Page 142 of Smoke, Mirrors, & Misdemeanours

Now, with his father’s confession still echoing and Cassia’s faith in him still burning, he saw it clearly: the answer wasn’t choice. It was balance. Both doors open. Both powers flowing. No more halves.

“I will.”

Without another word, he turned for the door. The shadows at his feet deepened, stretching toward the threshold, already knowing where he was going.

35

ARK

The sun, too bright for a day like this, glanced off the marble terraces of Agmon manor—the Varil family’s nearest neighbor, separated by sprawling winter fields and a thick stone wall that marked the end of one property and the beginning of the other. It had never felt so thin.

The manor rose ahead of him, and he understood its design immediately. Glass. Walls, ceilings, entire wings of it—faceted panels set in wrought iron frames, every surface angled to catch, hold, and multiply the afternoon sun. Light invaded, pooling on marble floors, bouncing off crystal decanters, saturating every corner until shade became an afterthought. A glass house in every sense—the kind of place where nothing could be hidden and everything was meant to be seen. A Sanguine paradise, through and through.

Ark kept walking. He read the gathering as he moved through it. Every face was a demon, a sea of Daemaric blue. Every coat, every jewel, every sigil stitched into a sleeve or collar belonged to prominent houses. No elves, witches, or humans. In a city built on the promise that four groups of people could coexist, a guest list this pure seemed more a political declaration than a social preference.

A steward moved to intercept him, then faltered, recognition blooming across his face. Ark didn’t need to wear Daemaric blue to be known, but a Nocturne walking uninvited into a Sanguine gathering in a glass house flooded with afternoon sun signalled trouble.

Inside, the light was worse. He spotted Alderrath at the centre table, laughing loudly at something a seated guest had said. Silver hair fell in soft waves around his shoulders, his blue jacket lined with black fur. Ark didn’t stop. He ignored the hush that fell as his shadow—what little of it the glass allowed—reached the first row of guests and strode straight to the head of the gathering. Faces turned, curious, calculating. Alderrath looked up, still smiling. The same curated expression he wore like a cravat, as if Ark’s arrival were an amusing surprise, no more disruptive than a change in weather.

“Arkenoth,” he drawled, lifting his goblet. “Didn’t think I’d see you here.”

“Didn’t you?” Ark said, voice cool. “Why send an invitation, then.”

A twitch—small, almost imperceptible—flickered at the corner of Alderrath’s mouth.

“Ah, yes. I’d almost forgotten.” He turned slightly toward the table, one hand sweeping wide in performance. “But now that you’re here, I suppose we might as well be civil.”

He gestured to the empty seat beside him. A seat that had clearly, conspicuously, been left vacant.

Ark didn’t move. “It is far too late for civility.”

“Come now. No one got hurt. Including your Untethered witch.”

The words landed like a slap, but Ark didn’t flinch. He only watched, gaze steady. “Only the children at Starlight,” he said. “But I suppose they don’t count when their blood isn’t pure enough.”

Alderrath waved a hand, as though brushing away crumbs. “Starlight is already mine.” He tilted his head, mock-thoughtful. “But . . .”

He let the word hang, a hook baited with false generosity. “I am, at my core, a reasonable demon. With proper incentives, the property can be relinquished.”

Ark wanted to laugh. “So generous? After all your effort to acquire it?”

Alderrath shrugged, leaning back indolently. “Starlight was never the goal, Arkenoth. It was the leverage. I wanted your attention—and now I have it.” He picked up his goblet, smiling as though he’d triumphed. “But worry not. Once I have what I need, I’ll return it—but only if you agree to my terms. Otherwise, I will take full possession in fourteen days.”

He gestured with his glass toward Lucindra. “My sister represents the purest expression of our lineage. Imagine it, Arkenoth. Our bloodlines, merged, to mark the dawn of a new dynasty. She’s been groomed since birth to become the next Daemaris. Even you can’t deny the match would be advantageous.”

Ark didn’t look at her. His gaze stayed on Alderrath—watching the blatant calculation.

A marriage. A leash. A noose in silk. This was the third time Alderrath had offered his sister, and the prospect did not get any more enticing.

But something needled at his thoughts.

Alderrath had fought viciously for Starlight—Constructs, legal warfare, threats to children—and now he was offering to return it?

And what did he mean by ‘once I have what I need from it’?

Was it what he’d suspected, after all? It wasn’t Starlight’s land or building that Alderrath truly wanted, but the magic that had burned Ark’s hand and repelled purebloods at the threshold—an entity in the basement powerful enough to ward an entire building for fifty years without maintenance. That kind of magic didn’t just protect a house. It could be a weapon. A currency. A key to some greater power Ark couldn’t yet see.

The realization was a lightning strike, terrifying and illuminating—but Ark let none of it show. He couldn’t. It wasn’t over yet. They still had fourteen days before the Sanguine took possession. If Alderrath so much as suspected that Ark knew what he was after, he would accelerate his plans, move to seize the entity before they could protect it.