shy away from the spotlight more desperately than a bat. It’s what everyone’s saying back there, though.”
“I wish they would stop.”
“Well, you’re in luck. Maybe this will give them something else to worry about.” With a loud clunk on the table, Aaros presented a full leather wallet, a bejeweled folded fan, and a bulging velvet coin purse with a flourish of his fingers. “Ta-da.”
Without the drink going to his head, he might’ve reacted with more alarm. “You stole from them?”
“You really think I would walk through that storm of gossip mongrels just for fun?” Aaros clucked his tongue, admiring his loot.
Daron had always wondered where Aaros had come from, how he’d found his way into Kallia’s employment. A male assistant in stage magic was a rare sight, nearly unheard of. But he wore the distinction like a badge of honor, just as Kallia flaunted hers. Their combined mischief made them a great team. Not at all proper, and it worked all the more in their favor.
“And before you groan again, thanks truly are in order.” Aaros set his half-emptied drink down with a sideways glance, a genuine smile. “Whatever happened on that stage, your trick prevented a hell of a lot more damage than was already done. My boss is very appreciative.”
Daron’s mind cleared. “Is that what she said?”
“No. But I’m sure she’s thinking it.”
What would she think if she knew the truth? About why he was here, in Glorian, in the first place?
He fixated on the rim of his glass. “Probably only thinking of how well I interfered in her act.”
“That, too.” The assistant nodded. “Some occasions call for a little interference, though.”
An uproarious burst of laughter and clinking glasses boomed from the other side of the foyer, the party in full swing. Far more rowdy than the first show night’s party, with everyone still chasing the high of tonight’s exciting turn of events. No one paid mind to their quiet corner of the bar, but Daron couldn’t help but glance around, lowering his voice. “So … none of what happened onstage was planned, was it?”
Aaros swirled his drink, letting the ice cubes roll around the amber liquor. “In truth? I don’t know. Kallia could fall down three flights of stairs and claim it as an act of grace. It’s how she is. She owns whatever she does.”
“But surely she didn’t plan on hurting herself? With a child in her act? Something must’ve gone wrong.”
“The evidence stacks up to that, doesn’t it?” Aaros set his drink down firmly, clearly done with the subject.
“Is she doing all right?”
The question flew from Daron before he could wrench it back, and it pulled a snort from the assistant. “She’s not bleeding from the back anymore, if that’s what you’re wondering,” he said. “What, you want my permission to go and check on her?”
“No, I was simply asking.” Daron took another quick swig of his drink and consumed only air. Empty. “But after a night like this, why aren’t you up there with her?”
“She insisted on no visitors. Didn’t realize that included me until she kicked me out.” The assistant sighed and flexed his fingers. “It was either pace around our suite until my legs gave out, or come down for a drink. I was in favor of what could take the edge off quicker.”
So Kallia had shut out her assistant, too. She shut everyone out. It was his usual reaction as well, in times of crisis. No one could perceive you as weak if they could not see you.
“When was the last time you checked on her?”
Aaros studied him, bemused. “I swear, you two act like the truest pair of ex-lovers I’ve ever seen. Are you sure you two haven’t—”
Daron threw him a searing glare. “Don’t start, assistant.”
“Only telling you how I see it, judge.” Aaros clapped him on the shoulder. “Don’t you worry, it’s not just you. She looks at you every time you turn away. Like clockwork.”
Hearing that didn’t make it any better for Daron. He pulled at his collar, his neck flushed.
Aaros gestured once more for the bartender, counting out his spoils of war from the wallet he’d snatched. “If the mayor sends for them, how fast will the Patrons come?”
As much as Daron hated being looked to as the watchdog of the Patrons, he didn’t know. A letter from Aunt Cata had not reached his courier case in days, which could only mean she and her team were knee-deep in their case. Or perhaps, she’d finally given up