Being worked to the bone at least sold the story well. No one could deny Kallia’s role among the Diamond Rings with the amount of training they put in during the peak and empty hours at the gymnasium. More often than not, while the entire city and the other headliners partied, the Diamond Rings practiced on hoops skilled enough to put on their own show.
“Just because the rings are charmed, doesn’t mean we do absolutely nothing,” Malice had huffed during one practice as they all stretched over the mats. “We know exactly how to use them, of course. But best to prepare for that, if they ever fail us, too.”
Lifting her head, Ruthless glared. “Excuse you, but I learned everything from the marvel houses before joining this circus, so my rings are flawlessly loyal,” she declared. “They sit on a chain by your heart all day, for Zarose sake. They’d follow you right into the bloody ocean if you so wished.”
“What’s the point in training like this, then?” asked Kallia.
“Precaution. You never know when a ring might go missing before showtime.”
Her jaw hung at the thought. “People have stolen them from you?”
“Tried, failed, and gotten exactly what they deserved for it.” Vain smirked, stretching out her other side. “Sabotage is part of show business, mortal. You should know. No one plays fair when we’re all trying to win the same game. Some become desperate just to get ahead,” she trailed off, growing more wistful. “But when it comes to wanting to watch the world burn, sounds a bit like fun.”
That same troubling smile stared back at Kallia now when Vain gave a satisfied hum and finally set down her small brush. “There. Now we’re all ready for war.”
She cleared out of the mirror’s way with a snort as Kallia grinned at her reflection. Her mask was as red as her lips, exquisite and bold. Delicately, she traced the swirls of tiny jewels that fell like art across her face before the others crowded around for a last look in the mirror and final fixes.
It was the strongest Kallia had felt in a long time, sparkling among the Diamond Rings.
“Now, let’s see who’s ready for the fire.” With a toss of her coiled hair, Ruthless patted at the dramatic slit in her dress, framed with gleaming thick-beaded appliques running down the length. “Once these come off, hopefully it’ll be enough to cut the power off early.”
“As long as you don’t accidentally set yourself on fire first,” Vain said.
“I’ll try my best.” Ruthless absently snapped her fingers before Malice presented a crumpled booklet filled with text. “Mal got her hands on tonight’s itinerary and there’s a lot. We should go over positions, safe escape strategies, how to help the crowd if—”
“Help? We’re helping by getting it done.” Vain ticked her tongue. “What more do they need?”
“I need to know that we’re only out to destroy this party. Not everyone in it.”
Whatever they said next fell away from Kallia as a quick knock came from the door. No one else reacted or seemed to notice. Not even when the door creaked open behind them by the corner of the reflection—
“You ready, boss?”
Kallia stopped breathing when Aaros poked his head through the door’s opening. He wore his pre-show conspiratorial grin that deepened as his eyes met hers in the mirror. “Now that is a look to help the guilty get away with murder.”
No. She shut her eyes, and her pulse only thudded louder as the girls continued their chatter over her head while Aaros’s voice trickled in between. So familiar and near, she longed to look again until he vanished like the rest of them.
Not real.
“You all right there, mortal?”
Kallia’s eyes snapped open, and three bejeweled faces stared back in worry.
“I’m fine.” Her cheeks seared beneath the jewels. She didn’t even need to check the corner of the mirror to know there was no one at the door. There never had been. “What, is something wrong?”
A rhythmic tapping answered, bold as heels striking marble floor, before the noise stopped. “Mal, Ruth, go ahead.” Vain lifted her nails for inspection. “We’ll catch up to you in the Court.”
It wasn’t so much a command as it was an unspoken agreement. Both girls sauntered off toward the door without hesitation, while Kallia resisted every urge to flee after them.
