Where Dreams Descend

by Janella Angeles

  “Aren’t you fond of breaking those?” A dumb question. If he didn’t stay with her, they’d force her to forfeit. No wonder the mayor looked particularly gleeful about their pairing. No doubt relying on something to go wrong. A fight, a split, something to take her out of the game.

  “I never signed up to be a mentor,” he admitted. “That hadn’t been part of the deal.”

  “You don’t even have to do anything,” she promised. “Join me on stage and let me do my act, that’s it. I swear, I can give you a fantastic show and you can brand your name on it next to mine, it’s just…” Her lip quivered before stiffening into a sharp bow. “If I lose, I can’t lose this way. Not by default.”

  Daron studied her for a long moment. “Is this competition really so important to you?”

  She threw him a withering glare. “After all this—every bad name I’ve been called, every accusation—how could it not be?”

  “You don’t need to prove anything to them, Kallia. It’s…” He struggled to find the right words. “It’s a silly competition in an old city that’s lost its place on the map. Nothing more.”

  “Easy for you to say. You’ve had your years of spotlight. I’m fighting for days.”

  “Surely you know your talents would be far more appreciated in a bigger pond,” he insisted. “You don’t need to waste energy on a small-time show like this.”

  “Every step to the top counts. And please, don’t patronize me.” Kallia’s jaw hardened. “Make no mistake, I know I don’t have to prove a single thing to them. What matters most is what I prove to myself. Giving up would be an insult to everything I know I’m capable of. And I’ve already come this far.”

  A different light entered her eyes. Her ambition, laid bare. A flash of the armor she wore every day. Not her usual strutting around like she couldn’t care less—but the truth, her wanting this more than he’d ever seen someone want anything.

  “Stop looking at me like that.”

  Daron flushed, averting his stare. “Like what?”

  Kallia crossed her arms tightly. “Come on. You’re more perceptive than that. Even I’ve figured that out about you.”

  The way she said it worried him. With the kind of knowing only a friend would show, and the strangeness of it struck him. He’d lost so many friends in the past. It had been easier to shake blokes he’d partied with for years than a girl he’d known for a short time. She was one frayed tie that refused to be cut, and wanted this victory enough to put up with him.

  No. From the look in her eyes, she needed it.

  Daron blew out a tired sigh. “I won’t have to dance, will I?”

  The stern line of her lips twitched. “Dancing the first night was to get their attention. Parading myself around like that a second time would be overdoing it.”

  “But don’t you like dancing?”

  “Love it. Especially if I can use it to my advantage.”

  “Never without strategy, I’ll give you that much.”

  “I’ll take that as a compliment,” she preened, moving out of his way as he exited the row. “You won’t even have to lift a finger.”

  This was exactly what she wanted: to be given the reins of an act without much standing in her way. Daron couldn’t have asked for a better scenario, yet he found himself saying, “I don’t think that’s going to work.”

  Shut up.

  What are you doing?

  “Really?” Kallia’s shoulders sagged. “After everything, now you want to help?”

  “Do you want another disastrous incident? Because I don’t think it will win you any points.” Why couldn’t he be quiet? The more his thoughts warred, the more his traitorous side spoke. “You probably have some large, flashy spectacle planned that’s full of risks, but I will not be content to stand there as some prop mentor who approved it all.”

  “So what then, Judge Demarco?” Kallia huffed. “I’ve never seen an unwilling mentor so eager to have his say.”

  “Even as a reluctant mentor, I have things I can teach you.”

  “What sort of tricks?” She tilted her head in interest. “Like from last night? Teach me what that was, and maybe I’ll—”

  “No.” Daron swallowed, heart thrumming fast. “No tricks, no magic. Not from me at least.”

  “Then what else is there?”

  For all of his hesitation, he wanted to offer her something of value. He could teach her moderation, how to dispense her energies more deliberately rather than exhausting them. There were many ways to be impressive, and they didn’t all have to be charged with power. The unexpected worked just as well.

  “Only one way to find out,” he said.

  Kallia’s eyes flashed, considering. “Maybe you won’t be such a prop after all.”

  28

  It had to be a dream.

  Kallia entered her greenhouse, sunlight beaming through the windows. She strolled among flowers she didn’t recognize. Those with fire for petals, plants with slowly beating wings, leaves curling off vines that dripped with perfume. The fragrances of smoke and roses and the winter’s chill, swirling her senses.

  Through the thick of green and shadows, someone waited.

  A stranger.

  As she drew nearer, the greenhouse dimmed. The fire petals’ flames turned to gray in the changing light, as the warmth from the sun overhead slid into moonlight across the leaf-strewn floor. Kallia shivered.

  A muffled beat sounded, reverberating through the glass until it shook. Her ears popped at the sudden trill of trumpets and drums and lively strings joining in a wild tune. As though a club had opened its doors right outside.

  Her heart beat loudly in her ears as she moved toward the figure beyond the leaves. Tall and broad-shouldered, familiar in a way she couldn’t quite say. She reached out to him—

  Only to find a tall, ornate mirror.

  Her form, in its reflection.

