Where Dreams Descend

by Janella Angeles

  “It’s night. You might get cold.”

  “Trying to cover me up?” she asked dryly. “It’s warm enough to go without, nowadays.”

  “Fine. Give it back.”

  It smelled too good, though. A hint of fresh smoke, the dark spice of some cologne. Or from the gel taming his messy hair, which she hadn’t noticed until now. Staring straight ahead, she tightened the black coat over her shoulders. Biting the edge of his lip, Demarco held back his comments, gesturing forward to the stream of spectators milling about. She hadn’t planned to go on a walk with him again, but what else had she expected when she told him to come?

  Zarose, why had she even asked him in the first place?

  “You put on a good show tonight.”

  Kallia snapped a sideways glance at him. “Was that praise?”

  “I could also give you criticism, if you’d really like some.”

  He had to be joking. Tonight had gone flawlessly, and she’d felt it in the air, in the sea of faces still looking up in wonderment at the performers.

  “I thought we were still getting to know each other, Demarco. Let’s save the business talk for later.”

  “Fine by me,” he said. “Lead the way.”

  The pair wove past bodies moving in a slow procession, observing each performer standing on display, proud as art. The Starling twins had taken their places on two pedestals directly across from each other, connected by only the thinnest tightrope that made them appear as if they were walking on air. Rova, the animal tamer, strolled between the platforms with Aya, for whom everyone parted a wide, cautious path. Laughter rang into the air, accompanied by disbelieving gasps and quick inhales. The lively percussion and the sharp strings joining in song.

  “All shows should be like this,” she mused, looping her arm tighter within Demarco’s. Warm and content. “Loud and unpredictable, always moving. If Spectaculore were more like this, Glorian would be saved in a heartbeat.”

  “Or ruined, according to them.” He nodded up ahead at a dour group standing amid the chaos. In the center, Mayor Eilin crossed his arms, refusing to look up as if there were nothing to see.

  Kallia and Demarco smirked knowingly at each other. Jokes rarely slipped through the stern line of his lips, but when they did, it gratified her every time. “Regardless, tonight was a success,” she said. “If only every performance night were this exciting.”

  “Yes, but there’s more to life than performing.” Demarco angled his head at her. “What do you enjoy doing when you’re off the stage? That is, if you have other hobbies.”

  “Of course I do. I’m not completely obsessed.” Kallia bit her tongue in thought. Naturally the moment she needed a quick answer, they abandoned her. “I love to dance.”

  “Also performance-related.”

  “Fine.” Kallia gritted her teeth. She hadn’t realized how much her life revolved around performing until now, how little a life she had outside of it. “I used to tend to my own greenhouse.”

  Demarco’s brow lifted a little. She’d never told anyone, not even Aaros. It was a piece of home to keep tucked away. Her life at the House, fading at the edges bit by bit. Still, the greenhouse had been the one thing she wished she could bring, the one place that remained so clear in her mind.

  “It was always the place I loved most, aside from the stage,” she murmured. “Every morning, I’d walk through, just to water the flowers or sit on the rooftop. There was something about being alone there, it was—”

  “Quiet,” he finished softly. “Which flower was your favorite?”

  “Can’t tell you all my secrets, can I? Besides, it’s my turn.”

  The abrupt look of dread on Demarco’s face was laughable. She paused, tapping a deliberating finger against her lip. “Your family comes from the Patrons. The most honorable group of magicians, and yet you never talk about them … why?”

  It had been on her mind. She just assumed everyone else knew more about Demarco than her, so no one felt the need to ask. Still, for someone with so great a family behind him, it was like he had none at all from the way he carried himself. The way his face fell, now. “I don’t really keep in much contact with them.”

  “Really?” Kallia wondered who penned all those letters she found him reading most mornings. “Why would you not want to talk to your family?”

  A breath. Sharp, yet not unexpected. “No questions.”

  “Seriously?”

  “We agreed.”

  “Yes but…”

  “Think of it this way—would you answer it, if the question were turned on you?”