Being alone with Vain still felt like being cornered by a scorpion, somehow. Even with all their training. Kallia went along with all the hoop work and exercises and routines in the gymnasium, but rarely ever did they touch magic in their sessions. It was almost like an afterthought, doled out in the most underwhelming doses—summoning a spit of fire, conjuring a breeze to cool the sweat from their skin, slowing the pour of water into a glass. All simple, easy tricks that Kallia had learned as a child. Nothing to help her win a duel, as if Vain wanted her to fail.
“So, mortal, who was it?”
The question dropped so suddenly, Kallia blinked. “What?”
“Don’t act like we don’t know.” Bent toward the mirror, she fixed a smudge of color on her lip while offering out a dark silk handkerchief with her free hand. “And your face doesn’t hide a thing, so take this.”
Kallia reflexively touched the corner of her right eye. No tears had fallen, but almost. And ever the watchful bird, Vain noticed. “Seriously, who was it?” When the cloth went ignored, it dissolved like mist in her hand. “A friend, a love? The opposite?”
Zarose. She didn’t want to do this now.
At least Demarco hadn’t visited just then. If he had, Kallia would’ve slid far beneath the vanity and never reemerge. The fact that Vain pried at all, though, was a first. She hardly ever brought up the past, walking around as though she had none.
While Kallia’s followed her every day. In training, during meals, walking through the streets. Her body seized up every time, and she was tired of pretending like they were nothing. Like it didn’t hurt, every time one of them appeared. “A friend.”
The headliner gave a pensive nod. “A good memory, then.”
“Does it matter?”
Good or bad, there was pain in looking back. In remembering.
Silence brewed in the room; the tension was so sharp, it slashed between them like claws.
“No. We need to focus.” Vain let out a brusque cough and turned on her heel. “Tonight’s too important and precarious enough as it is with just us four. Ruth practically threatened mutiny if this becomes a bloodbath.”
“Can you blame her? That’s not what any of you intended, going into this.”
“Fate doesn’t care about intention. Or who gets hurt.” The headliner’s lips pursed into a grim line. “No one has the power to save everyone.”
The note of concern in her voice gave Kallia pause. “What if there was someone who did?”
Once the words rushed out, she regretted them. Jack hadn’t shown his face in days. It was damn selfish offering him up after ordering him to leave. He certainly had no reason to stay for her sake, and his prolonged absence made that clear.
That still didn’t stop her from leaving her golden card with the Show of Hands symbol on the roof, wondering what would come of it.
“No. Absolutely not.” Vain’s grimace of disgust was instant. “Your bodyguard stays off my team.”
Her reaction was to be expected, yet it still pricked at Kallia. “You know he’d be the most powerful ally to have here.”
“Someone with that much power can just as easily use it against you when it suits them. It’s why we’re even doing this in the first place.”
Kallia gritted her teeth, keeping quiet. Jack was powerful, but he was no Roth. To those on this side, he was much worse. Whether out of fear or envy for a power that shouldn’t be possible, it all grated on Kallia’s nerves—how quick they were to judge a monster, as if they themselves weren’t all monsters in some way.
“We’ll be fine on our own.” Shoulders squared back, Vain pushed away from the mirror. “As long as we stay focused tonight. You, especially.”
“Why me?”
“Because your job is to stay in plain sight. It’s all you can do, if Roth is watching. And since you’re dueling tonight, he’ll want to see a win. Or at the very least, improvement,” she went on. “Which means if you get distracted because a ghost wandered by your fight and we have a repeat of last time, that’ll be on me.”
Unbelievable. As if she had any control over them. “Don’t worry. With everything I’ve learned from the undefeated queen of dueling, there’s no way I’ll lose tonight.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
Kallia’s laugh was a harsh scoff. “It means spinning on a hoop won’t help me duel. Neither will conjuring a raindrop, or some other small, useless magic you keep throwing at me.” Every bit of rage she’d kept bottled in rushed out, one after the other. “I agreed to become a Diamond Ring, but you also promised to make me into a magician who could actually win a fight.”
