Chapter 1
A group of tourists has gathered to watch me throw knives at a shopboy. They’ve come here for magic; I’ve kept them here with misdirection and lies. Maybe it’s not magic exactly, but it is undeniably entertaining watching my unwilling assistant flinch every time the knife point gets too close to his groin.
I hold the knife steady, aiming, watching his limp hair flop as the wooden wheel he’s strapped to slowly rotates.
Stefan lets out a whimper, and I toss him a smile. He was a lot braver in the shop where I’d found him, flirting as he bagged my books. It hadn’t been hard to trick him into volunteering.
The crowd jeers.
“Aim lower!”
“Aim higher! Maim his ugly face!”
“Throw three at once!”
“Mirage, don’t you dare!” Stefan shouts.
The nighttime crowd is always hungrier for violence. I hold up my hands placatingly.
“Obviously, I can’t throw three knives at once. That would be dangerous and highly irresponsible . . .”
There are a couple of groans, but my reputation must precede me, because there are a few whoops and chuckles thrown in as well. With a sweep, I pull my deadliest knife from my belt, the one with the wicked serrated edge, brandishing it for the crowd.
“But I think we can spice things up a bit!”
I stab the knife into a vat of oil, the shimmering liquid sliding down the tang of the blade. Then, with a flourish, I sweep it through a nearby torch. Flame devours the knife. The crowd roars its approval. Stefan pales.
The hilt burns in my hand, throwing off sparks, as I wonder if perhaps I’ve gone too far. I’ve only tried this a few times. And the jackrabbit I had caught to practice with wasn’t even good to eat after, blackened to an inedible crisp.
Either way, I’ll give them a show.
Even though the knife feels like it’s blistering my palm, I take a moment to pan the audience. This is always my favorite part. The tension is a palpable thing, visible in held gasps, wide eyes, and awe. Magic.
And that’s when I see him. Expression carefully neutral, almost bored, one eyebrow raised, arms folded across a suit that costs more than my father made in a year. A seeker.
My heart pounds, as I realize more than Stefan’s crotch is at stake here now. If I nail this, that pretentious clown in a suit has the power to get my act in front of the queen. I could be the next Jester. It’s the reason I’ve come here tonight, the same reason I’ve performed for thousands of crowds like this one.
Sucking in a breath, I hold the knife level.
Stefan thrashes, but the binding’s pinning him to the wheel like a dead butterfly hold. Right as I pull back to throw, there’s a shout.
“Kingkiller!”
The knife slips in my grip, but it’s too late. I watch, horrified, as the blade wobbles in the air, the trajectory off. It clatters to the ground a few feet away from Stefan, flames smothered in the dirt. There’s a moment of shocked silence, as though the crowd is waiting for me to do something.
Make a joke. Throw another knife. Something. I can still save this. Even Stefan gawps at me as I stare unseeing at the crowd. But I don’t do anything. I just stand there, the word pounding in my head, over and over.
Kingkiller.
Even real magic couldn’t save me now. It couldn’t save my father—traitor to the throne and murderer of the king. Not that I have magic anyway, as my father’s magic died with him when they executed him for treason. Leaving my family disgraced, leaving me to peddle illusion in a cheap imitation of the real thing.
The seeker is gone. I watch him leave, head shaking
as if disappointed, the crowd swallowing him up again. My one big shot, gone as quickly as the smoke from my act. I gather up my knives, suddenly too exhausted to even finish the show. There are a few shouted threats, but I hardly notice through the fog of disappointment. I can’t believe it’s over. Seventeen months I’ve waited for the opportunity to impress a seeker, and with just one word, it’s over. And I didn’t even make enough gold dust to buy myself dinner.
I loosen Stefan’s bindings, my fingers slipping as a loud gasp from the nearby crowd steals my attention. Stefan drops with a thud and a curse, but I hardly hear his complaints. Most of my audience has wandered off, inflating the already bloated numbers of the show next to mine. The entire stretch of street, known fondly to those in the business as the Noose, is filled with performers clamoring to be seen. Nowhere else in the kingdom of Terraca is there a place so glutted with magic: everything from the mundane enchantments like the ones used to keep the hotels refreshingly cool inside—even here in the desert—to the spectacular.
Sandwiched between the most impressive hotels in Oasis—including the impressive Crown Hotel—the Noose is one of the best spots to snag wealthy patrons with too much gold in their wallets and too much liquor in their blood.
A bolt of lightning so bright it leaves a streak in my vision cracks the pavement several feet away. Applause and gold nuggets are thrown at the magician, who bows.
Ignoring Stefan’s shouts, I wander over to see what has the tourists so hot. I’ve seen most of the shows in the Noose multiple times; after all, I’ve got to maintain a healthy edge over my competitors. So, I’m not surprised when I recognize the performer instantly. His name rises in my throat like bile.
Luc.
