Page 145 of Smoke, Mirrors, & Misdemeanours

And yet . . .

If the aim was to show these demons he still reigned as the most powerful in Meredith, he’d succeeded. He looked like a king—a demon born from the marrow of mountains and silence and dusk. Power curled around him like a mantle that had always belonged there.

Ark’s chest ached. With awe. With dread.

He turned to Alderrath. “We are finished here.”

The Sanguine didn’t answer. No one moved to stop them. The crowd parted, lowering their gazes, bowing in the shadow of what they’d just witnessed.

Ark walked beside his father as they exited the manor—each step slow but unchallenged. His mother flanked the other side, heels clicking against the pavement. Oromon took up the rear, a silent bulwark.

The carriage door swung open on command, the enchantments in the frame responding to their presence. Ark steadied his father as he stepped inside. The moment Kassenor collapsed against the velvet seat, the strength drained from him entirely. His skin was parchment-pale, sweat beading on his brow, his breathing thin and ragged. One hand trembled where Delphyne held it; the other hung slack in his lap.

“Kassenor,” she whispered, her voice tight. “That was reckless.”

“But necessary.” He cracked his eyes open to peer at her. “I can’t have you upstage me, can I?”

Ark didn’t realize how tightly his own fists were clenched until pain bit into his knuckles. He looked at Oromon, who stood tensely by the door, jaw locked, gaze fixed on their father with something between fear and fury.

“Straight to the hospital,” Ark said.

Oromon gave a tight nod and moved to the front. The wheels groaned and slid forward, carrying them down the wide avenue and away from the Agmon estate.

Outside, snow-dusted trees blurred past the windows. Inside, the silence pressed down. Ark sat rigid, unable to look away from his father—the man who had commanded shadows with a flick of thought, now carved from smoke and wax.

His eyes met his mother’s. Neither spoke, but the tension between them said enough.

The city gave way to the gleaming towers near the hospital district. The carriage hummed softly, obedient beneath its burden.

And Ark, not for the first time that day, felt utterly helpless.

36

CASSIA

The car was quiet for most of the drive. The city fell away behind them, replaced by winding roads flanked by pine and stone. Angelene’s skyline gave way to wind-bent trees and the steady hush of the distant tide. Cassia kept her gaze on the horizon, watching for the first glimpse of silver seafoam.

As a child, she’d made this same trip with her mother during her father’s illness—the long drive down the coast a monthly pilgrimage. They brought offerings in wicker baskets. Her mother would wade into the tide and kneel with her palms to the waves, whispering to Thaloriel, the sea goddess. Sometimes they asked for healing. Other times, for luck. But the rarest prayer was for blue algae, the kind that surfaced only when the goddess was pleased.

Her mother swore it was the key ingredient to an elixir that healed what modern medicine couldn’t.

Most highborn witches dismissed the tale as poor people’s myth. A fable for romantics, or the hopeless with no access to higher magic or upscale medical care. But her mother had believed with conviction, and that belief had shaped Cassia in ways she hadn’t realized until now.

If the goddess answered, if the algae bloomed, she would brew the elixir her mother had taught her. And then she would bring it to the father of the man she loved, and offer him the one thing she could give.

She’d done this ritual for her mother once before, five years ago, when the multiplication spells had finally come to collect. Opalina and Lilibeth had been with her then, younger and just as scared, huddled on the sand with wind-lashed hair, poring over the notebook by moonlight. None of them had known if it would work. But they’d believed—or faked it well enough to fool the sea.

When the algae finally bloomed, phosphorescent and glimmering, it had felt like being seen by something ancient and kind.

The road narrowed as they neared the coast, tall trees giving way to salt-worn brush and scrub. The scent of the sea arrived first, cool and sharp. Cassia leaned forward as the coastline unfurled before them, wide and grey-blue beneath the fading light. Wind scattered the clouds across the horizon, and the beach stretched out far and wide.

They parked just beyond the dunes. No one said much as they carried their things down. The wind did most of the talking.

It was Lilibeth who broke the silence, glancing at the tide. “Feels exactly like last time.”

Cassia hummed. “Except last time I was shaking too hard to walk straight.”

“You weren’t the only one,” Opalina said dryly, settling down to build a fire. “I couldn’t even light the candles without nearly dropping them. Do you remember? You had to recite the incantation five times because I kept letting the fire die out.”