Page 157 of Smoke, Mirrors, & Misdemeanours

The Daemaris—apologizing?

The world tilted briefly on its axis.

She didn’t know whether to cry again or laugh. So she did neither. Just stood there, blinking, with Anuck oddly still in her arms and the walls of her childhood home somehow less heavy than they’d been a moment ago.

“Now,” Delphyne said, tilting her head toward the door. “Get in the carriage.”

Cassia’s mouth fell open. “Pardon me?”

Delphyne tsked impatiently. “You heard me. Let that—” She peered at Anuck. “What is that?”

Cassia looked down at the soft, squishy blob of black fur in her arms. “This is my cat, Anuck.”

There was a beat of silence. Then the unmistakable sound of a snort—sharp, refined, and just a touch humorous. “If you say so.”

Anuck, as if in protest, let out a low, imperious mrrreow.

Cassia clutched Anuck closer. “I’m not getting in any carriage until you tell me where we’re going.”

The Daemaris turned to her fully now, voice crisp. “Aura Cassia. I’ve just stopped the sale of your house, humiliated a property agent, and allowed myself to be gawked at like a relic in a museum. Don’t push your luck.”

Cassia’s mouth opened. Closed. She shot Anuck a look. He blinked, unhelpfully. She let him go, and he bounded over to his favourite window, utterly unconcerned.

Delphyne gave a regal nod. “Get in the carriage. You’ll understand soon.”

Then she turned on her heel and strode out the door without waiting, as if she’d known without a doubt that Cassia would follow.

39

CASSIA

The carriage rolled as smooth as cream across the village’s cobbled streets, then turned toward the outer boroughs, where iron lampposts gave way to flowering hedgerows and bridges arching over streams. Even in the heart of winter, the fields outside Little Mineola stood tall with corn—enchanted to last the season, their stalks rustling in the cold wind like a promise that roasted corn with honey butter would still grace the Yulefrost table.

Cassia sat stiffly, hands on her lap, while Delphyne leaned back against the velvet upholstery as if she hadn’t just commandeered someone’s afternoon. She hadn’t spoken a word since they’d climbed in—only gestured for the driver to depart. Cassia had noticed the driver when they approached the carriage. It made sense—Ark never used one, preferring to operate his own carriage with his own magic, but Delphyne, she supposed, had standards to maintain.

She tried to contain her curiosity. It lasted about five seconds. “Where are we going?”

“You’ll see.” Delphyne’s eyes remained fixed on the window.

“That’s not an answer.”

“No,” she agreed, “it’s not.”

“You can’t just sweep me away without a reason!”

“Can’t I?” A faint, knowing smile curved at the corner of Delphyne’s mouth. “A note would have been simpler, but I suspected you’d burn it.”

Cassia glared, but the Daemaris had already turned back to the window, dismissing her. The silence stretched. Cassia bit the inside of her cheek, watching the corn blur past, until another thought surfaced. “The Daemar looked well. I’m glad the surgery was successful.”

Delphyne’s gaze flickered toward her, then returned to the passing scenery. “Thanks to your elixir.”

Cassia blinked. “The surgeons said that?”

A scoff. “They’d never. That wouldn’t look good in a medical journal.” Delphyne smoothed her hair, and when she spoke again, her voice had softened—just slightly. “But Kassenor believes it. Ark and Oromon believe it.” A pause. “And . . . so do I.”

Cassia sat very still. Varil Delphyne believed her elixir was the reason Kassenor was still alive. Warmth bloomed in her cheeks, heavy and light all at once, and she didn’t know how to hold it. So she said nothing, letting the moment pass until she could trust her voice again.

“You must’ve known I told Ark about his father.”