  There was no one else, if there ever had been. She checked all around her, knocked on the glass before her fist froze against the surface. Darkness like smoke misted her surroundings in the mirror. No fiery flowers or jewel-toned bursts. Kallia glanced over her shoulder—still the greenhouse, fragrant and full of life.

  But her reflection showed another scene, another world.

  The surrounding windows that scaled the walls in the dark were gilded bars in the mirror.

  I didn’t throw you in a cage.

  The air around her tightened; the music rang louder, faster. Her pulse beat heavily as she stepped back, poised to run.

  Until a cold hand burst from the mirror and pulled her by the neck.

  Kallia shot up from her bed, sweating.

  Her gaze tore across the room; dark, even as light filtered in through cracks in the curtains. She was all alone, and all was silent, yet she could still hear that music. A song that would never leave her.

  She massaged her ears to coax it away before hugging her arms around her knees. It wasn’t the first dream she’d had like it, and whenever it came, it was like dying. Each time, more violent.

  Her rose cloth lay on the bedside table, next to a candle that had burned itself out in the night. She’d spent the better half staring at the design, willing it to be what it once was.

  All that remained was a ruined rose, petals still falling along the fabric.

  Kallia wrenched the blankets off. She made for the window, flinging open the curtains to a punishing brightness. Baring herself to the light chased the dreams away faster, and the Glorian sky was a blinding gray white in the morning. It always looked like it was close to raining—eyes a breath away from crying, though tears never came.

  Kallia had grown used to it. It was no longer a marvel to see the pointed spires of buildings from her window view. But some mornings, she feared it would all be gone. That one day they would turn back into the tall, shadowy treetops of the Dire Woods. And she’d find herself in her room at the House, as if she’d been there all along. Simply waking from a dream.

  Dar
on,

  I wish you would respond, so I know these are reaching you. Mail by courier case is not exactly inexpensive, you know. I only have so much sway with the post.

  My messages may be more sparse than usual. We’ve taken in a few magicians affected by the case on the eastern border, and think we might be on the brink of a new magical classification. That’s all I can say for now.

  Please write back when you can, and remember to eat something green and fresh once in a while.

  —Aunt Cata

  Daron liked to skim her brief letters the first time—fondly looking for the scolding note at the end—before reading slower the next. Again and again, until he had the thing memorized.

  He ought to write back.

  Just once.

  Eva had always been better at correspondences; Daron tended to let them fall to the wayside, hopeless at keeping up with others with hardly the time to do so.

  Now, he had no excuse. With all the time in the world, locked in a city where everything seemed to go wrong, he had every reason to pen a letter to his aunt. Yet … if he finally did send word, she would come. Be it the middle of the night or in the heat of battle, she would drop everything at the slightest indication that something was wrong.

  He sipped at his coffee, glancing up from the letter once more. The chair across from him, still empty.

  She was late. He’d watched guests come and go, ignored the majority of letters received just to reread his aunt’s, and even pored through the Soltair Source for old time’s sake before finally, a little while later, he heard the imperious, “Ahem.”

  Daron tilted the paper away while Kallia straightened her hair testily without the least bit of shame. “What right do you have to be so put out? You’re late.”

  “I’m here, at least.” A wooden screech sounded before she plopped down in the empty seat. He heard a clink, a sip, and a disgruntled cough. “Really?” Kallia set her coffee cup down with a loud clank. “Cold coffee? That’s mature.”

  “It was hot when I ordered it.” He casually folded the paper and smiled. “Funny how things cool down when enough time passes. Would you like another?”

  “I’m fine with this, thanks.” She took another sip as if in rebellion.

  Daron was tempted to order a whole pot of fresh coffee anyway at her ragged appearance, the way her hands gripped her coffee cup as if clinging to whatever meager warmth she could. Still recovering from her last act, it seemed.

  “Stop pouting. It’s not so unbearably early,” he reasoned. “I’ve seen you wake up before the crack of dawn on purpose.”

  “That’s before a performance.” She swished the remnants of her coffee.

  Seeing her so unguardedly cranky was a far different version of Kallia than the glamorous one who strutted around him. This side of her intrigued him, and he did everything in his power not to appear so amused. “We agreed upon this time.”

  “You agreed.” Kallia downed the rest of her cold coffee, impressively straight-faced. “I swear, for someone who didn’t even want this, you know how to be quite insufferable about it.”

  “Really? And here I thought I was the only one you could tolerate.”

  She squared him with an even drier look. Though for all her protests, she remained. She would undoubtedly laugh at what he was about to suggest, but avoiding each other had somehow only heightened their tension. The only other solution lay in the opposite.

  “This might not be a favorable hour for you, but we must use this time to our advantage.” Daron pushed their empty cups to the side, leaving nothing between them. “The Conquering Circus will be performing in public for a short period. After that, there will be a party at the Alastor Place prior to the final show.” Kallia perked awake at the mention. “And even with all that, there’s not nearly enough time.”

  “For what?”

  “Trust to build.”

  She arched her brow as if he’d grown five heads. “Pardon?”

  Daron steepled his fingers beneath his chin. “I may not participate much in the handling of the act, but this is one request I must insist on. How can we even begin to work together when we don’t know a thing about each other?”

