Page 23 of Smoke, Mirrors, & Misdemeanours

He turned to her. “Should I be concerned?”

“Only if you’re unprepared for questions,” she said. “They’re a curious bunch. They’re bound to have some.”

“Do they attend school here? Do you have teachers in your employ?” Ark asked, his gaze drifting over their simple furnishings.

“Yes. We have two live-in teachers for the core lessons. A few friends and graduates volunteer their time for extras—sewing, bookbinding, that sort of thing. And Mrs. Thimble runs the kitchen like a small army, with Matilde as her loyal second.” She smiled. “It’s a patchwork, but we manage.”

Cassia pushed open the wide double doors leading into the dining hall. The room was long and rectangular, its centre anchored by a table so worn the wood had softened to a silken sheen. Mismatched chairs clustered around it, their seats rubbed to gleaming by decades of children squirming through meals. Sunlight slanted through the tall windows, spilling warm pools of gold across the dark-stained floorboards. The room was quiet, but she knew it wouldn’t stay that way—not once the children arrived for tea.

She let Ark step in first, watching as his gaze swept over the space. He said nothing, but she wasn’t surprised. She was beginning to learn he wasn’t the kind of man to give opinions freely, though she caught the subtle way his attention lingered—first on the neat rows of cups and plates stacked on the long sideboard, then on the floor beneath his feet.

“So,” he finally said, “how did you come to be the owner of Starlight?”

“Oh, I’m not. I think of Starlight as being as Untethered as its residents. It doesn’t really have an owner.” She chuckled and tucked a stray curl behind her ear. “I make sure the staff gets paid. I manage donations, and I do my best to keep the roof over their heads. Our cooks feed the children. Our teachers train them to wield magic safely, help them find jobs and communities when they age out.”

She looked around them. “Starlight belongs to all of us. But it belongs to the children most of all.”

Ark nodded, his gaze now holding hers. “You love them.”

The words landed somewhere soft and guarded. She’d spent her life loving these children—feeding them, fighting for them, building a home around them—but rarely had anyone spoken of that love without mockery or condescension.

“Of course,” she said.

For a moment, he just looked at her. Then his gaze shifted, lifting past her shoulder. Her eyes followed.

The Memory Wall. A patchwork of frames covered the upper half, filled with photographs—old, new, and everything in between. Smiling faces, moments captured in time. Generations of children who had called Starlight home. Some had long since grown up, left to forge their own lives. Others . . . well, not every child was lucky enough to find a family.

At the centre of it all, just above eye level, hung a framed photograph. Two young children—one red-haired girl, one brown-haired boy—grinning at the camera, both dressed in the simple but well-kept clothes of an orphanage.

Cassia approached it and brushed her fingers along the frame.

“My parents,” she told him. “Both were raised here. They fell in love, got married, and left to start a life of their own.”

She glanced at Ark, wondering what he made of that.

It was a confirmation of what she was: an orphaned daughter of orphans. A second-generation Untethered. Her parents had no Book of Names, no lineage inked in magic going back generations. The great families guarded their Books fiercely, adding new names only through birth or a carefully plotted marriage. She had no illusions any of them would ever open theirs for her.

Ark didn’t react. Though his eyes were fixated on the photographs, she knew he was listening. He said, “Your mother was a witch, you mentioned. Your father was human, then?”

She nodded.

“They never found a family?”

“Few Untethereds are lucky enough to be adopted. Prospective parents stay away from them.”

Ark finally turned to her. “So your parents built a family of their own.”

“They did. But they knew what I was up against. They left Angelene to raise me somewhere I wouldn’t always have to prove my worth.”

And Little Mineola had welcomed them. Over the years, others like them had followed—families with tangled bloodlines and no grand legacies to their names. She had never resented her parents for that decision.

She only wished it hadn’t been necessary.

“These children—” Her throat tightened. “Most of them are of mixed blood. With so much stacked against them, keeping Starlight going is . . .”

She trailed off.

Ark was quiet for a moment. Then he said, simply, “I understand.”