  He knew what she’d say. What she wouldn’t, more precisely. “Fine. No family talk. Clearly it’s not a subject either of us enjoys delving into.”

  Demarco gave a discernible sigh of relief. An irritating sound. It was the first shut door he presented that she was tempted enough to crack open just to see how far she could go.

  It itched at her, how much she wanted to know.

  How much she wanted to know him.

  As if she couldn’t be bothered, she pulled his jacket close around her and led them deeper into the wilds of the circus where there was no more space for talking. No more questions about the world outside of this.

  31

  There was only so much stalling Daron could get away with before they had to start practicing. All the other pairings had already staked out the spaces closest to the hotel and performance area. The Alastor Place, the Fravardi Mansion, the Vierra District. All corners of the city occupied, except for the one farthest from the Alastor Place. A ruin in and of itself, just like much of Glorian.

  “The Ranza Estate?” Kallia’s nose scrunched up. They approached a wide, crumbling building of sun-kissed brick hugged by dried vines and roots. A quieter area than the others, at the edge of the community. There was a peace to the way this part of Glorian existed behind the pack.

  “It was the only space I could reserve for us.” Daron scratched the back of his neck. Sweat gathered against the collar of his shirt.

  “What about the circus tents?” Kallia suggested. “They did say they didn’t mind us using their space when—”

  “We’re not using the tents.” Not where there were people, watching. “We need a place where no one will bother us.”

  His excuses sounded weak to his ears. Soon enough, it would all unravel. Already, he felt the threads pulling loose from his fingers, unsure how much longer it would take for her to see.

  Realization flickered in Kallia’s eyes. He braced himself, but she merely threw her head back and scoffed. “Embarrassed to be seen with me, Demarco?”

  “What?” He blinked. “Of course not.”

  Tell her. His pulse pounded out the words, again and again.

  Tell her.

  “Good.” With a pleased nod, she skipped up the stone steps to the front door as though entering a still grand, dazzling mansion. If anything, she seemed more drawn to the structure’s ruinous state. What appealed to Daron was its solitude. He welcomed it, all too eager to escape Glorian’s scrutiny each time he and Kallia embarked on their walks, journeying up to their rooms together—never mind that they were neighbors, to which Kallia only replied, “There’s no use in convincing a crowd what to believe. Let them think what they will.”

  He wished he had her armor. Years of performing steeled him when it was only his name to look out for. Now, the rumors cut harsher. Were he paired with any other magician, no one would think anything of it. The rumors would not be as fast-taking as fire, and it rankled him, how they targeted her. How the eyes that followed saw something that wasn’t there. That couldn’t be.

  Kallia pushed through the front doors, a heavy, rusty groan emanating as they swung forward. Without looking back, she took off.

  “Would you … careful!” Daron called after her silhouette, which bounded through the archways and into the open courtyard. While the estate could do with a grand renovation like the Alastor Place, it had withered with all the rem
aining beauty of an aging rose. Petals ashy gray, the stem brittle and dry, yet from a first glance, it had bloomed beautifully once upon a time.

  Kallia’s shadowed form found light as she walked briskly to the center of the small courtyard opening. Statues of dancing figures surrounded her like a band of guardians, framed by marble archways gray with age.

  “Look at these statues—this fountain,” she remarked, taking in the splendor. “This must’ve been a wading or wishing pool of some sort, once.”

  “Then get out of it.” Daron leaned against one of the columns while she continued strutting proudly in the middle of the bare courtyard.

  “It’s not a pool now. It probably hasn’t seen water for quite some time.” She stepped out from the ring of statues with a graceful twirl. “This could make a good practice space, don’t you think?”

  The wind ruffled her hair while she spun, stopping gradually in a grand ringmaster’s stance. Her laugh breathless, eyes alight.

  Daron’s throat clenched.

  Stop. His heart skipped a heavy beat, running faster than it should. Even as time slowed.

