“You already said that.” With a sigh, Aunt Cata placed her gloved hand on his carefully. The gesture, once again, gave him pause. “It’s past, now. Driving it to the ground will not change it. Better to forget and move forward.”
Daron didn’t want to forget. He couldn’t. Every time he saw her worry lines and shadows beneath them, he’d remember. Every hurt in every unanswered letter.
“No more silence between us.” She capped the solemn order with a gentle pat. “We start over.”
He nodded without argument. The weight of all that was unsaid dragged down everything inside him. The unspoken wrath, days of worrying, heaps of disappointment and frustration masked behind her work. She could curse him sideways right now and he wouldn’t stop her.
But Aunt Cata never was one to indulge in such reactions. She expressed her emotions by putting them aside, and moving on.
Tell her. Eva’s voice still teased as their carriage rolled through the Glorian gates.
About Kallia and the show, about his magic and the mirrors. About how she’d vanish, same as Eva. Lottie had been right to assume the Patrons would take notice of the papers. He just couldn’t be too sure what she believed.
“Aunt Cata,” Daron began as the carriage slowed to a stop. “What you saw in the papers—”
“—is among the many reasons why we’re here.” Tightening her gloves across her fingers, she smoothly maneuvered her way out of the cramped carriage. “We’ll chat more later, but there’s business to take care of. Come along.”
She disembarked without another word, leaving Daron nearly speechless. He’d never been asked to tag along on Patron business, almost thought he’d heard her wrong until she popped her scowling face back into view. “Just because I forgive you doesn’t mean I’ve forgotten your tendency to run at the first chance.”
Her sharp, expectant tone triggered some muscle memory that had him out of his seat and on the street in a blink.
Frantic, his eyes darted all about them. A line of other small white carriages continued long after theirs against the curb.
Just like the sight of white coats and gloves, patrolling everywhere he turned.
Daron’s pulse spiked. “What’s going on?”
“That’s what we’re here to find out,” Aunt Cata said brusquely before a Patron flanked her side with a leather-bound clipboard. While continuing down the street, they conversed in hushed tones, far too soft for Daron to catch a word as he followed.
The Glorian surrounding him now was different from the one he’d left before his ride. Amidst the curious chatter, there was a quietness about the streets, as quiet as the time he’d first arrived in the city covered in ice.
People paused near the foreign row of Patron carriages conquering the length of the curb. Faces peered in windows, between the cracks of closed curtains, observing the new arrivals.
Lottie had been right. Nothing killed an old headline better than a new one. People forgot just as swiftly as they condemned.
Without asking, Daron already knew where they were heading. After any event, Aunt Cata always prioritized interviewing those directly affected, collecting firsthand accounts herself. Her Patrons assessed the situation from the ground, but she went straight to the heart.
Chaos echoed throughout the hospital halls from the moment they entered. The sharp screech of metal and shouts only grew louder as they moved through the patients’ quarters—rows of seemingly peaceful beds to the one closed off by a thrashing sheer curtain at the end.
“Paper,” a voice croaked. “No, get off me—I need paper!”
“Father, please—we must get you cleaned up…”
Daron followed his aunt toward the violent clang. A tin pitcher of water was knocked over. A hiss of a curse following after.
To the sides, attendants overseeing patients straightened instantly at Aunt Cata’s emergence. Even the visitors sitting by bedsides kept watch.
At the flash of ruby-red hair, Daron stiffened, and accidentally met Canary’s gaze for a tense moment. She and a few other Conquerors sat beside Juno, the tattooed performer who still had not risen. Much like the other magicians lying in the pair of beds across from hers, it was a troubling sight. Not much had changed over the past few weeks. No difference, no progress.
The fire-eater broke eye contact almost immediately, always doing her best to avoid him. He’d gotten used to such cold shoulders in Glorian. For someone who played with fire, hers was by far the iciest.
It hardly mattered to Daron now with the scene ahead. Tools and water puddles and pieces of paper were scattered on the floor like a trail. A man thrashed under hands trying to settle him, his restless white-gray hair smeared with bits of black tufting out. His eyes were wild, somehow bloodshot and drowsy and alert at once before closing in pure exhaustion.
Mayor Eilin.
The change in him was startling. He’d known the mayor best in a top hat and pressed suit with the collar buttoned high to the neck, disapproval ruling his manner. The man who’d fought him and Kallia during the competition every step of the way.
Hardly any of that existed in the patient before him.
Aunt Cata assessed the situation with a steely air, taking in the resting mayor as though he might rise in attack at any moment. She’d subdued wilder perpetrators before with just the touch of her hand, a last resort to prevent further harm.
As the group approached, Janette sprang away from her father, looking just as harried. “Excuse me, but this is a private—”
“I’m Head Patron Cataline Edgard,” said Aunt Cata, smoothing the palms of her white gloves on full display. “My team and I have only just arrived. You summoned us.”
“Oh—” Janette’s hard expression cracked under a break of tears. “Oh thank Zarose you’re here.” That softness sharpened right back up as she spotted Daron among the group. “No one requested your presence.”
The words stung in his chest.
He was saved the grace of having to respond when Aunt Cata cleared her throat. “I insisted he stay by me today. I hope you understand.” The way she shifted position subtly shielded him. “He won’t interfere.”
“Fine.” Nostrils flared, Janette sharpened her focus back toward the bed. “Thank you for coming so quickly. He only just woke this morning, has been out for a little over a week.”
“I understand that he was attacked?”
“Knocked out cold.” The girl’s jaw clenched. “It’s all over the papers by now, isn’t it?”
“There’s a lot that’s in the papers right now. It’s hard to find the truth of it.”
“You want the real story, then?” Janette scoffed, resting her hands on her hips. “He was attacked by some mad magician who brought down the last night of our show. I worried he might never wake up.”
“Wait.” Blinking, Aunt Cata held up a hand. “Tell me more about this … mad magician?”
Daron had some choice words for him. The magician hadn’t been in their presence for long, but he’d brought disaster as soon as he’d descended upon the ballroom like some nightmare. With Daron’s face, no less. So many theatrical accounts of the night circulated throughout Soltair. Rarely did they speak of the nameless magician who’d brought down Spectaculore.