When Night Breaks

by Janella Angeles

  “What an obedient accessory.” Herald cooed in approval.

  Kallia smiled, more at the thought of how easily Jack could crush him with a snap. But just as he showed restraint, so did she. Sparing him was meant to be in punishment, so they had to sell it. She had to sell it, using every vicious bone in her body.

  “After last night, I’m surprised Roth even let you keep your monster. With all of that power on a leash?” Herald nodded back with an incredulous shudder. “You’re not worried he might go all devil on you one day?”

  The fool was either trying to get a rise out of Kallia, or obtain some knowledge. Or both.

  Kallia snatched the outfit from his hands and turned to the wardrobe mirrors. “Oh, he would never hurt me. That’s the beauty of it.” Resting the soft gown over her, she admired the fabric. “It’s others who should be worried, if they get in my way or annoy the hell out of me.”

  With a glance at the mirror, Kallia maintained her cooled smile. Herald pushed his spectacles higher up his nose. Back toward the wall, a sliver of a smirk showed even from Jack’s bowed head.

  “Those poor, potential enemies of yours.” Herald’s grin grew noticeably warmer from the one he’d first walked in wearing. “So glad we’re such good friends already. Aren’t we, showgirl?”

  Kallia’s brows crinkled in mock confusion. “And here I thought friends didn’t exist in a world like this,” she reminded him. His own words that she would never forget now. “Too cutthroat for such foolery, right?”

  Strangely, that brought out a semblance of a smile, as if she’d just told something remarkably endearing.

  * * *

  “Gorgeous.” Grinning, Herald spared Kallia a sweeping sideways glance as they walked on. “They’ll hate you even more for it.”

  Kallia took the compliment in stride. She wore a flattering jade-green gown that darkened along the tulip hem at her back. A lovely number, but the softness stopped there. The golden tips of her velvet black slippers were pointed so sharply, they could impale with a kick. Even her request for her usual red lip color was denied when Herald painted a thick, bold sweep across her lips, mirroring the thick flares of ink past her lash line.

  A casual look, according to Herald.

  Kallia had never worn anything finer.

  As they continued through the halls of the Alastor Place, almost everyone she passed glanced in her direction. Waitstaff whispered behind hands. Some stragglers from the party the night before almost approached, before backing off upon recognizing who walked behind them. For a moment, the atmosphere of it all transported Kallia back to Hellfire House—among sweaty masked patrons whose boisterous laughter died on their lips upon catching sight of the Master of the House. Only now, his notoriety only intensified. Especially after a fight with the devils that left him with hardly a scratch.

  “Wild, how the world watches, appreciating my artistry.” Herald raked in an excited breath, his arm still looped within hers. The moment Kallia allowed it, he never let go. “A promising preview, before the main event.”

  The headliners. Their show posters flashed in the back of her mind, as did the harsh, shadowy faces jeering at Jack’s fight to go on to the death. “What are they like?”

  “Awful.” An amused sound erupted from the back of Herald’s throat. “Unfortunately, they are quite clever. Most of them. No one gets to the top of the ladder without brains … unless you’re one of the Red Death Dukes, I guess. Those idiots are all mean muscle and maybe some magic.”

  Kallia raised a brow. “Or maybe that’s just what they want you to think?”

  “Maybe. They play dumb acrobatic hunks a little too convincingly. You should see what Filip d’Chane can achieve with just a tightrope on one of their show nights.”

  “Sounds delightful,” Kallia deadpanned.

  “Always gets someone in the crowd fainting.” He shook his head as they turned past a corner. “They’re a big team, so they rarely all show up together, but perhaps not today. I’m willing to bet all of the headliners will be in attendance just to get a good look at you.”

  Good. Kallia was counting on it, as she was there to do the same. The closer they approached the Green Room, the more it felt like waltzing back into those early days of Spectaculore. Observing the field, assessing her competition. Granted, she’d been up against brainless oafs with the odds in their favor—and still, she’d stepped on them all. Even with the show going up in flames.

