounded, a protective side she didn’t expect. “If he or anyone here ever succeeded in that, I’d make sure they were wearing their insides out.”
“But he did do something … or something happened…” Aaros trailed off with a flicker of uncertainty. “I know you like keeping secrets, Kallia, and I respect your privacy. But being in the dark has not exactly been the greatest launch of our friendship. At least not for me.”
Kallia slowed, regarding him closer. “You consider me a friend?”
Aaros laughed. “You’ve given me more in one week than the street rats I’ve been running with my whole life. And to be honest, even if I know nothing much about you … I’m rather attached to you at this point.” He shrugged. “Nothing you can do about it, really.”
She wanted to smile back, to hold on to that warmth a little longer, but she peered closer at him instead, hunting for something amiss in his manner. She’d missed it all before, countless times at the House with other companions she’d believed were true.
Anything that seemed too good to be true often was. Even a friend.
“Don’t look so surprised,” he retorted. “Your company is not too terrible.”
“No, it’s … I’ve never really had friends.” Her pulse thrummed a disjointed beat in the awkward silence. Her skin had never been thinner, nerves pounding right beneath the surface.
Still, the confession was oddly relieving. Like it wasn’t all in her head anymore.
Aaros studied her, incredulous. “I can’t imagine you not being at the top of society’s food chain and the talk of all the parties.” He frowned when she merely shrugged. “You really had no one to whisper secrets to? To pop drinks and laugh with during the late hours of night?”
She supposed she had—tutors and teachers and friends she’d grown close to—but it couldn’t count if none of them had been real. Jack had been real. The only real person in her life, perhaps. But she’d never seen him as just a friend. Friend always seemed too simple a word for what he was to her.
Kallia inhaled deeply, stilling her nerves. “You’re right that I came from a lot, a better life than most.” She looked up at the sky, the sun gone. “It was also emptier than most. I’m glad to have gotten away from it.”
Saying it out loud whispered panic into her heart, as if all the world could hear her secrets, gathering like pearls tightly strung around her neck. Still, she was unwilling to give them up. Even as they choked her.
“What sort of trouble are you running from, Kallia?”
The words flashed through her mind, images of chandeliers and cold mirrors blurring into smoke. Her nightmare of the monster rising above her, joining the shadowy mass that swallowed her whole. “I simply thought it was time for me to leave, and I did.”
“So there is trouble.”
Aaros didn’t glory at how he’d unreeled a confession. And Kallia, for once, wasn’t racked with panic. The truth couldn’t touch her here, not without her permission. “That’s a conversation for another time.”
He fell silent, nodding intently. He’d gotten a sliver. More than she’d intended to give, and more than he’d expected. It was strange, though, to want to give more. There was control in holding everything to oneself, but there was also weight. So much she couldn’t be allowed to feel, for it was better to remain steel. Unbreakable.
“That Demarco fellow, though…” He paused, lightening his tone. “Does this mean I don’t have to mess up his face?”
Kallia whacked him in the arm with a snort. “Don’t you dare. His face looks hard as stone, you’d probably break your fists on it. And I need your hands to be in the best damn shape they can be for tonight.”
The clouds above parted with sunlight, glinting off the frost-edged street curbs and corners. After she nearly slipped on a patch of ice, Aaros looped his elbow easily through hers, tugging her in another direction. “Come on, this way. You’ll get us lost if you keep pretending to know where you’re going.”
“If this city had any damn signs, maybe it’d be easier to navigate and find a tailor.”
“We do have signs.” Aaros let out a smug breath. “You just don’t see them yet.”
“You’re joking.” She peered even harder at the archways and street corners, still bare as when she’d first seen them. “Is this some sort of city magic trick?”
“City knowledge, more like. Look at the architecture, the shapes of windows and gates and any other details. Four suits for four families, remember?” He gestured a hand grandly around him. “Know the suits, and you’ll never get lost.”
Kallia followed his line of vision across the vast spread of square-shaped buildings, their glassy windows and doors all rectangular. She’d never noticed the uniform quality, but now, it was all she could see: the signatures of squares surrounded her entirely, from the shapes of the buildings down to the details engraved upon them.
“When it comes to clothes, there’s nothing really in the Fravardi Fold, that’s for sure,” Aaros murmured before a flash of a smile lit his face. “But I know someone in the Ranza Fold.”
Not like Kallia could do much more than follow his lead. She knew nothing of the city other than what the mayor had briefly spoken of. The family names sparked a familiarity as Aaros hauled them to a grand intersection of what felt like four different versions of Glorian. The square-shaped section they’d walked from marked the Fravardi section, leading into a sector of buildings laced with rusty star-raised gates and pointed windows signifying the Vierra Fold. The Alastor Place peeked out amidst other sharp towering spires like triangles raised to the sky.
The last section, where the Prima Hotel was located, took them down the Ranza path of rounded archways and buildings. Aaros stopped in front of a shop where the circular window featured a bare, faceless mannequin. A human-shaped form of wire with its head hanging off the side, creating a nightmarish silhouette.
