Chapter 36 #2
Behind her, she heard him shift in his chair. “The trick with wrapping is consistent tension.”
“I have been consistently tense this entire time,” she shot back.
His laugh was warm. “Different kind of tension. Here—”
She heard him stand, move around the table. Panicked, she spun to block him, clutching her project against her chest like state secrets.
“No helping!”
“I’m not even looking at it,” he said, hands raised in surrender. “Just… let me show you on a spare piece. Unless all your leather is currently winning individual battles?”
She grudgingly grabbed a clean scrap, shoving it at him while keeping her actual gift hidden behind her back. “Fine. Demonstrate your superior leather-taming skills.”
He took the scrap, moving to the clear end of the table. Close enough to help, far enough that she didn’t feel like he was about to unmask her terrible secret.
“See? Even pressure, overlapping edges.” His fingers moved with surprising dexterity, turning the rebellious material into something cooperative. “You’re probably gripping too hard. Leather responds better to coaxing than force.”
“Everything in my life requires force,” she muttered, but she watched his technique carefully.
“I’ve noticed.” He finished the demonstration wrap, setting it aside. “Your turn. On whatever you’re definitely not hiding behind your back.”
She glared at him suspiciously. “You won’t look?”
“I’ll even close my eyes if it helps.” He made a show of covering them with one hand. “Though that does increase the risk of Flicker ambush.”
As if summoned, the paint-covered creature chose that moment to investigate, hopping from the table directly onto Gideon’s shoulder.
“Why is he wet?” Gideon asked, still covering his eyes as Flicker’s paint-covered paws left prints on his collar.
“That would be the paint incident I mentioned,” Cassara admitted, using his distraction to attempt a proper wrapping. Even pressure. Overlapping edges. Don’t strangle the leather into submission.
She managed three whole overlaps before it started to rebel. “Oh, come on!”
“Too tight,” Gideon diagnosed, eyes still covered. “Ease up a bit.”
She tried again, looser this time and it finally started to cooperate. “How do you know about leather working anyway?”
“Weapon maintenance. Sometimes you have to rewrap handles, repair straps.” He pecked through his fingers. “Better?”
“Don’t look!” She clutched it protectively again.
“I’m not looking at what it is,” he protested. “Just the technique. Completely different thing.”
“That’s… actually true,” she conceded, relaxing slightly. The wrapping was holding. Mostly. If you ignored the parts where paint had definitely seeped into places paint shouldn’t be.
“See? I can be helpful without ruining surprises.” Flicker chose that moment to walk down his arm, leaving a trail of blue pawprints. “Though Flicker seems determined to use me as a canvas.”
“He’s an artist,” Cassara said defensively. “He doesn’t understand conventional boundaries.”
“Clearly.” Gideon was now decorated with red and blue paint on his previously white shirt, blue pawprints down one arm, and what looked like a purple tail-swipe across his collar. “Am I his masterpiece?”
“You’re certainly… colorful.” She bit back a smile at how ridiculous he looked, the composed captain of Auric Vow covered in paint like a children’s art project.
“Still not as colorful as you.” He reached out, plucking something from her hair. “Is this an entire spool of ribbon?”
“That’s… tactical ribbon storage.”
“Of course it is.” He set it on the table, then noticed her elbow. “And that one?”
“Emergency backup ribbon.”
“Very strategic.” His eyes dropped to her partially wrapped project. “It’s holding better now.”
She looked down, surprised to find he was right. It still looked like something a blindfolded child might have made, but at least the leather was staying in place.
“I suppose that’s something,” she admitted grudgingly.
“Progress.” He stood, stretching. Paint crinkled on his shirt. “Though I should change before this dries permanently. Unless you need more help with your definitely-not-secret project?”
“I think I’ve got it from here,” she said, then added more quietly, “Thank you.”
“Anytime.” He headed for the door, pausing to look back. “For what it’s worth, whoever gets that gift? They’ll love it.”
“How could you possibly know that?”
