Chapter Twenty Seven
The dormitory was silent when Cassara finally returned, the corridors empty save for the faint glow of enchanted sconces that never quite went dark.
Her muscles ached from hours spent alone in the training yard, pushing herself through drills until exhaustion finally outweighed the churning in her chest.
She’d stayed away as long as she could. Long enough for Sonia’s satisfied whispers to fade, for Liri’s well-meaning concern to settle into sleep, for Evie’s gentle questions to remain unasked.
She wasn’t ready for any of it, the betrayal, the pity, the careful navigation of friendships that might not survive what she’d become.
Her boots thudded against stone as she made her way to her room, careful not to wake anyone. The door opened with barely a sound, and she slipped inside to find her roommates’ beds curtained and still. Safe, for now.
Cassara sank onto her own bed without bothering to change, every movement deliberate and quiet.
Her training clothes stuck to her skin with dried sweat, and her hair had long since escaped its pins to hang loose around her shoulders.
She should wash. Should sleep. Should do any number of practical things.
Instead, she reached under her pillow and pulled out her mother’s journal.
The leather was soft beneath her fingers, worn smooth by years of handling.
She’d read these pages so many times she could recite them from memory, her mother’s hopes, fears, the careful documentation of a young woman trying to find her place in a world that demanded more than she thought she could give.
But tonight, instead of reading, Cassara flipped toward the back where blank pages waited like held breath.
She stared at the empty parchment for a long moment, pen hovering uncertainly in her hand. The silence stretched, broken only by the soft breathing from behind the other curtains and the distant sound of wind against the windows.
I’ve never done this before, she finally wrote, the words small and uncertain on the page.
Her hand stilled. What was there to say? That she’d fallen further than she’d ever imagined possible? That the girl who’d arrived at Vallemont with fire in her chest and her mother’s legacy as armor had been stripped bare in front of everyone who mattered?
Today I became everything I once looked down on, she wrote. Obsidian. Bottom tier. The charity case that someone took pity on.
The words felt clumsy, inadequate. How did you capture the weight of humiliation in ink? How did you explain the particular ache of watching Julian’s satisfied smile, of seeing Sonia’s false sympathy, of knowing that everything she’d worked for had crumbled in a single evening?
But Gideon chose me anyway. I don’t understand why. I don’t understand him.
Her pen paused again. The memory of his fist connecting with Julian’s jaw sent something warm and complicated through her chest. The way he’d said “worth it” about the detention, like bloodying Julian’s nose had been a privilege rather than a punishment.
Julian thinks I slept my way onto Gideon’s team. Maybe others think it, too. Maybe it doesn’t matter what they think anymore.
The admission felt dangerous, even written in her own hand. But there was something liberating about it too, the possibility that their opinions might not have the power to destroy her after all.
She tried to write more, about Auren and the way he’d looked at Julian’s hand on her wrist, about the strange comfort of Gideon’s matter-of-fact acceptance of her, about the slow burning realization that she might not be as alone as she’d thought.
But the words wouldn’t come. They tangled in her throat, too complicated and raw to pin down with something as simple as language.
Finally, she closed the journal and shoved it back under her pillow with more force than necessary.
The movement stirred something warm against her side. Flicker materialized from her shard without being summoned, his small form silver-bright in the darkness. He looked at her for a moment then padded across the blanket to curl up beside her hip.
Cassara stared down at him, this creature that everyone called useless, this bond that had somehow become the catalyst for her downfall. He was grooming his fur again, completely unaffected by her mood or the day’s events. Content, somehow, just to be near her.
Flicker’s purr was so quiet she almost missed it. He’d settled into the curve of her body as if he belonged there, as if he’d always belonged there, and the simple acceptance of it made her throat tight.
You’re not what I wanted, she thought. But maybe… maybe that’s not your fault.
The little creature’s ear twitched, and his purr deepened in response, not hurt by the admission, but somehow pleased by her honesty. He knew what she was thinking, felt her resentment, and yet he’d chosen to stay anyway.
Cassara stood outside the training annex, arms crossed, weight tilted into one hip, clearly not staring at the door. Her reflection ghosted faintly in the glass: braid sharp over one shoulder, boots polished, posture defiant. Nothing to be nervous about. Nothing at all.
