Chapter Fifteen
The infirmary was colder than Auren’s training room had been. Cassara sat on the edge of the long examination bench, the chill from the polished stone bleeding through her training pants. She kept her hands folded in her lap as the senior healer flipped through her chart.
“Mobility?” he asked without looking up.
Cassara lifted her arms, twisted her torso, inhaled sharply—no twinge, no pull. “Unrestricted.”
“Pain?”
“Only when people talk too much.”
The healer huffed a laugh. He scribbled a final note on a device similar to her Codex, then tapped twice to seal the assessment.
“You’re cleared,” he said simply. “Effective immediately. Welcome back to the meat grinder.”
Cassara slipped from her perch. “Thanks.”
He gave a grunt of acknowledgment and turned to organize a shelf of vials, already halfway to forgetting her.
She exited the infirmary into late morning air, the wind off the higher terraces carrying the promise of cooler weather. Vallemont’s upper halls were already buzzing, students weaving between classes, instructors barking reminders, the forge tower chiming out a mid-morning strike.
The combat grounds had already been chalked and restructured for group drills by the time Cassara arrived. Half the cohort was already warming up in groups of five or six going through a series of warm ups and stretches.
Her name was listed at the bottom of the assignment board.
Allencourt, assigned to Group 4, drill partner: Delvanir.
Her stomach sank.
Gideon stood off to the side watching a low-spar session unfold on the mats. His stance was relaxed but alert, like someone who’d rather be doing anything else, but would still win if pushed. His gaze flicked to her the moment she stepped into range and didn’t look away.
She squared her shoulders.
Nareen’s voice rang out over the grounds. “Allencourt, good to have you back. You’re with Delvanir. Pair up. Group Four will be running tactical reentry drills. Five rotations, with weapon restrictions. And don’t make me regret rebalancing the teams.”
Cassara took her mark beside him without comment.
“You’re behind,” Gideon said without looking at her.
“Don’t worry, I’ll go easy on you.”
He didn’t smile, but he didn’t scowl either.
Their first sequence was clean. Dispassionate. Until she pushed harder. Faster. When he feinted, she didn’t dodge, she countered. When he circled, she pressed. He grunted at one particularly aggressive sweep he barely avoided.
“You still trying to prove something?” he muttered.
“I don't need to prove anything to you.”
They rotated through three more sets in silence, and by the end of the fourth, sweat slicked her spine and her arms burned, but she held her own.
When Nareen called time, Cassara left the sparring circle. She moved to retrieve her outer jacket and was pulling it on when Gideon’s voice rose from behind her.
“You could’ve asked for a different partner.”
She paused, halfway through adjusting her collar. “Didn’t seem necessary.”
He nodded once, brushing a hand through his hair. “I think you’re pushing too hard.”
“I’m fine.”
“I didn’t say you weren’t. Just said you’re pushing.”
“Gods, you’re frustrating,” she muttered before she turned toward him fully, expression unreadable. “Why do you care?”
There was a beat of silence between them.
“Because no one else here will tell you when to slow down.”
It wasn’t a challenge, it was almost gentle, and Cassara didn’t know what to do with that. He looked like he wanted to say something else, then thought better of it.
"Just say it," she said, crossing her arms.
She expected him to tell her she was overdoing it, that catching up wasn't worth exhausting herself. What she got was different.
“I’m running drills this evening. If you want the extra time, I’ll be on the upper deck.”
Cassara froze, not visibly, not enough to give it away, but just enough that her fingers curled tighter around her towel.
Before she could reply, another voice sliced between them.
“She won’t need extra time. She’s fine.”
Julian stepped into the circle like he owned it, every inch of him composed and deliberate. His jacket hung unfastened, a thin sheen of sweat glistening against his throat. His expression was unreadable as his eyes cut to Gideon before shifting back to her.
“You’re back. That’s what matters. Don’t waste time taking scraps from someone who can barely keep up with you on a bad day.”
Her jaw locked. She could feel Gideon watching her now, waiting to see what she’d do.
She looked at Julian, then back to Gideon.
“I’ll be there,” she said, voice calm.
Julian’s posture tensed, just slightly. Gideon only gave a curt nod.
Cassara didn’t wait for another argument to break out. Instead, she turned and strode toward the outer ring, heart pounding.
Whether out of spite, or pride, or something more dangerous, she would train tonight.