  In Glorian, there had been no question who was the best. Whereas in a world like this, everyone was.

  Kallia gritted her teeth as faraway laughter and utensils clinking met her ears. Somehow the dimly lit lounge that made up the Green Room from the night before had the transformed green-glass cage of a pavilion just ahead. Large enough to host a sweeping restaurant but serving only a single table in the center.

  It was a feast for the senses. Laughter reeled around the table from the seated guests leaning back in chairs so thick, they were more like oversized pillows. The circular table spun slowly, stacked with mountains of food divided into sections that anyone could reach for, no matter where they sat. Glittering pastries and intricately carved bread loaves, thin meats and fish flesh frying over heated rocks, fruits that were somehow grown in the shape of birds perched over bowls of sauces and creams.

  It was a carousel of delights, enjoyed by all of those sitting along the edges.

  All of whom immediately turned her way upon arrival.

  The laughter died. The looks flashed from disapproval to envy to amusement.

  “Well, well, well…” A burly young man in a burgundy smoking lounge jacket stood with a glass mug of orange juice. “Someone is looking quite fancy today.”

  Chuckles rippled around the table. In a sweeping glance, Kallia felt her gown tighten.

  All of the headliners donned some form of sleepwear—long nightgowns with silk trains and lush robes lined with furs, a few even showed up in long rumpled shirts with nothing underneath but long socks and jewel-toned slippers. Hardly anyone wore a speck of makeup, or did so minimally for the earliness of the day. All comfortable and casually luxurious.

  All observing her like she’d just waltzed into war wearing nothing at all.

  Grinning, Kallia dug her nails into Herald’s wrist. “You barged into my room to doll me up for this?”

  “I’m trying to help you,” he gasped as she pressed harder, breaking skin. “You dropped in like an absolute mess yesterday. Here’s your second chance to finally show them you can look just as fearsome.”

  “If I throw you out the window, is that fearsome enough?”

  A soft snort sounded behind, and Kallia was about ready to kick Jack in the knees, too.

  “Trust me, you’ll thank me later.” Herald gently pulled off Kallia’s grip, leaving a trail of vicious crescent indents over his skin. “If you want them to like you—or at the very least, take you seriously—you don’t want to be looking as though you just rolled out of bed. I saw that look on you, and it was not impressive in the least.”

  “As if I care whether they like me or not,” she seethed, already knowing they didn’t. Not even fashion would change that. “I don’t need to impress them.”

  “No, but you might be glad you did.”

  Herald drew away with a knowing raise of his brow, exiting back through the doors. Abandoning her.

  There was no fleeing with him. Whether he’d set her up for humiliation or genuinely tried giving her some edge, it would look worse for Kallia to turn around now and run. Not that she ever entertained the idea.

  While Jack said nothing, silent as a servant, she caught something in his lowered gaze. That gleam of challenge.

  So what are you waiting for?

  “Come along,” Kallia ordered as she turned, chin tipped high. She would’ve walked in no differently if Herald had wrapped her in a stained napkin.

  No one offered her a seat as she approached, not that she expected them to. Instead, most opted to observe what s
he might do, while others resumed their conversations among themselves over drinks and fine pastries.

  In truth, Kallia wasn’t too upset to find most of the table full and well-occupied. One cocky magician with purple locks smirked as he showed his bored neighbors piles of scribbled music sheets that eventually found their way to the floor. A ginger-haired woman wrapped in silks and feathers bickered with a man who tried stealing a kiss. A section of rowdy boys wearing matching dark red robes emblazoned with skulls at the back balanced tea cups and glasses atop one of their heads. They all guffawed in marvel at the towering disaster—before a thrown green slipper knocked it down.

  The one who’d sneered at Kallia before thrust a hand out, freezing every object in place before they shattered to the ground. “Damn it, Vain.”

  “It wasn’t me.” The drawl came from the opposite end of the table where Vain sat by two other girls.

  Naturally, the only free chair in the room remained right beside Vain.

  Once the realization dawned on them both, the displeasure was mutual.