Long blond hair swept into a knot on top of his head and with a jawline that could cut glass, Luc is one of the most popular acts on the Noose, besides my own. Even with his face arranged in an arrogant sneer, he’s still irritatingly handsome. A simple flourish of his long red coat sparks deafening applause. The crowds love him and he knows it. His gaze sweeps the crowd greedily, sucking in the cheers as though they physically sustain him. I know the feeling well.
I jolt when his eyes land on me, pick me out in the crowd. I want to shrink, to disappear, the same caught feeling as a mouse in the gaze of a hawk.
“Can I have a volunteer, please?”
The hand of every eligible woman in the crowd shoots up. He grins, cocky, surveying the desperate volunteers. He raises an eyebrow at me, intention clear. I cross my arms, unwilling to give him the satisfaction of a reaction. With a disappointed shake of his head so slight I could’ve imagined it, he selects a different young woman.
Even from where I stand near the back of the crowd, it’s obvious she is heartbreakingly lovely and fantastically wealthy. Luc’s smile broadens as he helps her onstage. Flowing blonde hair, full lips, flushed cheeks, and a garnet necklace like a collar of blood against her pale throat. I roll my eyes. Luc definitely has a type.
He takes her hand gently and leans in to whisper something in her ear. She titters, cheeks rosy. She’s
clearly enraptured, unaware of the fate that awaits her, a butterfly in a web. Even if she did know, I doubt she’d care. Half the women in this audience have seen Luc’s show before, and in spite of its macabre ending, they still keep coming in droves. He ignores her fluttering lashes, his eyes finding me again in the crowd. A chill runs down my spine.
Without breaking eye contact, he stabs the girl onstage. And even though I’ve seen his show hundreds of times, know exactly how it ends, a gasp breaks free from my tight lips as she crumples to the ground. Blood stains the wood around her, a stage that has seen its fair share of death. Seeing my reaction, he actually has the nerve to smile as she bleeds out on the ground beside him.
He steps away from the blood before it can reach his expensive snakeskin boots, ignoring the paunchy man who clambers onstage with him, pawing frantically at the bloody maiden.
“Olivia! What have you done to her? Olivia, wake up!”
Olivia’s father, I assume, if his age and resemblance to the girl are any indicator. Luc smiles down benevolently at the man, whose face is blotchy and panicked. Tears run down his cheek as he blubbers, and my gut clenches both in shame for him and pity.
“Who will pay the debt for this maiden?” Luc asks. He doesn’t extend a hand to the man, who grasps at his trousers, unaware of the blood that stains his fine clothes.
“I will,” the man cries, wiping the snot from his face. “Please, I’ll do anything! Just bring back my daughter.”
Luc has chosen wisely; it’s obvious this man will pay anything for his jewel of a daughter. Luc eyes him as though weighing a handful of gold dust and then glances at the ropes of garnets choking the woman’s fragile neck. The desperate father seizes upon his meaning, and with shaking fingers unclasps the heavy necklace and passes it to Luc. Holding it up for the crowd first, Luc pockets the jewels with a satisfied smile.
“The debt has been paid. Arise, fair maiden!”
For a moment nothing happens.
Everyone’s eyes are on the girl, whose lips have turned a faint blue. But my eyes are on Luc. I can see the strain as he tries to bring her back from Beyond. The sweat that runs, neglected, down his temple. The clenched fists. Watching for any kind of rise in her lungs. But they stay still.
I’ve only seen Luc fail once. That girl’s family was desolate but could do nothing, because that’s what these wealthy fools come here for. To be thrilled. To be entertained, no matter the cost. And Luc never fails to give them a show. Heart pounding, I watch Luc cross the stage, jaw tight. To anyone else he looks collected, but I can see the way his teeth grind. She’s not coming back, I think, and before I can register the thought, Luc lifts the dead girl up and kisses her passionately. The man, her father, I
remember numbly, lets out a startled cluck like a chicken on a chopping block.
For a minute it’s deathly silent. Then the girl gasps for air, hands scrabbling at Luc’s neck. I let out a gust of air, then feel my lungs inflate as hers do. Luc bows to riotous applause as gold nuggets rain on the stage. No one sees the girl, whose lips are still blue, whose lungs struggle to reset, her father crying into her hair. She’ll likely suffer brain damage, being without oxygen for as long as she was. That’s the price of magic, true magic. Luc’s show is cruel but effective. There’s a reason he’s known on the Noose as the devil. Sell him your soul, and he’ll give you a show. And although I’m loath to admit it, he’s my biggest competition for the position of Jester.
Sure enough, not one, but two seekers have joined him onstage. I watch as they fight for his attention, eager to claim the commission that comes with finding a worthy act. As though he can feel my eyes on him, Luc lifts his gaze from the seekers. I can read the words on his lips as clearly as if he spoke:
“Kingkiller.”