She didn’t stop until she found a quiet corner near the weapons rack, bracing one hand against the cool metal frame as she forced her breathing to slow.
The combat circle still buzzed behind her with movement and the low hum of instructors shouting corrections, but she couldn’t hear any of it clearly, her pulse was too loud.
“Your footwork’s tighter. That drop-pivot on the second set would’ve earned a point in open spar.”
Cassara looked up to see Nareen striding towards her. “Thanks.”
Nareen gave a small nod, then leaned in just enough to speak over the noise. “Looks like Auren working with you paid off. I wasn’t sure it was a great idea at first, with the injury, but he seemed confident.”
Cassara stilled.
“What?”
“Your counters. Smoother than last week,” Nareen said, glancing back toward the sparring circles. “He’s brutal, but effective.”
She swallowed. “No, the other part… didn’t you ask him to work with me?”
Nareen gave a soft snort. “No one asks Auren Veth to do anything. Keep it up, Allencourt.”
Cassara barely registered that Nareen was walking away, calling out instructions to an incoming group.
The world felt strange in her ears, too quiet in some places and too loud in others.
Her mind cycled through every moment in that training room, every clipped command, every correction he delivered without warmth.
I didn’t ask to train you either.
Her blood heated.
Not just from the betrayal, but from something deeper. A gnawing tangle of confusion and disbelief.
Cassara didn’t change out of her training gear, didn’t stop to collect her thoughts or cool down or pull herself back into balance. She left the training grounds with her fists clenched and her eyes locked on one destination.
The training hall.
Where she knew exactly where to find him.
The training room was almost empty when Cassara arrived, its high windows streaked with the dim gray of a sky nearing dusk. Mage-lights flickered low along the walls, casting long shadows across the padded floor.
Auren stood at the far side of the room, rolling up the reinforced mats into neat coils and returning sparring gear to its proper place.
Cassara stepped inside without a word.
He didn’t look up at first. “If you’re here to use the space, give me two minutes.”
“I’m not.”
That made him pause.
He straightened slowly, turning toward her. His expression was unreadable. The edge of a bruise still colored his jaw from a second-year sparring session earlier that week, and the sight of it, fresh, imperfect, twisted something sharp in her chest.
Cassara didn’t approach him, she stayed near the door, arms folded, heart pounding hard enough to hear.
“You said Nareen asked you to train me.”
Auren’s face didn’t change. “She did.”
“No,” Cassara said, her voice flat. “She didn’t.”
Auren exhaled, just once, as if the fight had landed exactly where he expected it to but hoped it wouldn’t.
“She said you offered,” Cassara continued when he gave no explanation. “That no one asks the infamous Auren Veth to do anything.”
His gaze shifted away for the first time.
“Why did you lie?”
The question landed softer than she meant it to, less accusation and more hurt. She hated how vulnerable it made her sound.
Auren looked back at her and finally spoke. “Because it was easier.”
“For who?” she asked, heat blooming beneath her skin. “For you? For me?”
“For both of us.”
“That’s not your call to make.”
His eyes flickered. “You were injured. You were restless. I didn’t want you to do something reckless.”
“Oh, so you volunteered to babysit,” she snapped.
“No,” he said sharply. “I watched you run yourself into the ground in the Rift just to prove you could. I thought that maybe if I kept you moving, you wouldn’t try to set yourself on fire again.”
She stared at him. “You had no right to decide what I could handle.”
“I never said you couldn’t handle it.”
“Then why lie?”
Auren took a step forward.
“I lied because I didn’t want you to look at me like this,” he said, voice low, each word clipped and controlled. “Because if you knew I wanted to be there, you’d start asking why. And I didn’t have an answer I could give.”
Cassara's breath caught. The words reframed everything.
Every session. Every touch when he adjusted her form.
Every time she'd caught him watching her like he was memorizing something he couldn't keep.
She'd convinced herself it was nothing, that she was reading into professional distance.
But he'd asked for this. Chosen it. Chosen her, and then pretended he hadn't.
The betrayal of it burned hotter than the revelation itself.
“You don’t get to act like it didn’t mean anything,” she said, quieter now, but no less fierce. “You don’t get to stand there and pretend you didn’t choose this. You did. And now I don’t know what was real.”
His gaze snapped to hers.
“It was all real.”
The silence between them pulsed.
Cassara took a step forward. “Then say it.”
Auren didn’t move and for a moment, Cassara was afraid he might refuse.