spoke delicately, Kallia noted. Sparingly. As though he were used to the way all the guests clung to his words, uninterested in entertaining them a moment more.
“Anything serious?”
“Is it that case of labor magicians?” one of the contestants piped up. “It was in the papers last week. A few woke up unable to do a day’s work, while others accomplished the work of ten men.”
“You read gossip rags, Robere?” Josev chuckled.
“The Patrons pay attention to the press,” Robere snapped. “Isn’t that right, Demarco?”
“They only come when they’re called upon, and that alone keeps them busy enough,” said Demarco. “If they followed up on every story to make headlines, they’d be hunting more lies than truths.”
“So say we make more than a few headlines…” Erasmus suggested with a wily glint in his eyes. “They won’t come banging down our doors?”
“Don’t get any ideas, Rayne. We’re already pushing it.” The mayor pointedly avoided looking in Kallia’s direction. “This competition is supposed to save us, not scandalize us.”
“Can’t it do both?” Erasmus laughed into the next sip from his glass, and the others joined. Each threw short glances Kallia’s way as the dinner party resumed, as if looking any longer would incur her wrath. Or her smile.
It was an effort to remember the names of these men when they all bore the same scowls and proud sneers. Only the places on Soltair they hailed from set them apart. The unpleasant drinker, Josev, went on loudly about the latest crop of magicians he’d taught at Valmonts. Aaros had to remind her that the guests nearest to them went by Farris, Constantin, Robere, and Eduar—all trained labor magicians hailing from the southern region of Deque, bonding over their high hopes to leave their workstations for the stage.
The Conquering Circus provided that exact opportunity. For any of the outsiders, Kallia realized, not only her.
But no one could’ve possibly wanted it more. She had nowhere to return to, if she lost. No work to fall back on, should she fail.
Aaros kept the mood light when the others hardly acknowledged her. A kind effort, but she’d expected the shunning. She was no stranger to it. Some petty alliance had already formed against her, and nobody bothered to hide it.
Wait for it, she thought, stroking at the handle of her dinner knife. When the competition really started, they’d all be at each other’s throats.
Just when Kallia thought the night couldn’t get any better, her glass tipped forward with a clatter. Not knocked over by her hands or anyone else’s. Kallia immediately threw her napkin over the tablecloth to absorb the dark stream of wine running toward her.
“Oh my, it seems you’ve made a bit of a mess,” Mayor Eilin called out, not missing a beat. “Now everyone, I told you this was to be a civil dinner. We’re all good sports here.”
The room rang with laughter. Seemingly good-natured but reeking of mocking. Aaros’s expression hardened instantly, but Kallia patted his arm as a server came over to help clean the mess. “This little spill? Accidents happen. This can barely be considered a mess by my definition.”
“You must have a lot of experience.” The blond girl next to the mayor hardly hid her snicker, flicking at the tassels hanging off the candelabra in front of her.
Kallia only grinned back wider. Not that she expected the only other female in the room to side with her, but against the malicious barricade, it wouldn’t have hurt. Sadly, in this room, Aaros was her only friend.
A high-pitched scream erupted, followed by a thunk. Every head whipped toward the mayor’s end of the table, where the candelabra had fallen over onto the place setting of the girl who’d startled right off her chair.
Demarco immediately crouched to help her from the floor, but she only shrieked “Fire!” at the small flame eating away at her abandoned napkin.
Mayor Eilin jerked back as if it were a snake. The magician to his right, Josev, calmly pushed past him. “Allow me.”
He could’ve easily smothered the tiny fire with his sleeve, but the magician smoothed his fingers through his hair before holding them out.
The fire grew, the more seconds ticked. Temple sweating in concentration, Josev whispered something under his breath that sent a stream of water traveling slow as molasses from a nearby glass. It floated above the flame, and with another long burst of words from Josev, extinguished the fire completely.
Light applause rang across the table as the magician dropped his hands. “Please, please, I’m no hero.”