The dark eyes behind the jeweled mask narrowed. “If that’s what you think, then why not leave?”
Because she couldn’t.
Kallia should’ve felt more shame. She hardly felt anything, for she had nothing. No power, not even Jack. If she lost the Diamond Rings, too, the way she had lost everyone and everything on a whole other side, then she stood no chance on her own in this city. Not as she was.
“If you’re not going to leave, mortal, then listen.” With a scathing breath, Vain forced Kallia up by the shoulders as though she were no more than a rag doll. “I can’t make you into a magician. I was never going to be able to, because you already are.”
“Don’t patronize me.” The inside of Kallia’s cheek bled the harder she bit. “If magic makes the magician, what the hell does that make me?”
Roth’s words were lodged so deep inside her, she couldn’t get them out. She heard them every time she hesitated. Every time she imagined Zarose Gate arriving in a wave of destruction, she couldn’t stop.
A snort erupted. “If that’s true, then does a painting make a painter?” The headliner eased up her grip. “I’ve seen you perform, Kallia. In the mirrors, we’ve watched and gone over your acts.”
“Torn apart, actually.”
“It’s constructive,” she said, not missing a beat. “But even then, it shouldn’t matter what I say. Not when you look so … happy. Every time you use magic. There’s joy in it for yourself, that you share with others. As if everything you cast brings you to life, not just the applause—”
“What does that have to do with anything?” Kallia edged back with a scowl. She could barely remember the last time she felt that way toward magic. It sounded like a dream more than anything.
“You really need help figuring that one out?” Vain huffed while gathering a small bit of her gown’s train. “Power is important, but it’s the magician who makes the magic. Not the other way around.” Just before reaching the door, she threw a coy look over her shoulder. “And if that magician has the nerve to complain about performing the smallest, most useless magic, then perhaps she should accept she’s not so powerless if she can do even that.”
Oh.
“You were testing me.”
“I’m always testing you.” Vain smoothed back her hair one last time. “When you do the work, you’re not nearly as hopeless as you think you are. But that’s not for me to fix.”
Kallia’s jaw shut, and stayed that way as the headliner waltzed through the door without looking back. Only her words stayed behind.
The magician makes the magic.
It rooted inside already, between every wound, as Kallia finally moved to follow her out.
29
Of all things Daron thought he’d be preparing for in this world, a party was not one of them.
“You know, I always thought it would be fun to have a big doll to dress up.” Tapping at his chin, Herald circled Daron on the pedestal surrounded by mirrors. “I just never thought it would be you.”
“Shut up.” Daron tugged at the sleek bow tie on his neck, suffocating under the weight of such clothes even though they fit him like a glove. He wasn’t quite sure when Herald had the chance to even measure him, and yet the suit he provided had been tailored to perfection.
“Be nice. I could’ve given you a hideous reject the style houses threw out, but I’m too good for that.” Herald chuckled, picking a piece of lint off the back of Daron’s sleeve before stealing another look in the mirror. “And damn, I’m good.”
Daron was hesitant to agree. It was not the kind of outfit he would’ve picked for himself, that was for sure. It was a sharp cut of a suit, with the jacket being an intimidating stark black to the right side, with the left sporting hundreds of bronze metal beads stitched like the intricate branches of a tree, flaring all the way to the left sleeve. It was the first time in a long time since he’d cleaned himself up like this, looking much taller and broad shouldered than he was used to.
He wondered what Kallia would think.
His pulse ran rapid.
Tonight, he would see her.
Tonight.
For some time, Daron had already been seeing her. A trick of the light, a figure leaping from mirror to mirror and landing soft as a melody. Dancing sinuously in the dark, until it was like wine hitting his veins. Like those games the Dire Woods played, but not half as cruel. These glimpses did not harm him; they were inviting, tempting, and for a moment, he wondered if maybe a devil had whispered these visions in his ear.
It was the truest proof of madness, how he welcomed the sight: the scarlet-lipped girl in the shadows he knew wasn’t real. All in his imagination.
