Space was what he needed. It’s what Kallia wanted, and he’d be better off, too. What sort of judge would he look like if he was seen outside her door every time something went amiss? What would others think if they saw?
“Problem, Demarco?” Aaros cocked his head.
Daron shot up from his seat and threw his napkin on the table. “No, though I must be off.” He dug through his pockets. “I have other business to take care of.”
“None that involve certain contestants?”
Not anymore. Daron promptly scribbled his room number on the white card beside his plate as payment, before a vivid flash of Kallia resurfaced: her, opening the door last night. Her eyes, that fear. It all carved into him like a warning. His hand stayed clawed at the back of his chair. “Aaros, from what I’ve seen of you, you’re a very capable assistant who’s loyal to his magician.”
“You flatter me, but yes, I’m quite fantastic.” Aaros gave a flutter of his fingers. “So?”
“I hope you’ll be discreet. I’m not sure what your boss would think of what I’m going to tell you.”
“Kallia’s got enough secrets to fill the sky. I’m dying for some dirt of my own.”
“It’s not dirt. It’s about her, and it’s something you should be aware of,” Daron explained. “Something I’ve been concerned with ever since last night.”
Intrigued, the assistant leaned forward, eager to hear. And once he did, it would be his mystery to solve. His worry, not Daron’s. “Don’t get any funny ideas about this—but I went to see Kallia last night at your suite.”
Aaros’s lips moved in the barest hint of a twitch. “To what end, judge?”
“Certainly not what you think.” At the suggestion in his tone, Daron bristled. “I heard noises, coming from your room. Violent crashes and bangs like … like the room was being tossed upside down.”
“Everything was fine when I arrived.” Aaros shrugged. “You sure it wasn’t from the party downstairs? Things got pretty rowdy.”
“No, I know what I heard. And I heard a scream.”
The assistant stilled, though his fingers had begun tapping a light, persistent rhythm on the table. “And you went to explore?” Aaros’s brow arched. “I’ll let you in on something: Kallia is brilliant, but strange. Half the time, I don’t know if she really aims to win this competition or plan world domination. For all we know, she could’ve been practicing her tricks—”
“Trust me, I know.” And Daron had had enough. No more tricks. No more inserting himself into situations that would only lead him down paths he didn’t want to go. He’d come to Glorian for Eva. Nothing else. “Still, the whole thing left me uneasy.”
“If Kallia needs help, she’ll ask for it. Though I doubt she ever will. She can take care of herself.”
“You didn’t see her face when she opened the door.” Daron quieted, her dark eyes still cutting him. Even from memory. “It was filled with a certain kind of terror—as if the worst thing that could ever happen finally did, and there was nothing she could do about it.”
“And how would you know a thing like that?”
Because Daron had once seen the look before.
On his own face, in the mirror, after his last performance had taken the most important person in his life.
20
It had been days since Kallia stepped outside and breathed in the frost of the Glorian air. Her numbed senses, dulled from rest, sparked alive at the cold. The scent of ice.
She wrapped her coat tighter around her as she walked from the hotel, the most activity she’d engaged in after locking herself in her room for days. Normally she knew how to stave off the drain of energy that came from casting larger magic—ice baths and sleep, with enough sweets to sugar-coat her teeth—but this fatigue had gone deeper than flesh. Fear made sure of it.
It was impossible not to imagine Jack everywhere. At every corner, within every shadow. He hadn’t reappeared since that night, but he’d gotten what he wanted: her, always looking over her shoulder, unable to breathe for she felt him all around her like smoke now.
Kallia’s fists tightened as she shoved them into her pockets, resolute. If he couldn’t take her back to the House when she’d refused, then something was stopping him. She still had time.
Determination fired in her veins as she continued down the sidewalk. She ignored all the stares, more so than usual, though she’d worn nothing to deserve them. Her modest long brown coat itched—the warmest she could coax out of Ira’s shop—and yet it earned her more attention than when she’d first arrived on these gloomy streets in a storm of color.