  Thunder crackled in the skies above, as if answering the lightning flash of Kallia’s smile. Unfurling her hands like flower petals opening to the sun, her palms raised to catch the drops beginning to fall. At first they sprinkled the dry stone around her, before the drops thickened, spotting her dress and her hair.

  Only when the rain intensified to a harsh chorus did Daron gesture pointedly. “Unless you can somehow control the weather, too, come inside. You’ll be soaked.”

  “You think I dance under the rain to stay dry?”

  She looked up at him then, gathering the ends of hair that had stuck to her neck. It truly didn’t bother her—not as much as it was bothering him. The scowl on his face must’ve appeared most unamused, for Kallia relented and ducked under the cover with him.

  With a shiver, a chuckle, she said, “Is there any other sound quite like it?”

  He tried not to focus too much on the smell of her, mixed with the rain that hit his cheek as she tossed back her hair. “What?”

  “It sounds different here.” She half-shrugged and squeezed the ends dry. “I know rain as it hits the trees, how it trickles over rooftops and down windows. That’s all I knew of the sound of rain.”

  Daron said nothing. He didn’t want to frighten this rare piece of her away by releasing so much as a breath. He wanted to know more, as much as she would give him. As much as she would trust him with.

  “What does it sound like now?” he whispered. Her face was still slick with water, and the clench in his throat returned, pressing harder when she met his stare.

  “Here, with you,” she said, showing a small hint of teeth. “Sounds like applause.”

  * * *

  Ruin and all, Kallia adored the Ranza Estate. There was something undeniably warm and open about its shape and air, even as they sat huddled inside away from the rain. Even better, their cursory check for any wild strays that managed to crawl their way in, had also turned up with no mirrors. Demarco relaxed at the observation, a happy coincidence for them both.

  For once, the silence was as it should be. The stillness, unbroken and true.

  Kallia shivered. Her clothes clung, still wet. Hardly drying, even as Demarco fed more wood into the fireplace. It felt too warm in Glorian for a fire anymore, as if the city had somehow begun to thaw around them. A changing of seasons. Even so, as they ducked inside to escape the rain, there was no hiding Kallia’s shivering.

  “We’re here to practice magic, and you tell me not to use it on myself?” she demanded against the chattering of teeth. She could be dry in a matter of moments. “What sort of mentor are you?”

  “Just because you can use it doesn’t mean you need it for everything.”

  “So says the monk magician.”

  He stopped pacing by the fireplace. “What?”

  “It’s what your fellow judges called you once. You refrain from using your magic whenever you can, like how a holy man resists all vices.” Kallia wrapped her arms around herself. “Seems I know who they poke fun at when I’m not around.”

  She was also freely ridiculed right to her face, but it didn’t bother her. Those words were not daggers. They were boorish tosses with sloppy aims, hardly ever sticking.

  Yet when thrown at Demarco, somehow that annoyed Kallia. Even Jack had gotten his jabs in. Weak magician. She was sure Demarco had heard worse. His cool shrug was probably a tool of survival.

  “They think there’s only power in power,” he stated, more a fact than a defense. “The moment I grew too reliant on magic simply to keep me here, present, the more I always felt like a performer wherever I went. Like I never got off the stage.”

  “You make it sound so serious.” Kallia shook out her hair. “There’s no harm in dividing magic between performances and how you go about your day.”

  “Clearly.” Amused, he looked her up and down. “Did you do that to spite me?”

  She raised a hand to her face, her hair … realizing both were dry and warm. Her clothes were still a bit damp, but the chill must’ve triggered the reflex. “Oh come on, it was cold. You expect me to freeze to death?”

  He chuckled, turning back to the fireplace. No magic had gone into the fire he’d built, and already it was ablaze. One of the first tricks Kallia had learned was raising fires—with the snap of her fingers, in the heart of her palm, the element came to her naturally. But as she sat on the dusty floor in front of the hearth, she didn’t know if she’d ever seen a fire brighter or felt such heat. A fire born of true labor.

