He wasn’t sure what that was supposed to imply, but opportunity was the last thing on Daron’s mind when he reassessed the Alastor Place—more a cemetery of dreams than the stage to make them come alive.
“Young is right,” Judge Bouquet muttered. It was difficult to believe someone as scowl-mouthed as him had once had enough charisma to entertain a crowd. “Doesn’t perform anymore, but counts himself an expert. Hmph. The youths believe they know everything.”
“Funny,” Daron bit out drily. “I was just thinking the same about the elderly.”
Judge Bouquet’s face remained flat as paper. “Why did you invite the boy, again, Andre?”
Boy. Daron grinded his teeth.
“Didn’t even have to ask him,” Mayor Eilin chortled. “Rayne handled the invitations. Sent them to the topmost gentlemen still on the circuit, and somehow, Demarco answered instead.”
The other judge sneered suspiciously. Daron remained unfazed. “Magicians talk.”
“No complaints here, young blood. Like I could ever turn a Patron away.”
He’d meant it as a compliment, but Daron cringed. Family privilege served on a platter comes with its own brand of grease, his sister would say. He could barely swallow it.
“Though from what I heard, I am shocked you came.” Mayor Eilin paled, awkward and apologetic as Daron’s face darkened before turning back to the stage. “Of course people know who you come from, and they say you weren’t in retirement for that long, after all.”
Another hmph, from Judge Silu this time. “Retirement, after one bad act. You have your whole life ahead of you. It does you no favors to be so sensitive.”
It took everything in Daron to not knock off the man’s top hat and crush it beneath his shoe before putting a fist in his face.
Two years ago, Daron had left the stage and everything that came with it. Packed audiences and parties, front-page stories after festive nights of revelry. Young performers had no need for retirement, and those older than he was never failed to tell him. As if it were their duty to shame him for taking a break from what had nearly broken him.
Two years.
And then one day, when Daron happened to glance at the morning newspaper boasting a flashy flyer with a top hat, he woke up.
Glorian.
The city lost in the Woods—opening its gates to a show, and its participants.
And his sister’s words began trickling back in like an old song.
“I had the dream again.” Eva had said during one of their card games, only a few nights before his last performance. “I’d made it through the Woods, to Glorian.”
“You’re obsessed. That’s why you keep dreaming of it.” Daron picked up a card from the center deck. Five golden petals branded the card he tucked into his hand. “It’s just Glorian. I’m surprised the Woods haven’t devoured it like a snake yet.”
“You’re no fun anymore.” Eva flicked a forgotten speck of glitter from her gown off her elbow. “Maybe some of the rumors are true.”
“Name one.” Everyone loved to speculate and exaggerate over the unknown. They made for amusing tales in the papers—mysterious horned beasts stampeding through the city once a month, inexplicable storms of blood rain, an abundance of cats prowling the streets—but none that could be proven. The Dire Woods made sure of it, like a serpent holding court over a garden. A treacherous ocean between lands that no one dared navigate.
Only Eva would, given a chance.
“You have to admit, the cats theory does not seem completely outlandish.” Eva shrugged. “Lottie stands by it.”
“She stands by anything that’ll sell papers.”
She ticked her tongue defensively before pressing her rouge-painted lips to the side. “I have a theory.”
He rapped his fingers across the table. “Surprise, surprise.”
Ignoring him, she let her thumb dance across the tops of her cards. “At Casine’s, they never taught us much about it, only that the Woods make it hard as hell to find. And no one should go looking in the first place.”
“They prefer isolation.” Daron snorted. “To avoid being overrun by certain fanatics and outsiders curious about its insides.”
Her deep brown eyes remained undeterred. “What if they’re … hiding something?”
“Hiding what?”
“I don’t know. Something powerful.”
Her tone teased at something more. More than nonsense, more than conspiracy theories. “Like weapons?”
“No, if they wanted war they would’ve come for the rest of Soltair already. It must be something else, something valuable.” She bit her lip in consideration. “The ability to travel back in time, to make memories and erase feelings like they never existed, to bring people back from the dead or elsewhere!” she exclaimed.