and better than ever.”
“But how did it die in the first place?”
Daron’s brow scrunched. Kallia, not easily dazzled, had spoken the very question he’d been too wary to ask. In all their minds, seeing as how no one shot her an annoyed glare.
“There was … a fire,” the mayor spoke oddly, looking down at his twiddling fingers. “A great and terrible fire, long ago. Do you remember, Janette?”
Shaking her head, she bore a similar look of alarm. “Father.”
“It was so bad,” he continued, tentatively, “that it forced all the families and people of Glorian to leave and—”
“No, Father, look!” Janette shrieked. The whole table jumped as she pointed shakily at the opposite wall. A candle had fallen to the ground. And another. Like dominos, all of the candles toppled from their holders—smoke rising in columns, flames quickly devouring the carpet as if oil had soaked into the ground.
The fires rose rampant, unnatural.
Every guest shot from their seat, trapped in the sudden ring of fire. The mirrored walls reflected the flames, illuminating the room in blinding pieces of light before a sea of smoke drowned them in gray. Amid the coughing and shouting, Daron tossed his full water glass over his napkin and shoved it against his nose and mouth. Janette was plastered to her father’s side, screaming into his lapel while he hollered at his butlers to grab blankets. Throw water. Open the windows.
“No—don’t open the windows!”
Daron’s eyes began tearing from the smoke, but he saw Kallia taking the helm at the other side of the table, ripping her black gloves off. “Everyone, hold your breath!”
She wanted them to do what?
Daron pressed the damp cloth to his mouth, trying to think. None of the other magicians could do anything but panic. He could hardly look around, for the mirrors were everywhere. His fist clenched, frustration deep in his veins. In his performing days, he’d been able to shower water from whatever sky he chose. Now, trapped in a room of fire, his mind blanked. Useless.
Not Kallia. Through the curtain of smoke between them he observed her stance, like that of a fighter, learning her opponent. She spread her arms out wide and raised them higher, and as if some spirit entered her body, her shoulders to her chest lifted in one upward yank that straightened her spine.
All of a sudden, the air in the room turned void.
There was no sound, no smell.
No heat, no breath.
Daron resisted the impulse to inhale. That fool Josev tried, and fell over the table. Daron heard the crash of glass and utensils, but the pressure building in his ears clogged the sounds into dull little thuds.
It could’ve been seconds or hours—time passed slowly without air. Daron’s chest grew tight, but out of the corner of his eye, the hazy flicker of flames rapidly diminished, shrinking back until all that was left was smoke thickening the air. Like a conductor, Kallia flicked her palms outward. The windows flew open.
Her whole torso collapsed, chest heaving.
The guests gathered their bearings, coughing and gasping in the fresh air from the outside. One of the magicians checked on Josev, still slumped over the table, his lips trembling at the influx of oxygen.
“Zarose,” the mayor swore, mouth hanging. “What did you do?”
“More importantly,” Erasmus cut in. “Who taught you that trick?”
“Show’s over,” Kallia’s assistant snapped. “Be grateful she saved your lives.”
Like everyone else, Daron wanted answers. But as Kallia straightened back her shoulders, mouth twisted in a ready retort, she swayed and slumped over before getting a single word out.
The room exploded once more into action. Daron all but rushed toward the other end as the current of panic thrummed wildly within him. He kicked aside fallen chairs in his path, shoving others out of his way before stopping himself. That strange pull.
He forced himself to stay back as her assistant began lowering her to the floor, calling her name—hissing at whoever tried laying a hand on her.
Not without noticing how Kallia looked in her long black dress spilling over the floor, joining the huge scorch marks trailing around the dinner table like a fire-burnt crown.
12
“I’m fine!” Kallia barked after Aaros asked. Again. She’d only just awakened after he’d thrown some water on her face back in their suite. And still, the smoke drowned her. All she could taste and smell. Her muscles tremored and cried beneath her skin as she exhaled sharply.
Nothing had ever backfired on her like this. Her power performed well, but her? The next time she faced