Chapter Twelve #2
Nareen paced away and then back again, “I’m not going to dress you down in front of your classmates.
You earned your position out there, and frankly, you performed better injured than half the class on a good day.
” She looked down and frowned. “But don’t mistake my respect for your determination as a license to be reckless. ”
Cassara swallowed the sting in her throat.
Nareen sighed. “You’re restricted from combat trials and obstacle courses for the next five days. Minimum. Until the ribs are re-stabilized and cleared.”
“What! I can’t miss that much training! I’ll fall behind, I’ll—”
Nareen raised a brow. “Five. Days.”
Cassara fell quiet.
“You can watch drills, you can observe matches, but if you so much as think about engaging in any physical activity before clearance, you will be pulled from rotation and won’t be allowed to join your cohort when they go to the Wilds. Have I made myself clear?”
Cassara wanted to argue but knew that it would only make things worse. “Understood.”
Nareen gave a short nod. “Good. Heal fast. You’re starting to make them nervous.” And with that, she turned on her heel and walked out.
She sank deeper into the bed.
Five days.
It shouldn’t have mattered as much as it did, it was just time after all, just drills she already knew by heart. She supposed it was the reason, not the punishment. She should’ve said spoken up, should’ve let someone help, but help always came with strings.
So instead, she’d lied and now she was here, too sore to sit up straight and too proud to regret it.
Cassara exhaled slowly, eyes drifting shut for a moment.
It would be fine.
She would heal, she always did, and the next time she’d win without collapsing to prove it.
It had only been two days since the Rift and Cassara felt like she was going to crawl out of her skin.
The wind off the cliffs carried the scent of chalk dust and scorched mana, the kind that clung to your skin no matter how long you stayed on the sidelines.
She stood just beyond the boundary flags of the training field, arms crossed, ribs bandaged beneath her coat, watching the students run drills she should’ve been participating in.
Pairs moved in tandem through the obstacle sequences and from here, it was easy to see which ones flinched before impact, easier still to spot the ones who wouldn’t last.
Cassara found her gaze drawn to the far side of the field, where the familiar cadence of steel on steel rang through the air.
A cluster of second-years had formed a loose circle around two figures moving with lethal grace, but it wasn’t the students that made her breath catch—it was their instructor.
Auren Veth had discarded his usual training jacket, leaving him in boots, dark trousers and nothing else.
The afternoon light played across the lean muscle of his shoulders and back as he moved, and Cassara found herself transfixed by the casual display of strength she’d only guessed at beneath his typically austere attire.
He wasn’t just observing today, he was actively sparring with one of the older students—a broad-shouldered boy she didn’t recognize. The student was good, his movements confident and precise, but watching Auren move was like watching lightning choose its path.
Don’t stare, she told herself, but her eyes refused to cooperate.
Every shift of his body was economical, purposeful and when the student lunged forward with an overhead strike, Auren didn’t block so much as redirect, his bare torso twisting with fluid grace as he caught the boy’s wrist and used his own momentum against him.
The move sent the student stumbling, and Auren followed through with a strike that stopped just short of connection.
“Again,” his voice carried across the training ground, calm and unbothered despite the exertion.
Cassara’s mouth had gone dry.
She’d seen him fight on the airship, had felt the controlled power in his arms when he’d caught her, but this? This was different. This was Auren unguarded, focused entirely on the art of combat, and the sight of him like this? It left her feeling ways she wasn’t entirely ready to confront.
The student reset his stance and attacked again, this time with a series of quick strikes that should have been impossible to counter, but Auren moved like he could see the blows coming before they were thrown, his body responding with an elegance that made her think of deadly things like serpents striking or hawks diving for their prey.
When he caught the student’s blade on his forearm guard and twisted, the muscles of his back shifted and bunched beneath sun-bronzed skin, and Cassara felt something squeeze in her chest that had nothing to do with her injuries and everything to do with the way the late light carved shadows along the plane of his shoulders.
The spar ended with Auren’s practice blade at the student’s throat, both of them breathing hard but neither winded. When Auren stepped back and nodded his approval, the gesture was small but somehow devastating in its restraint.
“Better,” he said simply, and the student’s face lit up like he’d been given the highest praise imaginable.