A little bell rang over their heads upon entering. A chill settled in Kallia’s bones. The muted scent of fabrics, with a subtle undercurrent of flowery incense filled her nose. Dresses hung everywhere, some alone, others along racks of similar shades from light to dark. Soft pinks and dusty mint greens, champagne golds and creamy grays. No reds or blacks or anything particularly bold. All pure Glorian. Kallia bit back her disappointment when she heard a noise rustling from the back.
“I should probably handle this.” Aaros moved subtly in front of her, rubbing his hands for warmth. “Mistress Ira is a bit of an acquired taste, but she likes me.”
The noise turned into soft steps, accompanied by a steady rapping beat against the floor. From behind the racks of gowns emerged a figure effectively hidden just by her height. The older woman stooped over her polished brown cane, her squinted eyes peering through spectacles the size of saucers. First at Kallia, before darkening on Aaros. “Get out, boy, or I’ll make you.”
Kallia snickered, but Aaros was not the least bit deterred. “Ira, come on. I thought we had come to an understanding.”
He approached her with his arms open for an embrace, and the woman scowled even more. “You put those hands away. Who knows what they’ll make off with this time.”
“I promise not to steal another thing. Ever again.”
“You said that last time. When you stole some slip of a thing to please some lady friend, and then a skirt for the sister of that gentleman you were mooning over.” She craned her head for another look at Kallia. “Ah, and you bring another. Your heart never stops finding victims, thief.”
“That’s not what this is,” Kallia clarified, as Aaros bleated, “I’m not a thief!”
“No matter.” Mi
stress Ira swatted an uncaring hand in the air. “Lovers, accomplices, whatever you two may be, you’re not getting past me. I’ve got an endless supply of needles and pins hidden in this cane. Don’t think I won’t use them.”
“Ira, no need for violence.” Aaros stared warily at the cane. “Listen, I’m a changed man! I’m off the streets, and I’ve even got a job.”
The woman barked out a laugh. “Sure. And who’s the poor soul responsible for that?”
“That would be me.” Kallia stepped forward, snatching the garment bag from Aaros’s arm. “And we’re in a bit of a hurry. I’ve got a dress with a small tear and some taking in that’s needed before tonight, if possible—”
“I can do it,” Ira muttered, tightening her shawl around her. “As long as you pay.”
Erasmus had promised that the magicians who made the next round would receive a stipend after tonight’s performance, but that didn’t do her any good here. Noting the woman’s shiver, Kallia’s brow lifted curiously. “I think we can work something out.”
“Right this way, then,” Ira called over her shoulder without thinking twice, already hobbling away to the back. “And watch the thief, will you? His fingers might start wandering.”
“You’re breaking my heart, woman,” Aaros lamented. “What’ll it take to clear my name?”
“Just don’t touch anything, and I won’t stick you with a needle.”
They walked between racks of full-skirted dresses before passing through a curtain into the dressing rooms. Kallia secured one to change in, moving as efficiently as she had with her costume changes at Hellfire House, before marching out in her performance gown. Aaros hooted and clapped as if the show had started, while Ira stared unblinkingly. “You won’t survive this place in that sort of dress.” She withdrew a needle from the top of her cane. “Where are you going?”
“There’s a magicians competition, tonight at the Alastor Place. Surely you know of it.” A small, excited flutter went through her. “You should come.”
“I’ll check my schedule.” Ira’s disinterest could not have been louder. “Figures you’re here for that nonsense. You’re one of the magicians performing, I take it?”
“Oh, I … yes. Yes, I am.” It was the first time someone had correctly assumed she wasn’t the assistant, and the recognition left her a bit breathless. “How did you know?”
“People talk, especially in this town.” She circled Kallia with an eye on the dress’s tear, before inserting a marking pin. “And from magician to magician, I sensed you the moment you walked in.”
Kallia’s lips parted as thread slithered out from the cane’s top, perfectly finding the eye of the needle Ira held out. The cane must’ve been riddled with all sorts of tailoring gear somehow, but that levitation had all been the beholder. That ease of movement, the mastery of someone who’s long practiced such work.
“Zarose.” Considerably paler now, Aaros swore as the thread floated toward the needle. “Ira, you’ve been holding out on me. You really could’ve pinned me like a cushion all those times if you wanted to.”
“Believe me, I came very close,” she said, sending the needle straight into the hem of the skirt with a speed that made Aaros gulp. “But I don’t waste my skill on such petty measures. Can’t be too showy or loud with what we can do—the first thing they taught us, back at Queen Casine’s. Were you a student there, too, miss?”
Kallia wished she could lie her way through this one, but the woman seemed like she could see through anything. “No. I was taught elsewhere.”
“Hmph. Must be a different world for magicians out there, now. Hard to keep up with the outside. We always had to be careful in a place like this,” Ira said. “Magicians, even old labor ones, are not really smiled upon in Glorian. Until now.”
Kallia thought back to what the mayor had said at dinner, about power coursing through the founding families in different ways, and yet magic was not truly embraced by the Glorian people. None of the pieces fit together, and no one questioned it. “What happened?”
Ira’s brow furrowed, and she shook her head. “Hell if I know. We don’t talk much about the past around here.”
