Chapter 38 #2
“Symbolic cleansing. The smoke carries them away, or so they say.” He studied her expression, mouth quirking. “Let me guess, another one you’ve never heard of?”
“I’m starting to wonder if you’re making these up.”
“Were you raised under a rock?” The teasing in his voice took any sting from the words. “Next you’ll tell me you’ve never made shadow puppets in the firelight or roasted cake over the flames.”
“You don’t roast cake over flames,” she protested. “That would ruin the frosting.”
“Exactly what someone raised under a rock would say.”
She kicked at his chair with her foot, making him laugh. The sound did something uncomfortable to her chest.
“We didn’t… do holidays,” she admitted quietly, staring into her cocoa.
“Not like this. There was always a formal dinner for the winter solstice. Dignitaries, nobles, political alliances dressed up as celebration. But we never…” She gestured vaguely at the room, at him, at the simple comfort of hot drinks by a fire. “This.”
“No gifts?”
“Oh, there were gifts. Carefully selected ones. A rare book from Lord Pemberton to curry favor. Jewels from the Montrose family to remind us of their wealth. Everything had a purpose, a meaning beyond the giving.”
“No frost blossom fortune tarts?”
She shook her head.
“No hot cocoa by the fire?”
“My father would consider it inefficient. Why sit doing nothing when you could be reviewing trade agreements?”
Gideon was quiet for a long moment. When she glanced at him, his expression had gone thoughtful, almost sad.
“That sounds lonely,” he said simply.
The words hit harder than they should have. She took a sip of cocoa to avoid responding, but he wasn’t done.
“We did all of it,” he continued, voice softer now.
“Before. Every tradition, every silly ritual. My mother loved the winter celebrations. She’d start planning weeks in advance, who to invite, what to cook, which room needed fresh garlands.
” His smile was distant, aimed at the fire rather than her.
“My father would pretend to be exasperated, but he always helped. Usually ended up tangled in ribbon or covered in flour.”
“That sounds nice,” Cassara said carefully. She knew where this was heading, everyone knew the Delvanir fall had been spectacular and swift.
“It was.” He shifted in his chair, and she could see him weighing his words. “Right up until it wasn’t.”
She waited, letting the silence stretch. Sometimes the best way to learn was to leave space for the telling.
“You know the story, I’m sure. Everyone does.” His voice carried a bitter edge. “The downfall of Delvanir, house of cowards and murders.”
“That’s what they say,” she agreed carefully.
“They’re wrong,” he said, staring into the fire. “Oh, we lost everything. That part’s true. But it wasn’t poor judgment or greed. It was the Tremaines.”
Cassara straightened slightly. This wasn’t the story she’d heard, the one Julian had told with such satisfied detail.
“My family was pioneering new ACS technology, beast enhancement protocols that could’ve revolutionized bonding.
The Tremaines were our primary backers. My grandfather, Corman, led the research team.
” Gideon’s hands tightened on his cup. “The technology needed more time. More testing. But Lord Evard Tremaine, Julian’s grandfather, wouldn’t wait.
He saw profit slipping away with each delay. ”
The fire popped, sending sparks up the chimney.
“They forced us into field trials. My grandfather warned them, begged them, told them it wasn’t ready.
The bonding matrices were unstable. But Evard threatened to pull funding, to bury us in legal proceedings if we didn’t comply.
” His voice went flat, like he’d told this story to himself too many times. “So they ran the trial.”
“The Southmark Incident,” Cassara breathed, pieces clicking together.
“Two tamers dead within minutes. The third…” He paused, jaw working. “The enhancement backfired through the bond. Her own beast tore her in half. And Evard, he was injured in the chaos. Not badly, but enough.”
“Julian said—”
“I know what Julian says.” Bitterness crept into his tone. “That my grandfather was a coward who fled the scene, leaving Evard to die. That the Delvanirs pushed untested technology. Every word a lie.”
“What really happened?”
“Corman tried to save them. All of them. He shut down the matrix manually, took massive feedback damage doing it. Evard left him there, bleeding out on the testing ground. Left him for dead.” Gideon stared into the fire.
“Then testified that Corman had fled like a coward. That the Delvanirs had hidden critical safety data. That we’d murdered those tamers through negligence and greed. ”
The silence stretched, heavy with the weight of old pain.
“The trials were swift, closed to the public. We were ordered to pay reparations to the victims’ families, which we gladly did.
They deserved that much. But it emptied our coffers.
And with our reputation destroyed, every contract was cancelled.
