Page 122 of Smoke, Mirrors, & Misdemeanours

Delphyne’s eyes flared before softening. “If you were in my position, perhaps you would understand why I ask. He already carries enough.” Her gaze dropped, briefly, to where Kassenor rested—pale, too still. “Let him have a little longer. Let me carry this.”

For a moment, Cassia considered refusing. This wasn’t a promise about a baking secret. It was about a man’s life. Not just any man, but Ark’s father—the one he had spent years resenting, yes, but also the one he still, despite everything, wanted to understand.

And the knowledge that his father had been ill, all this time, might be the key to that understanding.

If she swore this oath and kept this secret, she would be choosing for him, deciding what he deserved to know. But if she refused, she would be betraying a dying man’s wife—a woman who had spent years trying to protect her husband from the weight of his own decline.

There was no clean answer. Only the least terrible one.

“I promise I won’t tell,” Cassia said, her gaze moving between them. “But one of you must.”

Delphyne held out her hand, palm up. “Give me your word.”

Cassia looked at that hand and back at her eyes. “You want a binding oath?”

“I want your sincerity shaped into something I can hold.”

Cassia hesitated, heart pounding against her ribs. Once she did this, there was no going back. No forgetting. No undoing.

Gingerly, she stepped forward. The air between them shimmered. She placed her hand in Delphyne’s. “I swear,” she said, “I will not tell Ark about his father’s condition.”

A slow warmth rose between them, a glow of blue light enveloping her wrist before it faded. After a moment of silence, Delphyne withdrew her hand.

“It is done.”

A cool sensation replaced the warmth, lingering on Cassia’s wrist like the ghost of a chain. The secret settled beside her heart, a lump of coal she wished she didn’t have to carry.

The corridor beyond the conservatory was empty. Cassia tried to not look back—trying not to carry the image of the Daemar’s drawn face with her.

It clung to her anyway.

She paused, touching her fingertips to her temple. She would have to find Ark soon. She would have to look him in the eye and pretend she hadn’t just discovered the truth his parents had kept from him for years. She would have to smile, speak, be the same person she’d been an hour ago while carrying this secret.

She took a breath. Let it out. Steadied herself.

One step at a time.

She’d barely taken three steps when Alderrath stepped out of an alcove just ahead of her.

“Enjoyed your stroll?”

That soft, calm voice slithered down her back. Had he been standing there the whole time, watching the conservatory door? Waiting for her to emerge with exactly the expression she was wearing now?

Cassia straightened her spine. She met his gaze and held it.

“The conservatory is usually locked,” he said, gesturing lazily behind her. “Sealed, actually, warded to keep wandering eyes out. Strange, don’t you think, that it opened for you?”

Her stomach dropped. The spell hadn’t broken; it had been peeled back just for her. A carefully laid trap.

“So it was you,” she said. “How did you unlock the door? The Daemaris said⁠—”

“Varil Delphyne may be a powerful demon, but I’m not without resources.”

“How did you know I would go to the conservatory?”

He shrugged, the gesture indolent, unhurried. “This ball must feel rather . . . overwhelming for an outsider. It was easy to guess you’d seek refuge from the crowd, and Arkenoth has always been fond of the conservatory—even as a boy.” His eyes gleamed, sharp and knowing. “He and his father have that in common.”

Cassia’s stomach tightened. Alderrath had known she would find the Daemar there. The conservatory hadn’t been a refuge—it had been a trap, and she’d walked right into it.