“Don’t talk much about anything, it seems,” Kallia noted wryly, before remembering the dinner party discussion. Rumors and theories from those outside Glorian, far-fetched and curious for a city so quiet. “People say this place used to be some big show town, or there’s strange magic hidden somewhere.”
“Glorian?” Ira grimaced, as if she weren’t sure she’d heard correctly. “A show town?”
Aaros cackled. “Please don’t say you believed any of that, Kallia. If only we were that interesting.”
“There must be a grain of truth somewhere,” Kallia snapped at their twin looks of disbelief. “How else are stories born?”
Ira only tsked, staring thoughtfully at Kallia’s dress without comment. Perhaps the rumors were ridiculous, but a city could not simply start anew without having a reason behind it.
“Aren’t you going to turn around?”
Kallia hesitated, remembering the trifold mirrors. Ira’s eyes fixed on her even more intently.
“Ah, it’s a performance ritual,” Aaros supplied. “She stays away from mirrors. For luck.”
Kallia exhaled. Ever since she’d turned her back on her reflection, Aaros had taken her “superstition” in stride. Even covered up his own mirrors, out of respect. The gesture touched her so much, she was glad to avoid her reflection. She couldn’t bear to look at herself with every deceit she played.
Ira scoffed. “That’s a surprise. You seem like a vain one.”
“Excuse me?”
The old woman shrugged. “If you don’t care how the dress looks on you, I guess you won’t mind if I make a few adjustments…”
Kallia’s mouth parted at the feel of her skirt’s hem rising. And the pair of scissors that appeared over the gathering of fabric below her knees. “Oh wait, I don’t need—”
“It’ll look better this way. Trust me.” Ira allowed the blades to snip before Kallia could stop them, or the needle hemming its way across the newly sheared length. Kallia was only glad she wasn’t too attached to the particular dress, for all the fabric pooling at her feet. The fit of the skirt, growing noticeably looser. Only when the work was done did the spell break. Ira sat back, head cocked to one side as she observed Kallia’s form in silence. Satisfied.
The skirt trailed asymmetrically across her knee, slitted long enough to show only a small bare flash of her thigh. The style allowed for more mobility, and the more Kallia stared down at the finished design, the more she adored it.
“Let’s talk payment before you dash off.”
“What about a preview of tonight?” Aaros worked as much charm into the offer as possible. “You’d be our first audience.”
The idea seemed to thrill the woman as much as dumping out bathwater.
Kallia noticed that Ira’s tools did not waver as they worked, even when she burrowed her shaky hands deeper into the folds of her shawl. The chill had followed them from the front of the shop to the dressing rooms, and Kallia was glad her dress had sleeves, otherwise she’d be shivering as well. “It’s a bit drafty in here. You don’t have a fireplace or furnace?”
“No fire,” Ira said darkly. “If even one stray ember catches on my dresses, this shop will go up like a flaming haystack.”
Apparently all of Glorian took arms against fire as well. But Kallia had an alternative in mind. She carried so many memories of sitting by the fireplace, the warmth glowing against her skin. The memory tugged free with the pull of magic, sifting from her fingertips until heat spread across the entire shop.
The warmth slithered around her neck, seeping through her clothes until it drove the chill away. Aaros raised his brows at the change in temperature, unclenching his fingers to test the air.
The scissors thudded to the floor, the needle plinking against it. Ira’s shoulders begrudgingly relaxed out of their hunched posture.
“What did you do?”
“You said no fire.” Kallia stepped down from the mirrored stand. “I only gave your shop the memory of it.”
It was a common trick Jack had taught her for her shows, to sweep the room with a sensation. It could heighten the performance, building anticipation. For once it had a practical use, instead of just deception.
Once Kallia emerged from the curtain, back in her comfortable day clothes, she handed the dress to Ira. “Thank you for the alterations,” she said, more than a little satisfied by the old woman’s reaction.
Quietly, Ira took it, her hands no longer shaking. “How long will it last?”
“The heat? Maybe a few days.”
The woman made a hard sound at the back of her throat. “What the hell am I supposed to do when it runs cold again?”
Kallia smiled. “Hope that I come back, it seems.”
15
Daron tapped his foot anxiously underneath the judges’ table. He didn’t usually fall prey to nerves, but it was unavoidable as the Alastor Place ran rife with performance energy—the kind he hadn’t surrounded himself with in a while. It worsened when a magician who’d arrived early to the rehearsal approached him, confessing how honored he was to perform for the Daring Demarco.
The whole exchange twisted Daron’s insides. He didn’t come here for that. He’d traveled to Glorian to learn more—to find Eva—and he was failing miserably.
Still, he nodded along. Smiling, as though the praise were his right.
Playing along seemed to be the only thing he could do right. Nothing in his search uncovered anything of use. No historical records dating before the last fifty or so years, no old photographs or illustrations of what Glorian might’ve looked like before. The only thing Daron managed to procure were the most recent journals detailing plans to rebuild and restore—proof of the fire that had swept through the town long, long ago, taking everything with it. Glorian’s library couldn’t even be properly called one, no more than a few shelves of books and glass-cased documentation in the mayor’s mansion that were about as helpful as the mayor himself.
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