  “Your method is easy to follow when you’re retired.” She tried to resist drying the last damp patches of clothing that chafed against her skin. “I was taught to exercise well, and often. Treat magic like a muscle, not a time capsule.”

  “Not all magic is the same. But I think we can agree that nothing thrives under excess and waste.”

  Days wallowing in bed, exhausted to the bone, flashed across her mind. “If not all magic is the same, why are you trying to force your ways onto mine?”

  Pensive, Demarco picked at a stray piece of wood he’d ripped from a block, shredding it splinter by splinter. “I’m not forcing anything. Not trying to, at least. I’m only hoping to show you another way, something different.” He threw the long splinters into the fire, holding one between them. “Don’t be like this wood.”

  Kallia snorted. “Flammable?”

  The shadows and light of the flames played across his face as he took one strip of wood, guiding the tip into the fire until it sparked. “See how quick it is to dance along the length, before it tires and dies?”

  The flame had burnt itself out no more than halfway down the stick, leaving a blackened strip in its wake. Kallia bristled. “So you don’t like my style. Not the first time you’ve said so.”

  “That’s not what this is about.” He threw the rest of the stick into the fire. “But even I’m sure you’d love to be able to finish a performance without feeling like collapsing.”

  Her simmering silence said it all. She didn’t want to change her way, but at least trying could benefit her. Perhaps it could even rid Jack’s words from her head, those bars forged around her each time she slept. If she could break them, it would all be worth it.

  “I’m not changing for you,” she stated. “It’s my choice and my performance, so if I don’t like whatever mold you’re trying to fit me in—”

  “You don’t need to be changed or molded, Kallia. I want you as you are.” His throat bobbed under a swallow, yet he didn’t turn away. “The crowd certainly agrees.”

  “Is that so?” Even as she raised a brow, her face went hot. She blamed the fire, alive and roaring before them with no hint of dying. “Show me what you’ve got, then.”

  32

  When they were younger, Daron and Eva would play in the old manors abandoned on the seashore of Tarcana. They’d pretend to be on Patron missions assigned by
Aunt Cata, create routines like the magicians who’d grace the theaters all over Soltair. Old houses were like empty stages, and the Ranza Estate was no different. Only it was far more decrepit than the buildings they used to frequent, a project in Daron’s eyes more than a place for pretend.

  “What kind of practice is this?” Kallia had demanded earlier in the week. “You want us to clean up as an exercise? Like I would do this for free.”

  Lies. No matter how she tried to hide it, she examined every corner of the room too eagerly, as if picturing the potential beauty beneath. Other competing magicians would’ve sneered, but Kallia appeared more excited than ever. Especially when Daron said she could use magic.

  “I won’t use any myself,” he said, uncuffing his sleeves, “but it’s good to vary your abilities, to try practical use as well as performative. However you wish to use it. Your power, your call.”

  “However I wish?”

  The mischief in her voice worried him.

  He left the hotel early that morning, without Kallia, for time to gather his thoughts before she blew through the door like a storm. But even as he walked through the halls of the Ranza Estate, he found himself wishing the storm would arrive. At least then the building wouldn’t feel so still.

  In some areas, the mayor had attempted renovation, but clearly abandoned the project to tend to the more established areas of Glorian. So he wouldn’t mind if they simply picked up where he’d left off. Probably wouldn’t notice, with all the work under way for the final show and Janette’s ball.

  Sighing, Daron shoved Glorian society from his mind, continuing down the hall of the estate’s left wing. Darkness cloaked the area, with only bare slivers of morning light streaming through, and a pair of doors tall as pillars standing at the end.

  Daron hadn’t fully explored this part of the house yet. The doors blended in so well with the shadows, he’d somehow missed it in their first quick search. Normally, he would’ve been hesitant, but the impulse reared through him as he pushed open the doors.

  Light poured in from everywhere. The air, humid with a smell he couldn’t quite place—caught halfway between fresh and old, a fragrant rot. The room stretched surprisingly tall and wide, with walls and ceilings of dirty glass, housing a collection of empty pots and dead plants sprawled all over.