Chapter 47
EZRA
Ten. Days.
It’s been ten days since I arrived in Hell, and somehow my body has accepted that six a.m. is a real, offensive hour that exists on purpose.
I don’t scream in annoyance anymore when Cassyr bangs on my door at the ungodly hour. In fact, for some annoying reason, my body wakes itself up before he does. I don’t even gag at the smell of blood now. I only dry heave occasionally; I call that progress. Progress which I think deserves a medal.
Today, unfortunately, progress is not the vibe.
I’m standing over a stone workbench in the alchemical wing, staring at a vial of pale blue liquid like I can somehow fix it if I look long enough.
My fingers are cramped, my shoulders ache, and my eye burn from hours of careful measuring, stirring, re-measuring, swearing, and starting over. And over. And over.
Sedation tonic. In theory? Simple. In practice? Apparently, I have two settings: barely works or congratulations, you’ve induced a lifelong coma.
“There is no in-between,” one of the alchemists mutters, peering at my latest attempt. “It either soothes the nervous system or shuts it down entirely.”
“Well, that feels like a design flaw,” I say weakly.
She gives me a look that says, ‘human opinions are not required here,’ and moves on.
I pinch the bridge of my nose and exhale slowly. I’ve followed the recipe exactly. Adjusted the ratios. Reduced the nightshade. Increased the calming root extract. Still wrong. Always fucking wrong.
Cassyr would’ve fixed it by now. An image of his stupidly beautiful face comes uninvited.
It’s sharp and quite frankly, annoying. He’s not here today.
He was pulled to the outdoor training ring hours ago to help with injuries.
Minor wounds, apparently. I try very hard not to think about what minor means in Hell.
As I’m working on fixing this stupid tonic for the millionth time, I overhear a conversation I very much wish I hadn’t.
“Did you hear?” one of the healers nearby whispers. “Cassyr’s been spending a lot of time with one of the head healers from Solara.”
My hand stills mid-stir, straining to listen since my stupid human hearing is not a match for theirs.
“No?” another replies. “The one with the gold eyes? Tall? Very pretty?”
Something tightens uncomfortably in my chest. A sharp twist that I choose to not identify.
“They’d make sense,” the first continues. “Same temperament. Both brutal. But both so very brilliant.”
I drop the stirring rod, and it clatters against the stone far louder than necessary.
Why do I care? I don’t. Obviously. This is stupid. I barely know him. He’s rude, grumpy, chronically unimpressed by my existence—which is frankly insane. And he’s very clearly allergic to joy. And yet… the idea of him laughing with someone else, makes my stomach do a weird flutter feeling.
I scowl at the tonic and cork the vial harder than necessary. “Perfect,” I mutter. “Another problem to add to my ever-growing list of things I didn’t sign up for.”
By the time my shift ends, I’m fed up, exhausted, and deeply pissed off by alchemy as a concept. I’m a drama student, for gods sake. Not a freaking wizard.
I grab a bowl of something warm and vaguely stew-adjacent from the mess hall—filled with staff from half a dozen realms crammed together, voices overlapping, tension humming beneath forced normalcy—and eat just enough to keep myself upright. I miss pizza.
I retreat to my room without bothering to socialise. Most people just scowl at me, anyway. Apparently, they can coexist with soldiers and workers from entirely different realms, but a human is where they draw the line? Either that, or it could be the fact that I keep messing everything up.
Rain starts just as I reach my room. Not a gentle rain either.
It’s the kind of storm that feels like the world is about to end.
Thunder cracks so loudly it rattles the windows, rain hammering against the glass so hard, I half expect it to shatter.
It’s just after five p.m., but my room is cloaked in near-darkness thanks to the thick clouds blotting out Hell’s usual red-lightning-streaked sky.
The candles along the walls flare to life.
I’ve noticed they seem to be enchanted to respond to darkness automatically.
They cast the space in a soft gold light and long, flickering shadows.
The rain drowns everything else out, turning the world distant and muffled.
I drop onto the edge of the bed and press my face into my hands. I hate that stupid tonic. I hate storms. I hate that Cassyr is apparently dating someone hot and competent. And I really really hate that this bothers me at all.
A knock sounds at the door, and I blow out an irritated breath before dragging myself up to open it.
Cassyr stands in the doorway, damp from the rain, his healer’s robes clinging slightly to his broad frame.
His hair is loose from its usual knot, dark strands curling around his face.
Candlelight catches in his amber eyes, making them glint like molten gold.