That was when Auren’s gaze swept the training ground and found her.
Their eyes met across the distance, and Cassara suddenly felt exposed, pinned like a butterfly under glass.
His expression was unreadable for the most part, but for the briefest of moments something flickered there.
Awareness, perhaps, or annoyance at her presence where she didn’t belong.
Cassara looked away before he could see the flush she could feel burning across her cheeks and read whatever foolish thoughts were surely written across her face.
She took a deep breath, preparing to leave, when a voice rose from behind her.
“You’re not supposed to be training.”
Auren’s voice was dry, neutral. Cutting in its quiet way. Just like when he’d told her that heroics made poor habits.
Cassara spun around, startled. She hadn’t even noticed he had left the training field let alone come to join her. “I’m not.”
He came to stand beside her, close enough that she could feel the difference in stillness between them. He didn’t lean or pace, he just stood, watching. It was the same controlled presence she’d felt when his arms had locked around her mid-air, steady and sure despite the chaos of the fall.
She kept her gaze fixed determinedly on the training field, refusing to acknowledge the expanse of sweat-streaked skin in her peripheral vision.
“Sulking isn’t any better.”
Cassara scoffed. “And you’re here to lecture me again?”
“Lectures require an audience capable of learning from them,” he said with a shrug.
She frowned, glancing towards him.
“I heard about the Rift,” he continued.
Cassara looked back toward the arena. “So? Who hasn’t.” A student overreached and caught a blow to the ribs, just off balance enough to hurt. She didn’t wince, but the ache in her own side flared anyway.
“You shouldn’t have run it.”
“Everyone keeps saying that.”
“Because you nearly made it worse.”
“Does it matter? I still won. Everyone seems to forget that part.”
“I know why you did it,” he said. “The same reason you climbed that stabilizer. To prove something, but next time, don’t expect it to end in applause.”
Her fingers curled around her arms. “You’re wrong,” she said quietly. “I didn’t do it for anyone else. I did it for me.”
He didn’t answer, but the look he gave her said he wasn’t convinced.
Silence settled between them and Cassara found herself growing anxious. Had he come over just to repeat what half a dozen people had already said? He hadn’t struck her as someone with that kind of time to waste. “Was there something else you needed, Instructor Veth?”
Auren was quiet for a moment, as though trying to decide the best way to proceed. “Your instructor gave me clearance to work with you. During your downtime.”
She frowned, not quite sure she understood. Nareen had been adamant about no training until she had been cleared. “What? Why?”
“To keep you from acting reckless out of boredom.” He offered a shrug. “Nareen seems to think you’re high risk. Judging by your track record, she’s not wrong to be concerned.”
The way he said it, quiet, flat, certain, hit harder than it should’ve. It was like he’d cataloged her entirely based on assumptions.
She narrowed her eyes. “And if I refuse?”
“You won’t.” His gaze lingered on her injured side for just a heartbeat too long.
He turned before she could respond, stepping back into the archway without so much as a glance over his shoulder.
“Training room two. Six a.m.”
Then he was gone.
Cassara stood there, ribs aching, heart pounding harder than it should’ve. She told herself it was frustration at being reduced to a problem that needed solving, but the heat curling beneath her skin said otherwise.
And beneath that, a stubborn determination. She’d show him she was more than just reckless impulse. She’d prove she belonged here, not just at Vallemont, but under his attention.
Even if she wasn’t entirely sure why that mattered so much.
She'd barely made it three steps from the field when footsteps closed the distance behind her.
"Cassara."
She stopped, turning to find Gideon there. He stopped a few steps away, his hand flexing at his side. His gaze dropped briefly to her ribs, then lifted again.
"You alright?"
"Fine." She kept her tone even, though her ribs were screaming.
"You don't look fine."
She gave a short, breathless laugh despite herself. "Well, I'm standing. That's something."
They stood there in awkward silence for a moment, the noise of the training ground swelling and falling behind them.
"Impressive work yesterday."
Cassara raised a brow. "Wasn't aware you gave out compliments."
"I don't," he said and Cassara couldn’t help but notice the way his eyes shifted from hers when he said it. "But it would've been worse to pretend you didn't earn it."