Page 121 of Smoke, Mirrors, & Misdemeanours

He studied her with the quiet, exacting gaze of a man who’d spent his life seeing through excuses and pretty lies. It reminded her achingly of Ark—that same intensity, restrained and watchful.

“My mother knew a ritual,” she found herself saying. “For an elixir from the deep sea. It wouldn’t mend anything broken. But it lets you breathe.”

The Daemar gave a wheezy chuckle. “Being able to breathe sounds like paradise.” His gaze steadied. Then, almost wistfully: “You would summon the ocean for a stranger?”

A little smile curled her lips. “I don’t see you as a stranger.”

His eyebrows arched. A small, gleaming item on the floor caught her gaze—a gold cufflink. She bent to pick it up⁠—

A voice cut through the silence. “You shouldn’t be here.”

Cassia whirled around. The Daemaris stood a few steps away, a stark silver-and-white statue against the living green. Her eyes flicked from Cassia to the man in the wheelchair.

“Forgive me,” Cassia said. “The door was open.”

“It cannot be.” Delphyne’s voice was a shard of ice. “The conservatory is always locked whenever Ark’s father is here. No one enters without my express invitation.” She took a step forward, and the temperature in the room seemed to drop. “You will explain how you entered. Now.”

“I don’t know. Someone must have forgotten to lock the doors, somehow. I only wanted a quiet place. Ark told me to come here.”

The Daemaris studied her. Not just her face, but her aura—Cassia could feel it, the feathering of magic brushing against her own. A test. A probe. Then⁠—

A flicker passed through Delphyne’s face. She went very still.

“You aren’t lying,” she said, her voice softening just slightly. “Strange.” She looked around. “Where is Arkenoth? Why isn’t he with you?”

Cassia’s brow furrowed. “Daemaris, you called him to the library. He went to speak with you.”

Delphyne’s gaze sharpened. “No, I didn’t.”

Cassia felt the chill spreading through her. “But . . . one of your footmen delivered the message. He was wearing your livery. He said you requested him at once.”

The Daemaris was silent. Cassia’s mind raced, trying to make sense of it. Ark had been lured away. The footman had been waiting, and had delivered a message that was never sent. The hairs on her arms lifted.

At her side, the Daemar stirred. “Delph,” he rasped.

Delphyne crossed to him at once, smoothing a hand over his shoulder. “I’m here, Kassenor.”

Silence passed between them—intimate, even tender. Cassia saw it now in the arrangement of the room, the softness of the blankets, the care with which the plants were placed. This wasn’t a man cast aside from power. This was someone preserved, protected—placed among the flowers because they comforted him.

Lucindra’s words returned to her, but now they took on a different meaning. Had Delphyne taken up the mantle not out of ambition, but necessity? To shelter the legacy of the one beside her?

The Daemar looked again at Cassia, studying her longer this time. The narrowing of his eyes felt more like a father’s curiosity than a leader’s scrutiny.

“You came with my son,” he said. “Who are you, to him?”

Before she could answer, Delphyne did, her tone unreadable. “She is his Chosen.”

The Daemar’s brows lifted slightly. He said nothing—only reclined with a rasp of breath, his gaze still on her.

Cassia took a careful step back. “I should leave you two alone.”

But before she could turn, Delphyne’s voice halted her. “Wait.”

The Daemaris’s expression held no overt threat, but something in her gaze pinned Cassia in place.

“I do not know how you were able to enter, but you are not to speak of this to anyone. Especially Arkenoth.”

Cassia hesitated. “Ark is the Daemar’s son. He has the right to know.”