Page 171 of Smoke, Mirrors, & Misdemeanours

Behind her, the room pulsed with gentle life. Voices mingled—Delphyne’s graceful cadence, Oromon’s dry wit, and Kassenor’s unmistakable drawl, cool as winter silk. He lounged—finally—on the deep-green velvet couch, a knit blanket tucked over his knees despite his repeated insistence that he was perfectly fine now, thank you very much.

And, sitting on the chair beside his father, was Arkenoth.

The hospital had discharged Kassenor on the longest night of the year—just in time to spend Yulefrost with his family. That, in itself, felt like a small miracle. Even Oromon had lingered longer than planned, choosing not to return to Valien just yet.

Starlight’s new home was nearly finished. The children had moved in three days ago, along with Mrs. Thimble, Matilde, and the two resident teachers. The library and music room still needed finishing, but the bedrooms were cozy and warm—Oromon had seen to that personally—and the kitchen hummed with life as Mrs. Thimble and Matilde prepared the children’s favourite dishes. The place was still finding its rhythm, but already it felt like a home.

Not just a shelter. A future.

This afternoon, they held their first Yulefrost concert in their new home. It was the best performance they’d had to date, Cassia had remarked, and she knew many more would follow.

The small but eager audience was a testament to the home’s new foundation. Ark stood in the back, a silent, watchful pillar. Caius and Rhodes flanked him, the former offering a polite clap after each song, the latter grinning without restraint. Near the front, Lilibeth and Opalina beamed with unabashed pride, their applause the loudest of all.

But the most surprising attendee had been Varil Delphyne herself, who watched the entire program from a corner with an inscrutable, regal stillness that slowly softened into something resembling approval. Her presence—and her recent, formidable agreement to join Starlight’s board—had sent a shockwave of stunned awe through the staff and children alike.

Now, here in the warmth of the Varil drawing room, the demon matriarch stood before the hearth with a newspaper in one hand.

“I’d like to read this aloud,” she said, already smoothing the page open before anyone could object. “Indulge me, or don’t. I’ll be reading it either way.”

Cassia caught Ark’s eye from his seat beside her. He raised one brow, just barely. She bit down on a smile.

Delphyne cleared her throat. “‘Hope has a new address,’” she began, her voice rich with satisfaction. “‘Once overlooked, the newly restored Starlight Orphanage shines again—its hearths warm, its doors open, its mission clear: no Sanguis Incertus child shall be cast aside.’”

Cassia nodded approvingly. She remembered the interview—barely half an hour in the newly refurbished sitting room, over a pot of finely steeped tea and freshly baked scones. She hadn’t expected it to make the front page, let alone such a luminous, full-colour photograph. There she stood beneath the newly carved sign, cheeks pink, shoulders squared, surrounded by a sea of beaming children bundled in mismatched scarves.

She had an inkling Delphyne had pulled some strings to get them a prominent spot in the paper.

The Daemaris tilted the paper for all to see. “They used your exact words, Cassia. ‘Every child deserves not just shelter, but a future worth dreaming of.’ Nicely put.”

Ark rose and approached to stand beside her. His hand squeezed hers, warm and grounding.

“You’re enjoying this,” she whispered.

“I’m enjoying you,” Ark replied without hesitation, and pressed a kiss to her knuckles.

“And here’s the highlight,” Delphyne continued, tracing the line with her fingertip. “‘Thanks to the new board of directors—which now includes Daemaris Varil Delphyne—Starlight has secured three government grants, two merchant patronages, and is set to launch its first Winter Warmth fundraiser to support Sanguis Incertus families city-wide.’”

“Meaning,” Kassenor murmured from his place on the couch, “you’ve discovered an entirely legal way to extort demons, elves, witches, and humans in equal measure. Well done, my dear.”

“I prefer to think of it as effective resource redistribution,” Delphyne said smoothly. “The upper crust was just waiting for an opportunity to show off. I merely provided a means where they actually benefit those who need them.”

A familiar, bitter-edged thought flickered through Cassia’s mind. Where was this city when it was just her, her mother, and the bakery funding a dream? For years, she had knocked on doors and been met with indifference. Now, with the Varil name attached, doors were not only opening but held wide with a smile.

But the old resentment was a cold, stale thing. She let it surface, acknowledged its truth, and then let it go. She didn’t care why they gave—whether out of true compassion, social clout, or fear of Delphyne’s displeasure. Let them preen and posture. Let them claim philanthropic glory. Their gildens would buy food, warm blankets, sturdy shoes, and music lessons. Their signatures would protect futures. That was the only conversion rate that mattered anymore.

Her gaze lingered on Delphyne’s poised figure, sharp and composed in her deep-plum suit, and the memory rose, sudden and clear—another conversation, only days ago, when this alliance between them had barely begun.

‘What about donors?’ Delphyne had asked the day of her second visit to the mansion, heels clicking as she paced the foyer. ‘Benefactors? Corporate sponsorships? Do you have anyone from the Four Factions backing you financially?’

Cassia had tried not to bristle. ‘We hold monthly bake sales and biannual concerts. We send newsletters with the children’s stories. Every coin we raise goes back to them.’

‘Admirable,’ Delphyne had said flatly, ‘in the same way a frog playing the fiddle is admirable. But not nearly effective enough. Do not limit these children because your resources are limited. There are always other ways.’

Cassia had inhaled slowly, tempering her pride. ‘We do what we can, Daemaris. We can’t change the world overnight. But we give them a home, and a future. That matters, even if it’s not perfect.’

The demon had scoffed—but said nothing. And that silence had given Cassia an opening.

‘Help us, then. You see what we can’t yet reach. Join the board. Lend your voice. You could be the difference between survival and success.’