“Oh,” he says, clearly surprised. “You don’t look like I’ve just woken you from a nap.”
“Rude,” I reply automatically. “I don’t always nap after work.”
His mouth twitches but he quickly hides it. “I heard you were struggling.”
I frown, blinking up at him. Despite the fact I’m six foot tall, he still towers over me. Fucking demons and their unfairly attractive height.
“With what?” I ask.
“The sedation tonic,” he says. “Word travels fast.”
I sigh and step aside, gesturing him in. “Of course word about my incompetence travels fast.”
He hesitates only for a second before stepping inside. The door closes behind him, thunder rolling immediately after. He glances around the space, neither of us speaking as the sound of the rain fills the silence.
“I can help,” he says finally. “If you would like me to.”
I fold my arms. “I thought you would be too busy dating stunning Solaran healers.”
The words are out before I can stop them. Fucking idiot. Heat floods my cheeks as I mentally berate myself.
Cassyr stares at me with a deep frown line settling between his thick dark brows. “I’m not.”
“Oh.”
He arches a brow, a hint of a smirk tugging at his irritating mouth. “Is that… relevant?”
I open my mouth. Close it. Open it again. Way to look like a fucking fish out of water, Ezra. Stellar performance.
“No. Definitely not. Just… rumours.”
“Hm.” He moves to the desk in my room, littered with vials filled with my many, many failures from the last few days. “You followed the recipe too literally.”
I bristle, my defensive side rearing its ugly head. “I followed it exactly.”
“That’s the problem,” he says mildly. “Sedation magic isn’t precise. It’s intuitive. You’re treating it like maths.”
“I hate maths,” I mutter.
“I know.” Those words make me frown this time.
He picks up one of the vials, pops the cork, and sniffs it.
His nose instantly crinkles in disgust. With a quiet sigh and an eye roll, he sets it down and slips the satchel from his shoulder—one I hadn’t even noticed he was carrying—and places it on the desk.
After rummaging through it, he lays out ingredients, a book, and two empty vials.
“Sit,” he says, gesturing to the stool.
I don’t have the energy to argue about him barking orders at me like a misbehaving dog, so I do as I’m told.
“You’re going to copy me, alright?”
I nod, watching closely as he points to the page and reads the instructions aloud, adding ingredients step by step into the vial. But instead of using the exact measurements the recipe calls for, he adjusts by sight.
“See how it shows this colour,” he explains focused, “and notes that it should smell like almonds? That’s what you’re aiming for. Measurements are not always ideal. Follow them for the primary ingredient, then adjust the second ingredient until the colour and scent are right.”
I glance back at the page and notice the colour of the tonic is slightly darker than the ones I’ve made before. I nod and follow his lead, adding the perfect amount of nightshade, then adding the calming root extract, slowly, until the hue matches perfectly.
I can feel Cassyr watching me, his attention is heavy, but I keep my eyes trained on the vial. When I’m certain the colour matches, I lift it to my nose and smell. I can’t help the smile that lights up my face when the scent of almonds hits me.
“I think I did it!” I squeal excitedly.
Cassyr reaches for the vial in my hand, his fingers brushing mine. The contact is brief, but it feels electric. My breath catches despite myself, and I swear he hesitates for just a moment before taking it from me.
He holds it up, inspecting it in the candlelight, and then sniffs at it. He nods approvingly, a small smile gracing his lips.
“You did it, sparkles.”
I jump up, and without thinking, throw my arms around him in excitement. “Thank you! Thank you, thank you, thank you—” He freezes in my hold. The second I realise what I’ve done, panic hits. I pull back immediately. “Shit. Sorry. I got excited. I’m, uh, I’m a hugger. Sorry.”
My face burns as I shove my curls back from my face, suddenly very interested in the stone floor.
Cassyr doesn’t speak, so I risk a glance up at him.
He’s staring at me, his expression unreadable as those amber eyes gaze intensely into my soul.
The only movement is the slow bob of his throat as he swallows.
I can feel my heart pounding in my chest, feeling like a small animal trapped under the gaze of a predator.
“Cassyr?” I say softly.
He blinks, then frowns, shaking his head once. He turns away, gathering his things from the desk.
“We’ll finish this tomorrow,” he says gruffly. “Get some rest.”
He reaches the door, then pauses, reaching into his pocket.
“My mother made these,” he says, holding out something wrapped in pale cloth “She made too many, so you may as well have them.”
I take the cloth from him, the contents inside still slightly warm. I inhale instinctively, my mouth watering as the sweet, smoky scent hits me.