aimed at her now. Rayne had stayed true to his word—after the arrival of Lottie and her ever-present pen, people from outside flooded the city with their invitations and maps to navigate the Woods. A dangerous journey, but apparently worth the risk for a taste of Spectaculore. And with their arrival, Demarco had all but disappeared, avoiding the fray. Avoiding her.
They hadn’t practiced in days, barely spoken at all. Kallia already dreaded the imminent headlines, when they’d all find out she and Demarco would no longer be performing together.
“Hey.” Aaros looped his elbow with hers. “Want to turn in for the night?”
At least she had Aaros. Even he could tell something haunted her. When she couldn’t focus, couldn’t sleep. Without even prompting him, he’d somehow maneuvered both of their beds into the common room of her suite. She’d simply returned one day to find him casually lounging on his mattress no more than a foot away from hers as though nothing about the room had changed.
“I was bored.” He’d shrugged, and it had taken everything in her not to jump on his bed and tackle him in a hug. Such gestures were his way of helping when she didn’t have the words to tell him what was wrong. With Jack, with Demarco. Everything. He didn’t have to know to be her friend. He was just there to be there, and for that, he’d become her truest friend.
Together, they navigated the Conquering Circus, learning its secrets and sampling every delight it had to offer. The crowd provided enough cover to get them through undetected for the most part. But with Lottie’s arrival, it was best not to chance staying longer than they needed to. Demarco avoided the circus altogether nowadays, not keen on becoming the next story of the Poison of the Press. Or so he claimed, in those fleeting moments with him before he fled.
Heat rushed to Kallia’s cheeks. His silence affected her more than she’d dare admit. He hadn’t mentioned dropping from the competition since their last practice, but he’d never taken it back, either. She had no idea where his head was at, had never felt further from a person.
“Enjoying the show?”
Kallia had barely been watching the street act when the voice snapped her attention to Lottie de la Rosa, smiling as if she’d found herself a prize. “Even in a city as small as this, you’re a hard woman to track down, Kallia…” She lingered as if to say a last name, and found the lack of one more interesting. “Mind having a quick word?”
Aaros had already begun tugging her away, but Lottie only followed more fervently. “Honestly, what’s the harm in a little conversation?”
“I don’t like my words twisted and used against me.” Slowing to a stop, Kallia’s gaze drifted to the notepad held by a red-polished set of fingers.
“Aw, did Demarco warn you about me already?”
“He didn’t have to.” His efforts to avoid her at all costs told Kallia enough. Nobody earned a name like The Poison of the Press without having killed a few roots in her path.
Lottie’s head cocked, as if battling the instinct to scrawl out more words—before surprisingly, drawing the notepad back into her pocket. “Fine. Let’s speak frankly.” Her sleek lined eyes eased their aim. “The mayor, the judges, and the remaining contestants have all given me accounts that have painted you in their truth. And it’s not the most flattering.”
Kallia couldn’t care less what they thought of her, though a small part of her ought to. A bad name gave you infamy, extra press, and attention, but the outside world might be a different story. Eventually she would have to find a new act, and if she were truly honest with herself, nothing terrified her more than free-falling into that uncertainty, blindfolded.
She shoved the thought away. “As if I care.”
“Good. You shouldn’t,” Lottie said. “I didn’t come here to give a spotlight to Soltair’s most insecure men. I didn’t even come here to solve Rayne’s mystery. Not really.”
Kallia’s brow crinkled. “Then why travel all the way here?”
“To see you,” she said, as though it were obvious. “A brilliant and powerful female magician who’s stealing the show? It’s not something you see every day.”
“Is that all?”
“You probably wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”
She was baiting her, the wry twist of her smirk wrapped around a secret.
In the barest slivers he’d revealed of his old life, Demarco had told her how reporters used to hound him. The way they clawed