Page 69 of Smoke, Mirrors, & Misdemeanours

Caius didn’t argue anymore. He drew a new sigil on the floorboards, adding additional runes to amplify their power. Ark pressed his ruined palm to the floor again, biting down a sound between a growl and a groan. As Caius completed the diagram, Ark channeled his power, and the entire thing flared to life.

The corruption hissed, screamed, then went still. The mirror dimmed. The runes on its frame faded from violent red to a dull, throbbing grey. For the first time, the house no longer felt like it resisted them. The hostile aura faded. It relaxed, and so did Ark.

His legs gave out. He dropped to one knee, then folded forward, half aware of Rhodes lunging to catch him. The chill of the floorboards pressed against his cheek, but the fire in his body registered more—coiling hot through his veins, anchored in the ruin of his hand. The corruption tried to erode his magic. His shadows fought back like an immune system against infection, but still, his body grew weaker by the second.

He heard Rhodes’s voice as if from underwater. “His fever’s spiking. Pulse is erratic.”

Caius’s coat settled over his shoulders. The wool was warm—or should have been warm—but Ark shivered anyway, a violent tremor rattling through him. He couldn’t stop. His teeth chattered. The fire in his hand had spread to his chest, but his skin was cold. Clammy.

“We need to move him. Fast.”

He heard the words, but they sounded like they came from far away. Caius’s arm braced his back. Rhodes gripped his shoulder. He was being lifted, carried. He tried to hold on. The darkness pressed in. The taste of copper and ash coated his tongue.

One name surfaced—the only thing that felt solid, the only thing that wasn’t burning.

Cassia.

He didn’t know if he said it or just thought it. Then, the fever pulled him under.

17

CASSIA

Cassia moved through the dining hall with a dish towel over her shoulder, a pot of beef bone broth levitating beside her, held steady with the occasional flick of her fingers. The afternoon sun slanted through the tall windows, illuminating the wooden table ladened with food. She was busy counting heads, making sure the bread reached the younger children before the older ones finished their first helping.

The kids were loud in that particular way only comfort allowed—laughter and clinking spoons as they passed shared platters around the table. She set a fresh basket of rolls in the centre, only to have two small hands immediately snatch one each.

“No taking two until everyone’s had one,” she warned lightly as a boy tried sneaking an extra roll. “And no spells at the table, Theo. I saw that napkin trying to feed itself.”

An enchanted ladle floated up behind her, diligently filling bowls as she moved down the line. Somewhere across the room, someone began humming off-key, and another child joined in with a spoon tapped rhythmically against their cup. It was chaos—but it was good chaos. Familiar. Bright.

She hadn’t realized how much she’d needed this after the auction. After him.

Her smile faltered, just slightly.

Ark’s last message still lingered in her thoughts, tucked somewhere behind her ribs like a note folded into a tiny square. She had read it twice.

No, thrice.

Alright, maybe . . . ten times, if anyone was counting—not that they should. But she hadn’t written back. She didn’t know how, what words would be sufficient, when his letter had made her insides ache and glow all at once.

She was still debating whether she should reply when someone banged on the front door—sharp and urgent, nothing like the usual knocks of delivery boys or curious visitors. Her head snapped up. Across the dining room, Matilde paused, glancing at her with a pitcher of warm apple cider in hand.

Cassia gave her a nod. The girl slipped toward the door as the children’s chatter dimmed, muffled by the sudden tension in the room. The front door creaked open, revealing a slice of cold air, and a familiar voice.

“Apologies for the intrusion. May I speak with Miss Aura Cassia? It’s rather urgent.”

Her breath caught, she moved toward the door.

There, standing at the threshold, was Meridan Caius.

He looked . . . like himself, but not quite. Tension pulled his usual elegance taut and frayed. His golden hair was braided with a pale-blue ribbon, but the braid had come loose in places, and a fine layer of dust clung to his shoulders. The line of his coat was no longer immaculate. And on the white lawn of his shirt: a smear of blood.

Only when his eyes found hers did the strain ease.

“Miss Aura,” he exhaled. “Please. Come with me.”

She opened her mouth, a hundred questions on her tongue, but Caius didn’t give her the chance.