“Because you made it,” he said simply. “Even if it does occasionally spark.”
The door closed behind him before she could formulate a response, leaving her standing there with her lumpy, paint-stained, occasionally sparking creation.
Maybe it wasn’t so terrible after all.
Then it sparked again, singeing her thumb.
“Vindictive leather,” she muttered, and got back to work.
The last traces of blue paint had finally surrendered to her aggressive scrubbing twenty minutes ago.
Cassara examined her nails one more time in the mirror, grateful for the empty dormitory that meant no one had witnessed her day-long battle with craft-related evidence.
Liri would have asked questions. Evie would have giggled.
The solitude of break was proving useful already.
She adjusted the deep plum velvet bodice one final time.
She’d chosen it deliberately, rich enough to honor the occasion, but not so elaborate as to seem like she was trying too hard.
The silver embroidery traced delicate constellation patterns across the fabric, and the layered skirts of lighter lavender and cream moved like water when she walked.
It was armor of a different sort, one she knew how to wear well.
For once, she’d left her hair mostly loose, only the front sections pinned back with silver clasps. The style felt strange after years of practical braids, but tonight called for something different.
The great hall had been transformed. Where normally hundreds of students filled long tables, tonight there was only one round table set near the massive hearth, intimate and glowing with candlelight.
Evergreen garlands draped the walls, dotted with tiny magelight stars that pulsed gently.
The vaulted ceiling reflected an enchanted winter sky, constellations spinning slowly through their ancient patterns.
To one side, a small space had been cleared for dancing, marked by more candles and what looked suspiciously like enchanted snow that fell but never accumulated.
“Cassara!” A third-year she vaguely recognized—Mira?—waved from the table. “We were starting to think you’d gotten lost.”
Six students were already seated, cups of something steaming in front of them. Professor Thendrick sat cross-legged on his chair like it was a meditation cushion, while Nareen occupied her seat with military strictness despite the festive atmosphere.
“Not lost,” Cassara said, taking one of the empty chairs. “Just… delayed.”
“Craft incident?” Thendrick asked mildly, and she wondered if he could somehow see the paint she’d scrubbed away.
“Something like that.”
A second-year named Fenn grinned. “We’ve all been there. Last year I tried to make enchanted candles and nearly burned down my room.”
“The key,” Thendrick said, accepting a cup from a floating tray, “is to embrace imperfection. The universe delights in flawed creation.”
Nareen snorted. “The universe also delights in students who don’t set things on fire.”
“Where’s the wonder in that?” Thendrick countered, eyes twinkling.
More students trickled in, another third-year, a quiet first-year who looked overwhelmed by everything. Cassara found herself checking the door each time it opened, definitely not waiting for anyone in particular.
The table was filled with easy chatter, stories of previous winter celebrations, complaints about the academic year so far. It felt strange, sitting here without the usual hierarchies and pressures. Just students and professors sharing a meal as snow fell silently outside.
She was reaching for her cup when the door opened again.
Gideon entered. He traded his usual training attire for formal evening wear—a deep forest green doublet with silver buttons over dark trousers, cut perfectly to his frame.
Their eyes met across the room.
“Gideon!” Fenn called out. “Perfect timing. We were about to start the first course.”
He took the last empty seat, directly across from her, offering a general greeting to the table. But his gaze lingered on her for just a moment longer than necessary, taking in the velvet, the loose hair, the way candlelight caught on her skin.
“You look…” he started, then seemed to catch himself, clearing his throat. “Purple suits you.”
Heat crept up her neck. “Thank you.”
His fingers drummed once on the table, the only sign he wasn’t as composed as he appeared. “Hair’s different.”
“Well, I thought I might try something new.” She touched one of the silver clasps self-consciously. “Though I’m already regretting the impracticality.”
“Don’t.” He cleared his throat again. “It’s… nice.”
The moment stretched between them, weighted with unspoken things, snow and skating and almost-kisses, until Mira’s cheerful voice broke through.
“Oh good, everyone’s here! They can bring out the food now!”