A bespectacled boy with soot-smudged cheeks nearly stumbled onto Kallia’s path. His eyes brightened with recognition. “Y-you’re that magician lady, right?” He tipped his ratty cap in her direction. “Brilliant show you put on last week.”
Before Kallia could utter a thank you, he was gone. The daze that hit her struck just as instantly. For so long, she’d danced with a mask, known only as the powerful showgirl who descended from the chandelier.
To pass strangers who remembered her from one night, one act, bewildered her.
She’d known she could do it, just not how it would feel. As if the world really were at her fingertips. Always there, waiting for her to reach.
Her exhaustion almost dissolved altogether in the thrilling rush. Kallia ventured on, light on her feet until the streets grew emptier, and the air more musical. Purple-striped circus tents came into view as she rounded a corner that brought her toward the Alastor Place. Nestled around the entrance of the foreboding palace, the bright campsite of the Conquering Circus was sprawled out. The tent openings flapped in the wind, exposing slivers of the whole company inside. Boisterous laughter, shrill banter, and the music of strummed strings and piano keys pounding out a melody that demanded and beckoned.
Kallia drew closer, eyes closed to savor the energy. Of all the things she missed most about Hellfire House, it was this. Music loud and lively enough to drown out all thought and transport her.
When she peeled back the tent flap and stepped in, the warm air hit her in a wave soaked sweet with gin and smoke. The wide connecting tents housed tables of all sizes, scattered and packed to the brim with card games and players on each side. Racks of costumes of all textures and colors had been pushed to corners where props of different shapes and shades stood: stacks of large metal rings studded with flowers and gems, narrow vats of water glowing with strands of seaweed and red coral, rough rope-hewn scratching posts as tall as men, and in the shape of them, too.
It was like stepping into a completely other world. One that paused, as if a storm had blown in. The musicians played on in the background, but all chairs turned in her direction. Card games stalled, and laughter hushed into curious whispers and glances.
“Look what the ice dragged in.”
Canary came up behind her, arms crossed with a simmering expression. “You have a lot of nerve coming here. Finally got bored enough to spare a visit and pay your thanks?”
The bite in her tone scraped hard. “I had my reasons for not coming sooner.”
“Too many adoring fans to attend to first?”
Kallia’s brow hardened. “I was ill,” she said, not sure why she was even admitting it. But she only had so much energy to spare, and she’d rather not waste it keeping a mask in place. Not in these tents. “You know that adrenaline you get during a performance, and the crash that hits you after? Stage magic doubles that weight. And the recovery is much longer. Being a magician yourself, surely you understand.”
Canary stilled, blinking rapidly. “It’s just … I thought you’d—”
“What, that I wouldn’t feel pain like everyone else?” Kallia chuckled. “That I’m somehow indestructible?”
“No, it’s … you’re different from those other magicians, that’s all. Even the ones I’ve seen on the road. Born, acquired,” she said, running a hand through the messy ends of her hair. “It wouldn’t have surprised me to se
e you coming out of that first show ready for another right after.”
“I absolutely would’ve if it had to be done.” Kallia cocked her hip. “Power might come naturally to some, but it’s still hard work to pull off the unimaginable.”
Canary absorbed the information with a chagrined tilt of her head, not uncommon from a bird listening to the song of another. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be.” Kallia inhaled deeply, taking a sweeping look around her. “I truly do apologize for not coming sooner, though. Looks like I’ve been missing quite a party.”
“We’ve been restless.” The circus performer’s shoulders fell. “Ever since that night.”
“How did Rayne take it?” The only thing Kallia had been truly worried about was causing any problems for the girls. Who knew what their contracts stipulated if they detracted.
“Oh, he loved it.” Bitterness cut her tone. “Went about like he’d been in on the act.”
That didn’t shock her in the least. “Glad to hear there was no trouble.”
