fell open at the ridiculousness of it all. That was acquired magic at work?
“Thank you for that display.” Mayor Eilin cheerily patted Josev on the shoulder. “And for saving my table.”
Unbelievable.
The mayor leaned over to set the fallen candelabra back up, giving a hopeless sigh at the girl. “No more playing with the centerpieces, Janette.”
“I wasn’t, Father.” Pink-cheeked, she returned to her seat with the assistance of Demarco. He shot Kallia a look across the table, his jaw set. Always so serious.
Unable to help herself, she gave him a delicate wave of her fingers.
“Down, girl.” Aaros nudged her. “I know you wanted to light up the party a bit, but that was—”
“As if I would be so petty. That wasn’t me. Honest.” Kallia sipped at her newly replenished wine, meeting Demarco’s intense gaze with another playful wave. “I’m saving all my claws for show night.”
* * *
Twenty-four was a troublemaker.
Daron knew it the moment she entered the room. Not because of what she wore, but in her look of pleasure upon earning everyone’s shock. She and her partner swapped sly grins throughout the night, thinking nobody would notice. But Daron had an eye for instigators, having been one himself in his show days. He knew exactly what sort of trouble arrogance could bring to the table.
“Mister Demarco, tell me about your plans after the show.”
Next to him, Janette was still massaging her wrist, though no harm had come to it. Her coy blue eyes looked up at him from beneath thick lashes. As the mayor’s daughter, she exuded poise and grace, even after a fall from her chair. Not a golden hair out of place, no stains marring the soft silk of her dress.
Kallia, on the other hand, looked like she’d arrived from an entirely different realm. Hair worn down and wild, red lips, and a bold dress that bordered on irreverent. It was hard to look away. And still, Daron sensed something reserved about her. A wall. He’d known a thing or two about putting up bold fronts, how well they could hide what you wished others not to see.
“Mister Demarco?” Janette repeated through a sweet smile.
Daron cleared his throat with an apology. “No plans, really.”
“You’re not thinking of working with the Patrons?” she asked. “With your aunt at the helm, sounds like something of a family business. It’s all so, so interesting.”
Her avid curiosity was on brand with Erasmus’s, and it made Daron’s skin itch. Somehow it was the people without magic who were most fascinated by the systems for monitoring those in possession of it. They perked up whenever they heard of the Patrons taking in corrupt magicians who abused their power, or destroying items infused with magic in unnatural ways.
Eva always said Aunt Cata tended to monitor Soltair with a tighter fist, which Daron found ironic as Aunt Cata had looked to Eva as her successor. Even he couldn’t deny she was a more obvious choice; more naturally talented and quick-thinking, strategic and powerful.
Without her, the pressure was on him, and his aunt’s weekly letters had burned a hole in his courier case every time one arrived. Opened, but unanswered.
“It’s definitely an option.” Daron’s gaze dropped to where she’d folded back her cuffs to expose the delicate white skin beneath. “How’s your wrist?”
“Oh, much better!” Janette’s spark of delight soured almost instantly. “No apology from her, of course.”
He resisted looking at Kallia. The challenge of the night for him, it seemed. “For what?”
“The candle.” With a huff, she smoothed out her dress’s skirt. “Squandering magic on such pettiness. Can you believe it?”
She spoke of magic like it was hers to speak of. He bit the inside of his cheek. “No, I can’t.”
In a curious flash, Janette’s demeanor went from sweet to assessing as a spider. “You know what the judges say about you? That despite your past and your family, you’re something of a monk magician now.”
Heat abruptly raced up his neck. He glanced at the others, holding back a glare.
Petty gossips.
“They say you don’t use magic anymore. Wastefully, at least.”
“They don’t know me.” He spoke tersely, just as her fingers trailed over his wrist.
“Well, if it were true,” she said, humoring him, “I’d find it admirable. Magic could be used for so much more than tricks on a stage. Father told me all about her gaudy audition—imagine how fire like that could warm a home, burn waste, anything!”
“We have labor magicians who choose that sort of work.” Daron withdrew his hand to reach for his