Tonight would be different.
“You keep smoothing your hair back and it’s going to fall out,” Herald warned, giving himself a once-over in the mirrors. He’d somehow managed to convert his spectacles into a bright-blue half-mask, matching the striking pinstripes and buttons of his suit.
“I’m fine.”
“Then act like it.” He clapped his hands over both of Daron’s shoulders. “No one here ever enters a party like they’re being sent to trial.”
“How am I going to fit in with this?” Daron gestured at his outfit, met with a cackle.
“Your look is tame compared to what others will be showing up in,” Herald insisted. “You’ve got a mask on, like everyone else will. So you’ll slip right into the crowd like a raindrop to the sea. And besides, you’ve got other priorities besides blending in.”
A strange silence dropped between them. From the moment they decided it was far easier to work together to get what they both wanted, a dysfunctional truce formed. Whenever Herald had to leave on some errand, Daron spent every second arguing with himself over why the hell he wasn’t trying to break down every wall of the shop that kept him in.
Not that he would even know where to start, on the off chance he succeeded. Stumbling lost all over the streets would make someone easy prey in a city like this. Especially if they recognized him.
Daron still couldn’t fathom it, cautiously watching the shop mirrors that surrounded him now. Herald assured him the mirrors here were not for viewing this side, but the true side. The mortal side. For how boring and dull Herald made Daron’s world out to be, there was an undeniable fascination.
He was beyond thrilled to be getting out of the shop, but thinking of this world watching his every move, knowing him, speared more nausea into him that he stamped out.
If this entire ocean brought him to her, he would cross it without a thought.
“You’re sure she’ll be there?” Daron turned to step off the pedestal. “Unharmed?”
Herald gave an offended huff. “And here I thought we’d moved past this. You’re the job, Demarco. And hurting your feelings is not beneficial to me. Not yet, anyway.” His head cocked to the side. “I also don’t waste my good liquor and delightful company on just anybody.”
Daron couldn’t help but cast his gaze up to the ceiling, trying not to laugh.
He wondered, if in another wor
ld, they could’ve been friends, and immediately took back the thought. Herald no doubt presented in the same way toward everyone—the kind of friend who could stab you in the front, and you still wouldn’t see it coming.
“And yes, like I said before, your showgirl will not be harmed. You, on the other hand…” Despite Herald’s carefree drawl, there was an off lilt to it. “I’m not sure.”
“I know.” Daron refused to dwell on the one gaping uncertainty, for there was no point in worrying. It only formed more of a looming shadow tonight.
“My orders don’t go past tonight,” Herald added. “So there’s a good chance we’ll be parting ways.”
“Got it.”
“Good. So glad you didn’t get attached. That would’ve been annoying.” Without warning, he dove a hand in to scrunch up Daron’s combed-back hair, taking every punch in the arm for it with a grin. “Easy, lover boy. You’ve got to at least look like you just came from a reasonably good time.”
“Go to hell.”
“Trust me, we’re about to…” Herald strode over to one of the curtained windows. After a quick peek, he loped off toward the door. “I’ll catch us a ride. Don’t fix your hair.”
Daron had already been reaching for his hair before the door slammed. He glanced at himself in one of the mirrors, his hair the only recognizable part about him now. Dark, disheveled mess that it was. Kallia always preferred it that way.
On a groan, he clenched the frame. Unable to look at himself, for the wave of silliness that crashed over him. “What are you doing?”
“What does it look like?”
With a start, he whirled around, nearly knocking the mirror over.
Kallia stood bent before him, taking off her boots with her hair tumbling past her shoulders. As soon as she felt his stare, she met it with a catlike smile as she stripped off her stockings—
Daron instinctively turned, then paused so abruptly his stomach twisted at the motion. At the memory, the song that played then, now weaving into his bones. This … this wasn’t real.
When Night Breaks Page 31