Flicker circled lazily beside her, nosing at the edge of a nearby bench, then hopping up onto it to sprawl in a ridiculous puff of ears and tail. The little creature stretched, yawned, and rolled over onto its back, legs twitching in the air as if asking her for belly rubs.
Cassara resisted the urge to groan.
“Planning to stand out here all day?” came a voice from behind her.
She twisted, startled, and found Gideon standing at her shoulder, hands in his pockets, watching her expectantly. “You’re blocking the door,” he added, coolly, stepping around her before she could respond.
Cassara scowled at his back and moved, catching the faintest twitch at the corner of his mouth as he brushed past. He paused at the entrance, glanced over his shoulder with a subtle lift of his brow. “Well? Are you coming or not?”
She exhaled sharply, lifted her chin, and followed him in. Flicker hopped down with a delighted chirp and trotted after, tail swishing like a banner.
The training room was one of the smaller annex fields, hex-glass ceiling panels, ambient magelight pulsing through the floor in thin, circuit-like lines.
Three other teammates were already there.
Cassara’s eyes caught on the first, red curls tied in a lopsided knot, bag slung half open, and a grin mid-formation even before she turned fully around.
“Liri?” Cassara said before she could stop herself.
Liri’s eyes widened. “Cassara!” she yelped, bounding forward like a wind-up spring. “Oh my stars, are you on our- I mean- wait, is this your team too?!”
Cassara blinked, half-expecting a catch, but the sheer relief that bloomed in her chest was so sharp it caught her completely off guard. “Apparently,” she muttered.
Behind Liri, another figure stood near the wall, arms folded, expression neutral behind rectangular lenses. Oliver. Cassara barely tilted her head in acknowledgment, unsurprised. “Figures,” she said under her breath.
His brow twitched. “Pleasure to see you again, too.”
And next to him was a boy, taller, broad-shouldered, nervously adjusting the strap of his bracer like it was strangling him.
She’d seen him around. His name started with a B.
“Brian?” she guessed.
“No,” said Gideon, without missing a beat. “That’s Barrett. Barrett. Everyone calls him Rett.”
“Right. Barrett,” she repeated. “I knew that.”
Gideon glanced at the clock on the wall. “One more. Then we’ll begin.”
As if on cue, the door swung open.
Verena sauntered in, hair perfect, uniform crisp, boots echoing on the reinforced floor. She smiled at Gideon, until her gaze slid past him and caught sight of the wrong person standing too close.
Her whole body froze.
“Is this a joke?” she snapped. “Are you kidding me, Gideon?”
The silence snapped taut like a wire pulled to its limit. Even Flicker stopped mid-stretch, one paw still in the air.
The temperature in the room seemed to drop several degrees. Liri’s Sparkfly Moth, Nym, paused mid-flutter. Oliver looked up from his equipment and Barrett had gone still, his gaze sliding from one person to the next as though cataloging each reaction to examine later.
Cassara felt Flicker press against her ankle, a warm, steadying weight that somehow made it easier to keep her chin up and her expression calm.
“Problem, Verena?” Gideon’s voice carried no particular inflection, but his posture had changed. His weight shifted forward slightly, shoulders squaring, every line of his body suddenly alert and focused.
“The problem,” Verena said, taking a step forward, “is that I gave up a captain position to be on this team. Your team. And you’ve filled it with charity cases and academy jokes.”
Her gaze flicked to Cassara with undisguised contempt.
“Did you really think no one would notice? The girl who collapsed in the Rift, ranked dead last after her precious gala disaster? What possible use could she be to anyone?”
Each word cut deep, perfectly aimed to find the softest spots in Cassara’s armor. But she’d been expecting this. Had been preparing for it since the moment she’d seen her name at the bottom of that damned board.
“I’m standing right here,” Cassara said.
“Unfortunately,” Verena replied without missing a beat.
Cassara’s fingers clenched at her sides, but before she could speak, Flicker trotted over to Verena’s manticore, tilted its head, and booped its armored leg.
It blinked once. Twice.
Then hissed like a furnace cracking open.
“Get your house pet away from Kaddock,” Verena snapped. “I don’t need you crying because it gets stomped on or eaten.”
Flicker was entirely unphased by the display from the much larger beast. He simply stared up at the snarling fortress of a creature and let out a chirp that sounded suspiciously like a giggle.
Liri stifled a laugh. “I love him.”
“That’s enough.”