Page 26 of The Opening Act is Death
“You learned wrong,” I hiss, “if you think I taught you everything.”
He lunges again, aiming for my shoulder. I let him land the blow just enough to slice through fabric. The crowd stirs, thenIsmile,and I dance. The knives in my hands are extensions of my rage, my control, myright. This is not violence. This is choreography.
This is art.
The air sings with each slash. The Carnivalpurrs. Until finally, he stumbles, and I don’t hesitate. I place my heel on his chest, knock him to the boards, and press the point of my blade against his throat.
“Still think I’m not fit to rule?”
He doesn’t answer, he can’t, but The Carnival isn’t satisfied with blood. She wants the truth.
“Enough.”
His voice cuts through the tent like lightning. Corvan steps into the ring, he’s still wearing the black from tonight’s performance, illusion-smoke clinging to his sleeves. But his mask is gone. And the truth behind his eyes is raw. The crowd parts for him like water.
“You challenged her throne,” he says, looking at the Knife-Eater, then the crowd. “But you forget, this Carnival doesn’t just belong to her anymore.”
A hush, even the fire-eaters pause as Corvan steps closer.
“If you want to question her loyalty, her power, herlove…” his voice lowers, darkens, “…then you should be ready to questionmine.”
He looks at me, not to ask permission, not to interrupt, but to stand beside me. To be seen, and in his eyes, I see it.
He’s ready to be torn apart if that’s what it takes.
The Carnival shifts, the stage groans, The Ringmaster in the Shadows exhales behind the curtains of this world.
Because nowhe’s next.
Thirty Three
Corvan - Every Magic Trick is a Lie
My final illusion demands truth, and I’m not ready.
The Carnival doesn’t wait for me to breathe. The moment I speak her name, in front of them all the air splits.
The velvet parts.
The spotlight flickers.
And then it begins.
No one moves. Not even Visha, because they know what this is.
The Illusion Trial.
A punishment. A test. A stage thatfeedson liars.
It builds itself around me like ribs snapping closed. The tent vanishes. The audience becomes mirrors. The mirrors become me.
“You built your whole life on tricks,”The Carnival hisses.
“Now show us what’s real.”
I don’t move, I can’t. The first illusion drops.
My childhood bedroom.