  “That’s…,” Vain murmured into a sip of her tea, pointedly staring. “That’s a look.”

  Kallia beamed graciously as she sat down. “Thank you so much. Yours, too.”

  One of the Diamond Rings pressed a fist to her mouth and coughed—or snorted—while Vain rolled her eyes. She was one of the rare disheveled few at the table who appeared to be wearing the first thing she could grab, which somehow worked even more to her favor. The wrinkled gentleman’s shirt was long enough on her that she could cross her legs without baring much, highlighting slightly bruised yet smooth skin. As well as the single bare foot by her other slippered one.

  “You know Filip is never going to give it back to you,” teased a brown-skinned girl with bouncy curls sitting on Vain’s other side in a sheer light-pink robe rimmed with feathers.

  “He can keep it.” Vain stabbed at a piece of fruit. “Red Death Dukes need more variety, anyway.”

  “Just let them be who they want to be, darling,” trilled the other Diamond Ring, a round-cheeked girl with long, braided, silver-blond hair, wearing a dark-purple nightgown gem-studded like stars. Of the three, she smiled the most, and was the first of anyone to look kindly in Kallia’s direction all day. “Hello there, I’m Ruthless. Love the black lip.”

  “Th-thank you.” Kallia blinked at the sweetness of her voice. “I’m—”

  “I know,” she said eagerly through a too-wide grin. “I watched the show in the mirrors—kept me on the edge the whole time! And you were just brilliant.”

  Mouth parted, Kallia wasn’t entirely sure what to say to that.

  “Brilliant?” Vain scoffed. “The mirrors watched her when she got to the city. That’s not talent.”

  “Why were you watching, then?” Ruthless shot her a knowing smirk, to which the other Diamond Ring beside her laughed. “Kallia had more talent in a single eyelash than anyone else in that competition.”

  Vain shrugged before popping a small ball of fruit in her mouth. “And I believe the key word, here, is had.”

  The reminder always pressed hard. Even harder because everyone knew. They knew her secrets, her shame, in a way that stripped her to just skin every time she walked into a room filled with people.

  “Don’t listen to her, darling,” Ruthless whispered. “She criticizes everyone.”

  “Yes, call it a coping mechanism for someone plagued with the inability to work on herself.” The girl in pink ducked from the block of cheese that came flying at her head with a shriek. “Don’t you dare get grease on this robe, Vain. It’s new.”

  “You probably have five more just like it in your closet, Malice.”

  “Not in this shade.”

  Kallia dragged a finger over her empty plate, observing the piece of jewelry the leader toyed with at her neck. It was the exact same necklace they all wore: a simple chain holding a sparkling ring, very much like the hoops they performed with. Vain, Malice, and Ruthless.

  The names of nightmares. The Diamond Rings.

  For some reason, Kallia expected there to be more in the group from their show, though they must’ve integrated more illusions than she realized.

  Still, these three possessed the mighty stage presence of a group of ten.

  Just like everyone else in the room. From one glimpse down, each performer promised a different show, a different spectacle for the world to enjoy.

  “Heard we missed a good fight yesterday.” Vain lowered her cup to the table, lifting her gaze past Kallia’s shoulder. “Pity.”

  Kallia didn’t need to turn to know Jack stood behind her. He was probably the only reason why Vain hadn’t yet attempted even harsher insults. Why no one at the table had even dared attack her on sight.

  “You really need a bodyguard with you everywhere?”

  “That is the point of them,” Kallia muttered with the snap of her fingers. “Thanks for reminding me.”

  Vain’s feral smile tensed while Kallia’s rose when Jack leaned over on command. “Fill the plate,” she ordered.

  If she didn’t throw some menial task on him, the others would get suspicious. Especially if she simply ignored him, even if it would be easier that way. Too many people were watching. Not only taking stock of her, but Jack as well.

  For once she was grateful for Jack’s presence—the one familiar face among strangers—as well as his service. The table was overwhelming enough on its own with its rotating plate of overwhelming delights, both strange and delicious. Even the teas appeared otherworldly in small glass pots sporting such baffling flavors: crushed jasmine butterfly wings, morning gold mint flowers, essence of the drinker’s favorite color.

