No one had known it was Eva behind the mask, yet they knew every wretched detail of their last performance. The story spread like a wildfire. So sudden, Daron felt at times he was stuck in a dream for how the world had become a stranger. Believing a story, but not the truth.
He glared at the empty casket, every inch of him wanting to scream.
She’s not dead.
The look his therapist had given him when he’d said that was not the most encouraging. He knew better than to bring it up again after that. The world saw what they saw first—his assistant disappearing forever through a mirror from magic gone horribly, horribly wrong.
He had Lottie to thank for that. Whether or not she had become friends with Eva in earnest, she was the Poison of the Press first. Her coverage reached everyone before Daron had even reached his home, more isolated than ever. Losing his mind to a different story no one would ever believe.
She’s alive.
Out there.
Not dead.
Daron was a man of logic, not impulse. And for him, the story had not ended that night.
His aunt, of all people, had to believe him.
When the room shifted around him, gone quiet and still, Daron knew she had arrived. A distinct chill hit the air, right on cue with the curious whispers behind handkerchiefs. The way the ground slightly shook at the orderly march of boots told him she’d brought the cavalry. The Patrons rarely made appearances as a unit for such occasions, certainly not with Head Patron Cataline Edgard.
Daron knew she would come. He’d expected it.
What surprised him was the white-gloved hand landing on his shoulder from behind. A touch of greeting, a gentle squeeze. Aunt Cata so rarely ever indulged in warm gestures, that Daron almost forgot to react.
She saved him the trouble by lowering into the seat beside him. From the way she perched at the edge, she wasn’t staying long. Always serving Soltair, without complaint.
Surely this had to be a case no stranger than what she’d come across. His aunt was always the first to question everything, to press hard until the desired result came about. And most of all, she knew him as only family could. No one else would believe him but her.
Shoulders tense, she stared straight ahead at the casket, ignoring the curious glances. As the seats around them creaked, Daron knew he only had so much time before she fled to avoid the crowds. A silent getaway.
“I can’t fix this.”
Her soft words halted his thoughts. Even as she stared stoically at the casket, her eyes as dry as Daron’s.
“Aunt Cata.” He spoke quickly under his breath. “I need to talk—”
“What you need is to stay away from this sort of life,” she snapped, fury hiding behind her lips. “I warned you both, and now she’s gone.”
Daron felt himself beginning to sink.
Gone. Such a hopeless word. A lonely word, which the whole world but him believed. Anything he said otherwise sounded like a story he told himself.
What if they were right?
The memory carved into his stomach now as he sat across from Aunt Cata in the carriage back to Glorian. For once, he wouldn’t have minded riding back with Lottie. Already, he missed having the room to exhale and stretch his legs. Even just the freedom to lose his gaze in the window.
This vehicle left no room for distraction. Ever practical and efficient, the Patrons’ compact carriages prioritized fast transportation, not luxury.
Their silence burned between them as they drove on together, every soft, uneasy bump of the ride sending a jolt up Daron’s spine. Like he was suddenly a little boy again, ordered to her study for making a mess with Eva.
Sitting across from her now, he felt just as small.
“These woods are dangerous,” Aunt Cata finally noted aloud. Nothing cut through silence more starkly than her clipped tone. “It’s troubling how it’s grown since I last came to this side of the island.” Her frown deepened at the window as the passing shadows outside flickered about her face. “And from the sounds of it, you’ve been riding through here frequently.”
That edge in her voice always sharpened whenever she reprimanded, but this was no scolding. No time for excuses.
Daron blinked slowly. “How did you know I’d be out here?”
“Already looking for a way to escape?” Her gaze slitted behind her slim spectacles. “And before you try switching the subject, you don’t get to ask the questions here. I do. It’s all I’ve done these past years.”
There was never any yelling to her anger, which made it all the worse. “Aunt Cata, I can explain—”
“Explain?” The carriage hit a hard, violent bump, but she remained unmoved. “Maybe you can also explain why you haven’t bothered to write me back even just once?”
The worry lines creased over her brow.
He’d put them there, carved them deeper.
“Not heard a single thing from you in over a year.” Aunt Cata seethed. “The only reason I knew you were alive was because your courier case was still accepting letters. And of course, the press.” She slightly turned her nose up, as though some offensive scent entered the space. “The papers seem to be the only things willing to talk, nowadays.”
Daron’s jaw clenched. He had no good answers, all selfish. If no one would believe him after Eva, he seemed better off alone. No one could see him, or see what he’d become. What he’d lost.
“I’m sorry,” he said quietly. His heart pounded mercilessly against his chest. “After Eva … I needed time alone.”
“And I gave it to you, Daron. I gave you time, I gave you space—” Her throat bobbed hard. “You wouldn’t visit me, wouldn’t write to me, and still, I kept trying.”
Her voice never broke. Nothing about her ever did.
Remember to eat something green once in a while.
Don’t party too hard on an empty stomach.
Please write back.
Her letters flew to the forefront of his mind, each line skewering him. She’d always had a subtle heart, kept behind iron-forged bars. It’s not that she never showed warmth, it just wasn’t often. Like rations, doled out in the times when it was most needed, not when he would’ve liked.
The first time he’d broken his arm after he fell from a tree—a tree which, a day later, had mysteriously been chopped down to a stumpy trunk.
When he’d gone to bed far too drunk after a night out with some Valmonts boys, only to remember in flashes his aunt sleeping in an armchair right by his bed, bucket in hand.
Those were never just moments, but pieces that only connected for him now. Far too late.
He didn’t even have to question the disappointment spiking in her eyes.
He truly was a piece of shit.
“I’m sorry.” Daron couldn’t say it enough. Didn’t know how many times it would take. “You don’t deserve that. I should’ve done things differently.”
A quiet fell over them. Even the motion of the carriage had smoothed its course, a sign they were nearing the city on the worn paths many have traveled before. The trip back was usually much quicker, but Daron swore he’d never experienced a longer carriage ride in his life.
Tell her, Eva’s voice taunted in his ear. Tell her everything.
Daron turned his back to the window. The woods would not sway him, no matter how it tried. “I’m so sorry.”