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.
A greenhouse. Abandoned, but well-loved once. Daron had one like it back home, in his library. So different, but just the sight reminded him of all the colors and life rampant in his greenhouse. Unlike here. Brown-dry pots littered the floor, with flowers and leaves shriveled and shrunken within their containers. The trees connected by vines around the room had whitened like bone. With each step, his shoes crunched upon dried petals scattered in his path.
His mind was already whirring when he heard the muffled crash of a