  Jack set the filled plate in front of her, which she spared a bored glance before waving him away. “Now go. I don’t want you hovering over me.”

  Ordering him around, talking down to him like an untrained dog, was not remotely close to a satisfying revenge when it was all part of a role. All meant to dehumanize and ridicule him for the amusement of others.

  Proud as she knew Jack to be, he took it all. Impressively. He played his part far better than she did, accepting the dismissal with a terse nod before taking his place against the wall. Just close enough to keep watch, and run to her side if she ever needed him again.

  What a good dog.” Vain chewed with a smirk.

  Biting her tongue, Kallia absently scraped her fork against whatever sat on her plate. Her frown deepened at the selection. He could’ve chosen random items, but everything he collected appeared to resemble some of her favorites: some odd bread braid drizzled in chocolate, fruit sliced like petals strung together like flowers, candied-bacon wrapped in cheese.

  “Don’t worry, darling,” Ruthless insisted with a lilt of concern. “It’s all really as delicious as it looks.”

  “It would be a shame, otherwise.” Malice blew out a snort and began viciously ripping into a pastry. “There’s enough in this world that’s screwed up. No need to ruin food—”

  Vain coughed hard.

  The two girls straightened in their seats and turned back to their plates.

  Kallia drew in a tense breath, and said nothing. She reached for one of the mini teapots just to give her hands something to do. To look busy. There was so much cold to this world. She longed for warmth. She longed for the mornings she remembered. Those days when she’d sneak away to the Conquering Circus tents for some bitter hot tea and cards, those hours in the Prima Cafe with Aaros. Or sitting beneath the sunlight, across the table from—

  Kallia glanced up, and she nearly dropped the steaming pot she held.

  Demarco sat casually beside her, his face covered by an issue of the Soltair Source while he sipped at his coffee. As if that stopped people from recognizing him. She knew it was him simply by his hands, the warm brown shade of his skin skin even darker against the pale text-ridden paper.

  Kallia’s vision wavered suddenly, especially when his long fingers started tapping absently along th
e edges as he read, following the beat of some song in his head.

  The blood rushed from her face as she peered all around, the headliners of the Green Room still in place. Unaware of the new guest who had just descended in their midst as if plucked right from the Prima Café.

  The issue crinkled as Demarco folded it back together, struck by her—the same surprise flaring in his dark eyes, as if he’d been waiting for her to arrive all this time.

  “Ah, there you are,” he said, his lips curling at the edges. “Ready to go?”

  Kallia blinked rapidly, her vision wavering abruptly. Something inside her cracked, waiting for him to disappear. Begging.

  Because this wasn’t real. He wasn’t here, even as he sat before her.

  Because leaving this place would never be as simple as saying yes, taking his hand, and going for a walk back to Glorian with him.

  “Um, can I help you?”

  Kallia jerked. The room violently snapped into place, and there was Vain. Brows raised, sitting where Demarco had just been. A seat he’d never occupied in the first place.

  “Nothing,” Kallia bristled with a slow shake of her head. Pathetic, the way it all threw her off. One glance of him, a version of him that wasn’t even real, and she crumbled.

  Vain assessed her with a birdlike tilt of her head. “Pity,” she said softly. “I think the new girl can’t keep up, Roth.”

  “Settle down, Vain.”

  The deep voice slithered into Kallia’s ears before triangle-marked hands found her shoulders from behind. As he smiled down at her, she could almost forget he was the same magician who’d unleashed brutality in this very room.

  Kallia mustered up the purest smile she could for him. “It’s all in good fun.”

  “That’s the spirit. A little poison every day is good for the soul, makes us stronger.” Roth winked with such playfulness, she could almost forget he was the same magician who’d unleashed brutality in this very room.

  “This city looks good on you, my dear.” He took in her appearance with beaming pride. “Glad you could join us all. There’s so much to prepare for.”