“Trouble doesn’t scare us.” Canary gave a cheeky grin that bunched the scar across her face. “He hasn’t given us a shred of recognition since, though. So we’ve been occupying our time in other ways.”
Kallia didn’t quite catch her meaning, until she looked closer at the people sprawled around the game tables. Men and women, young and old, with their long coats hanging off their chairs. Glorian coats. Kallia’s mouth fell open. “You invited the city into your tents?”
“It’s cold in these parts. Why let a warm circus tent of curiosities go to waste? Spectaculore shouldn’t be all about the top hats.” Canary smugly patted at the small blue pouch hanging off her shoulder that looked near bursting. “Besides, it’s not as though they come empty-handed. They pay us, we offer them a seat.”
“You sure that’s a good idea? The people here can be … critical.”
“That’s what Rova’s for.” The flame-eater gestured toward the head of a room where a severe-looking young woman in black sat on a makeshift throne of pillows and pedestals. Her pale hand rested on the head of a large, sleeping lion. “Our lead animal tamer. If anyone slights us, she’ll wake Aya to restore the natural order.”
Kallia snorted, almost wishing she could see a demonstration.
“Come on, Your Highness.” Canary tugged on Kallia’s elbow, weaving them between tables and over fallen props with her head held high—a queen passing through her kingdom. “Another reason I was hoping you’d come sooner was because you’ve acquired a few fans in my troupe.”
“Really?”
“Yes. It’s obnoxious.” Canary sniffed. “Also, I don’t know what sort of crowd you’re used to, but none of us have a single prim and proper bone in our body. Just forewarning you.”
“And to forewarn you,” Kallia countered, lips curled, “neither do I.”
They bypassed a group of girls stretching in a cramped corner without complaint, likely dancers. But when they began bending into all sorts of shapes, walking on their hands as easily as legs, Kallia’s eyes widened. Her limbs suddenly felt rigid as rocks at how little she could do with them in comparison. Canary laughed, and tugged her closer to the rowdiest source of noise in the tent.
An unexpected jitter went through Kallia as a table brimming with ladies burst out in full laughter after two players slammed their cards down.
“You cheated, Cass!”
“I would never cheat family,” the other girl said smugly. “It’s just easy to beat someone who’s shit at cards, is all.”
“But I’ve never played with these Glorian ones before.”
“Excuses, excuses…”
“Those are the Starling twins,” Canary whispered. “Our resident acrobats. On land, it’s all war between them. But in the air, nothing but harmony.”
Kallia nodded, drawn to the scene. That unfamiliar ache from when she’d first seen the Conquerors returned like a bruise. Like the story in front of her was not hers to join, only as a spectator looking in from the other side of the curtain.
Juno craned her head above the group, the inked roses and thorns framing her face stretching as she smirked. “Just when I thought things around here were getting boring.”
The group hushed as everyone turned in Kallia’s direction. A flush broke out beneath her skin as she began to fidget in a way she never had on stage—until Juno pulled her in for a surprisingly warm hug. “You look like shit,” she teased. “I can see why you’ve come back. Could use some more blush.”
“Maybe for the next show night,” Kallia replied. “If they let me back in.”
The others hooted and banged the table.
All at once, it became a heart-pounding blur of shaking hands and names paired with titles too fantastic to forget. Linnet O’Lione, the animal charmer who played with beasts and laid with snakes. Camilla Falco, the fierce dagger catcher and thrower whose perfect aim made her the deadliest of the group, though her toothy smile betrayed otherwise. And along with the Starling twins, another set of sisters rounded out the group—the Cygna sisters: Silla, Sersé, Sirenna, and Sann, who had learned the graceful art of water dancing as mermaids in the sea, only to bring their talents ashore.
With a touch of awe, she shook the dancers’ hands. “Mermaids?”
“We all have our little stories.” Sann winked.
“And the public loves a good fairy tale.” Canary plopped into an empty seat with a sigh. “I was tragically born in the midst of a terrible fire, the only survivor who got away with a taste for flames.” She snorted. “It’s a touch more epic than being a dropout from Queen Casine’s who ran away to join the circus.”
