power, everything changed. Everywhere she stepped became a stage rather than a prison.
“Are you ready to see some magic?” Kallia winked.
After swallowing a belly-deep breath, Meg nodded. Kallia guided her toward the front of the stage, gesturing for Aaros to stay by the mirror. At the snap of her fingers, the musicians to the other side began playing, trying to find the heartbeat of the act—the slow curling whine of a violin, met by the soft rapping of drums beneath. A hypnotic reel made for shadows and night.
Perfect.
Kallia’s mind worked better with music lifting the air. Her eyes flitted between her props and Meg, quickly formulating an act.
The crowd hushed at her back, anticipating how she would use the props in harmony. They would probably be disappointed to not receive the same fire and strident beats of the first performance, but Kallia hoped it would be enough.
She nodded at Aaros to keep moving the mirror until it stood right by them at the center of the stage. An old mirror, large and grand with the gilded frame of a magnificent portrait. Kallia imagined queens and empresses beholding themselves before this mirror, now nothing more than a prop.
It’s only a prop.
“Tonight,” Kallia said, and the music bowed to her voice. “You will learn to always think first before trusting your reflection.”
The words fell from her lips naturally, but it bit at her to bring any of Jack’s lessons onto the stage with her. She took up the dagger, tilting the blade into the light so that it gleamed like a smile. “For tonight, I will bend what the mirror shows you and give you something else.”
Whispers unleashed across the audience, a few in protest and disbelief.
Illusion, not manipulation. It was the only distinction she could bear, for she would never mold minds and make them her own. Even if it were easier, when minds were so malleable.
The girl’s probing gaze wandered from the dagger in Kallia’s hand to the mirror, uncertain.
“It will be all right, I promise,” Kallia reassured her. “All I want you to do is stand right here—with a large step between you and the mirror … yes, there you go—and when I ask, I’d like you to tell me what you see.”
Meg nodded, her hesitation melting away. She stood directly in front of the mirror, the huge frame dwarfing her so parts of the audience could still see themselves reflected. Additional credibility. Kallia needed it, even for an illusion as small as this.
She moved a few paces away from Meg. Head held high, weapon in hand.
As the soft violin notes floated back into her ears, Kallia spun the dagger in the air, but it never fell. Gliding away from her, like a slow-moving arrow with the blade facedown, it traveled to the space between Meg and the mirror.
Kallia washed away the faces in front of her, shoving them out of focus as she concentrated on the object. The dagger. A small, familiar object, though that had nothing to do with the illusion. Jack had hardly taught her the trick when he’d presented it, but she’d always been quick to figure out the truth behind the magic.
The power lay not in bending what the beholder could see, but in convincing the reflection it was something else.
The blade is not a blade, she thought. The hilt is not a hilt.
She imagined the opposite of sharp edges and deathly points, her thoughts drifting toward green-leaved stems and soft petals wet beneath sunlight.
Her garden. Her greenhouse. It looked exactly as she’d left it, unfurling an ache inside her. Her heart, bruising sweetly at the sight.
It was a welcome visit, until the strain started to hit. Hands still raised to keep the weapon levitated, the imagery vined around it. A chant spoken again and again, to give it more power, more strength.
Not a blade. Not a hilt.
Beads of sweat slid down Kallia’s neck as that voice of the wind returned, joining hers. Whether real or imagined, her temple began to throb. The act of focus and willing magic into another tugged inside her, but soon, the pressure eased. Her fingertips tingled. Her heartbeat pounded vividly in her ears as the dagger began to vibrate in the air.
The shivering was undeniable, emitting a subtle hum. The object listened, trying to obey. It would’ve been much easier for Kallia to turn the dagger into a flower, but who ever preferred the easier challenge?
At once, the theater burst into exclamations, a wave of chairs creaking as