  She angled her head, as if she’d never considered it. “Is it really that important?”

  “It’s important for a proper partnership. And it’s good that we start off on something slow, since you’re still recovering.”

  Her expression iced. “I’m fine.”

  It was no surprise she wanted to hit the ground running, and he certainly understood her skepticism. Everyone had their secrets, him more than anyone. But that wasn’t what this was about, and he hoped they would be able to treat it as such. For the good of the show.

  “Look, I’m not asking you to bare your soul to me. I certainly won’t. We simply need to find a level of comfort with each other so when it’s time for our act, we don’t appear like total strangers.” He’d witnessed performances where the assistants and their magicians clearly weren’t getting on. Their acts suffered for it. “From my experience in stage partnership, it’s always beneficial to get to know each other. Look at you and Aaros.”

  Kallia’s eyes briefly flashed to his. “You had an assistant, too, right?”

  He stiffened. Figures she’d have heard something by now. Most everyone knew, a good and bad thing. Everyone toed around the subject. He didn’t even have to dodge it on his own. Until now.

  Daron looked away. “Ultimately, when we go on stage, you’re not alone. There’s no point in separating yourself when you don’t have to.”

  A long silence stretched between them. She’ll never go for this. He’d worried about that possibility without any other plan to cushion the blow. He was in no shape or form a teacher, nowhere near qualified in his current state. There was nothing more she could possibly need, nothing he could give her, when she was already so powerful. All on her own.

  “And what do you propose we do?”

  For once, the ice in her face was not as hard a mask as she usually kept it. Both surprise and relief loosened his shoulders at the rare sight, before he offered her his elbow with a grin even he couldn’t fight. “Let’s start with a walk.”

  29

  Their first walk was quiet. So quiet, Kallia thought she might explode. It wasn’t that she was shy—she was never shy. Certainly not around Demarco. They’d simply never spoken without a reason to fight. The absence of one made it harder to string more than three words together.

  Yet, at the end of their walk, he asked her to accompany him on another one. And another. Until one day, finally, she snapped. “How much longer will this go on? You ask me to walk with you every day, yet you rarely say anything.”

  Smothering a laugh, he cast a sideways glance at her. “Shocking, but you haven’t been the most talkative, either.”

  Kallia resisted the urge to punch him. They had only a brief period before the last act, and sooner or later, it would creep up on them. “It doesn’t matter whether or not we’re friends, Demarco. That’s not what this show is about.”

  “Wasn’t it not too long ago you’d asked why we couldn’t be friends?”

  Her nostrils flared at the memory he’d unearthed with such smug recollection. That was when the two of them had been so wildly unsure of one another, when it was clear he was avoiding her out of some misplaced sense of propriety that felt more like an insult. Though at the moment, she would gladly take the insult over whatever was happening between them now.

  “Don’t worry, I’m not asking to be your friend. I’m trying to be your ally,” he drawled. “Which, in case you haven’t noticed, you don’t have very many of.”

  Kallia drew in a hard breath. There was no use arguing; it would only prove his point more. “Fine. But let’s lay out some ground rules.”

  “What sort of rules?”

  “Respect my privacy,” she said. “If I say no questions, I mean it.”

  “All right.” He nodded. “As long as you pay me the sa
me respect.”

  “Fine.”

  “Fine.”

  They glared at each other, unblinking. Both unwilling to look away, as if locked in a challenge. A very petty challenge. It was amusing, the flare of stubborn fire in Demarco; he usually exuded such a reserved and contained demeanor. Not around her.

  Despite herself, Kallia felt her lips curl slightly.

  So she played his game, and for the rest of the way down the sidewalks, picked his brain on all she could. His thoughts about Spectaculore, the other contestants, the judges he disliked as much as she did. In turn, she gave him her thoughts, soon realizing he was just as guarded as she was, with the things he wouldn’t answer.

  For him, it was his magic, his former stage life, or anyone to do with it. The areas Kallia was most curious about, to her dismay. His assistant flooded her mind—a faceless, beautiful woman Kallia had begun imagining the moment Canary had mentioned her. As much as she wanted to learn more about who she was to him, she restrained herself.

  “What about your home?” Kallia posed instead. “You said you lived far from here.”

  “Tarcana is all the way out east.” Demarco’s strides were slow and relaxed. “Almost an island of its own, with how the ocean hugs our shores.”

  “A whole ocean?” Her mind conjured up endless stretches of water. Years ago—before true escape ever entered her mind—she’d foolishly tried venturing into the Dire Woods to reach the ocean’s edge, only to lose herself in the maze of trees and shadows that built her path. One of Sire’s servants had ridden on horseback to retrieve her, and after, she never entered the Woods out of curiosity again. With the mind such easy prey in that forest, it was not worth the risk.

  “I take it you’ve never lived near the water?”

  The crease in Demarco’s brow drew a shrug from her. “Never seen it.”

  The slip revealed too much, but rather than pry, he asked, “Do you want to?”

  “Why?” Something warm and nervous settled in Kallia’s chest. “Are you offering me a grand mansion by the sea?”