“Why?” Kallia cocked her head in interest at the confession. “If you have magic, you don’t need the circus.”
“Easy for you to say, Highness. You born magicians have power brimming from your fingernails that people would pay to see,” Canary said, not unkindly. With a touch of envy. “I have magic, but no stage. Casine’s sure as hell doesn’t breed entertainers, so the circus became a platform. You have to chase your spotlight where you can, right?”
Kallia nodded, for she understood better than anyone.
“Now, enough talk.” Canary thrust a hand out to the empty seat beside her. “You still have to earn your entry into these fine tents. Ever played before, prima donna?”
The group surrounding them ooh-ed and pressed closer as the dealer on the other side shuffled. “Of course she hasn’t. Not with these cards, at least.” Between the older woman’s fingers, the cards flew from one hand to the other, effortless. “The girl is as much an outsider as your strange little gang.”
Kallia knew that cranky voice and had to turn to the dealer to believe it. “Ira?”
The seamstress gave a minxish half-shrug without breaking her focus.
“What are you doing here? What about your shop?”
“Those poor, lonely dresses. How will they manage?” She blew out a scornful sigh. “It’s my day off. I didn’t live this long only to sew. Besides, shuffling cards is good for the mind. And it’s cozy in here.” Neatly weaving two sets of cards together by the edges, she folded them back together. “Are you in?”
The precision of Ira’s movements captivated her. Kallia had hardly frequented the card tables back at Hellfire House. Sometimes, she’d played with Jack after they’d taken their meals. He wasn’t much for card games either, though he played her with the same kind of polish and expertise with which he handled others. He paid attention, observed, and won the game before it was even over. A tough one to beat, but with other players to contend with, she might stand a chance.
She slipped into the seat next to Canary with a sweeping glance across the table. No one else sat, opting to remain an audience over their shoulders as the cards were dealt. She’d seen enough of them at Hellfire House—Jack’s cards carried a simple design, black squares with spiked pearlescent white numbers—but these were foreign to her.
They appeared older, more tra
ditional. In flashes, she spotted faded numbers along the corners of most, then more elaborate illustrations across others. All accompanied by little symbols etched alongside them. Squares, triangles, circles, and stars—the shapes scattered across the city.
“These are rare cards, ladies.” Ira dealt a hand to each player facedown. “My special collection, passed down in my family. They stopped printing them ages ago.”
“A discontinued deck,” said Canary, suddenly intrigued. “What’s the story there?”
Ira had passed out a small pile of cards to each player, guarding the rest of the deck under a clawed hand. “Not quite sure,” she muttered, scratching her head. “Might be the way they can tell pasts and futures if you know how to read them.”
That captured everyone’s interests. The Starling twins whined about how they were never told they held their futures right in their hands, while Kallia merely tapped a finger on her pile, contemplating what may lay in hers. “How could simple playing cards reveal such a thing?”
“Anything you draw by chance tells a little about yourself. It’s fate’s way of making fun, if you’re willing to see it.” Ira leaned on her elbows, eyeing the two players. “Now, this game is called Assembly. The first person to assemble a four-card hand I call out wins. So, say I want you to assemble the nonroyals”—she flipped through her deck, and pulled out a Handmaiden’s card with a star at its corner—“the fastest person to assemble a group of same-suited face cards without crowns is the winner.”
Canary released a low, ready whistle. “Oh, that’s easy.”
“You think so, birdie? There are an awful lot of cards to go through.” Ira used two fingers to push the main deck forward. “Go on. Draw one and decide if it suits your hand. Toss it in the middle if it doesn’t, but remember, your opponent can always pick up whatever you drop if they decide to forgo drawing a card, so be smart. And no cheating,” she growled. “You only need ten cards on hand, and I don’t like those who try forcing their luck. Neither does fate.”
“Why would we cheat?” Kallia scowled. “We’re not playing for anything.”
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