Every partnership dissolved. The Tremaines acquired our research for a fraction of its worth.
Our patents. Our prototypes. Everything. ”
“My mother tried to hold it together. Sold everything she owned to keep us afloat. But when the entire nobility turns its back, when every door closes…” He shrugged.
Cassara felt sick. She’d sat through dinners where this story was told, always Julian’s version, always painting the Delvanirs as greedy fools who’d killed good people through arrogance. She’d believed it. Judged Gideon through that lens when they’d first met.
“I’m sorry,” she said quietly. “I believed, when Julian told me.”
“Why wouldn’t you? The Tremaines tell it well. They’ve had years to perfect the narrative.” His smile was sharp. “And who’s going to believe the disgraced grandson over the war hero’s family?”
“I believe you,” she said firmly. “Now. I believe you.”
Something in his expression softened. “Thank you.”
“Is that why you came? To Vallemont?”
“Partly. The academy has access to archives, old records. Somewhere in there is proof, grandfather’s original warnings, safety concerns he documented, something.
And partly…” He looked at her directly. “Because I won’t let them erase us entirely.
Every time I excel here, every achievement with my name on it, it’s proof we were more than they said we were. ”
“And Julian knows this.”
“Oh, he knows. He delights in reminding me how his family ‘saved’ beast taming technology from our reckless hands. How they made it safe, profitable, respectable.” His laugh was hollow. “With our research. Our innovations. Built on the bones of what they stole.”
“Gideon,”
“I’m not telling you this for pity.” He turned to face her fully.
“I’m telling you because you should know, those calculated gifts, those political dinners?
That’s all that’s left when the rest gets stripped away.
And it’s nothing. It’s empty rooms and cold hearths and silence where laughter used to be. ”
“So you hold onto the traditions,” she said softly, understanding.
“Every ridiculous one.” His smile returned, smaller but genuine. “Burnt cake and all.”
“There’s no such thing as burnt cake tradition.”
Flicker chose that moment to materialize on the arm of her chair, chirping curiously at their cups. He leaned precariously toward Cassara’s cocoa, whiskers twitching.
“Don’t even think about it,” she warned.
It smells good, he protested. Just one taste?
“You don’t even like chocolate.”
How do you know if I’ve never tried it?
“Because last time you tried coffee you sneezed for an hour.”
Flicker’s investigation grew more determined, forcing Cassara to hold her cup out of reach. The movement brought her closer to Gideon, who was watching the exchange with amusement.
“He’s persistent,” Gideon observed.
“He’s a menace.” But she was smiling as she said it, trying to keep her cocoa away from Flicker’s grabby paws.
The little creature made a particularly ambitious leap, and Cassara jerked back to avoid the collision. Her shoulder bumped against Gideon’s chest.
Your heart’s going to get loud again, isn’t it?
“I should…” she started.
But Gideon was already leaning in, one hand coming up to cup her cheek. “Cass.”
Just her name, nothing more. But the way he said it, soft and certain...
The kiss was nothing like their almost-moment in the snow. That had been sudden, charged with adrenaline and surprise. This was deliberate. Intentional. His lips were soft against hers, patient, like he was asking a question and giving her all the time in the world to answer.
She answered by shifting closer, her hand coming up to rest against his chest. She could feel his heartbeat through the wool of his sweater. He made a soft sound, surprise or pleasure or both, and deepened the kiss, his fingers threading into her hair.
He tasted like chocolate and cinnamon and something sweeter.
The fire crackled beside them, Flicker purred somewhere above, and for one perfect moment, everything else fell away.
No Julian. No expectations. No complicated emotions about instructors who left without a word.
Just this, just them, just the warm, sweet pressure of his mouth on hers.
Reality crashed back like cold water.
Heat.
Not fire, but hands in her hair.
Not Gideon. Auren.
She jerked away. “I- I can’t.”
Gideon’s hand was still raised, hovering between them. His eyes were dark, pupils blown wide, and his lips—
She couldn’t look at his lips.
“Cass—”
“I’m sorry.” She stood abruptly, cocoa sloshing dangerously. She set the mug down on a nearby table. “I shouldn’t have, I can’t.”
“Wait.” He started to rise, but she was already backing away.
“I’m sorry,” she said again, and fled.
She made it to her room before her hands started shaking. Her lips still tingled. She could still taste chocolate and him.
But she could also remember stone walls and desperate promises, another man’s hands in her hair.
Her heart hammered against her ribs, pulled in two directions at once.
What had she done?
What was she doing?
And worse, why did she want to go back downstairs and do it again?