Chapter Twelve #3
His words caught her by surprise. There was a rawness to them that was unexpected after weeks of animosity.
She shifted where she stood, suddenly feeling watched though Gideon had yet to return his gaze. "Thanks."
Gideon was quiet after that and she thought perhaps that might be the end of it. Before she could excuse herself, however, he spoke again. This time he seemed reluctant. "Julian came to find me. After the match."
"What? Why?" Even as she uttered the question she knew the answer.
"He came to tell me off." Gideon's tone was flat and Cassara could tell he was unimpressed by Julian’s behavior. "He warned me to stay away from you. As if that was ever going to be a problem. Said he wouldn't tolerate me trying to steal what's his. "
What's his.
“He said that?” Cassara's hands had curled into fists.
“Among other things.” He paused, head tilting, strands of dark brown hair falling across his forehead.
“He had no right—”
“Doesn’t he?” Gideon smirked. “Rumor has it you're practically engaged to him.”
She crossed her arms tighter, ignoring the protest from her ribs. "That's not—it's not like that."
"Are you sure? Because from where I'm standing, it looks exactly like that. He draws a line, and you just... accept it."
"I don't accept anything from him," she snapped.
"Then why are you defending him right now?"
Cassara bristled. Her ribs throbbed with every breath, and after the conversation with Auren, she had no patience left for this. "I'm not defending him. But maybe if you hadn't—" She stopped herself, but it was too late.
"Hadn't what?" Gideon's voice went cold. "Carried you? Should I have just left you there? Let you crawl across the finish line to prove some point?"
"You could've just called for help."
"Maybe." He glanced down, then back at her. "But then you wouldn't have had your moment."
Her eyes narrowed. "What is that supposed to mean?"
"You ran that course injured," he continued. "You thought you'd be paired with Verena—everyone did. Don't act like you weren't planning to either gloat if you won or play the sympathy card if you didn't."
"Are you serious?"
"You're not exactly shy about making a scene."
The words cut deeper than they should have. He'd reduced everything—her training, her pain, her refusal to quit—into theatrics. He saw her as nothing more than a girl succumbing to pride. Just like her father did. Just like Julian did.
Cassara straightened, every muscle in her back going tight. "I ran it because I earned my spot and I wasn't going to let anyone take it from me. I don't need sympathy and I sure as hell wasn't looking for a stage."
She saw a shift in his eyes, saw him realize he'd crossed a line, but it didn't matter anymore. He'd already shown her exactly who he was.
"You know what? Maybe Julian is right," she said, stepping back. "I thought you might be different, but in the end you're all the same. Nobody does anything without a reason."
She turned and walked away without waiting for a response.
Cassara was headed towards the dorms. Not hers—his. Julian's.
Her fingers were clenched so tightly they ached, nails biting into her palms. Her ribs were throbbing, but she hardly felt it. What burned deeper was the audacity of Julian going to Gideon, telling him to stay away from her like she was some possession that needed guarding.
She turned sharply down the next hall, her boots striking hard against the stone, cutting through the low murmur of students enjoying a well deserved afternoon break.
Cassara spotted two upperclassmen exiting one of the stairwells and intercepted them.
"Julian Tremaine?"
The shorter one straightened. "Common room, I think. West alcove. Playing charstones with the—"
"Thanks."
She didn't wait for them to finish.
The common room was all carved alcoves and floating game boards, lit with enchanted skylights that filtered the sun into golden shards. A few students lounged on the curved benches, laughter spilling from one corner as a cluster of first-years bantered over an illusion-casting game.
Julian sat in the center, a charstone grid in front of him, coat slung with effortless care across the back of his chair.
His sleeves were rolled, and his smile was lazy as he moved a glowing token across the board.
Vash and Jonas sat on either side of him, Jonas leaning in to track the game, Vash half-reclined with a smirk like he was already bored of winning.
He looked up when she stepped into the space.
The shift in his expression was immediate—surprise first, then pleasure. She so rarely sought him out on her own it was no surprise he was pleased.. because the warmth gave way to concern.
He started to rise. "Cass—"
She didn't stop her approach. “We need to talk.”
Julian stepped around the bench, intercepting her. "Sure, but let’s take it somewhere else."
"No," she said, loud enough for Vash to straighten and Jonas to glance up.
"You went to Gideon?"
The room stilled.
Julian's eyes narrowed slightly. "Not here."
"You told him to stay away from me?" Her voice shook with fury. "Like I'm some possession you get to fence off?"
He exhaled slowly, already trying to reach for calm. For control.
"I was looking out for you."
Cassara stared at him, stunned for half a heartbeat.
Looking out for her.
"No. You weren’t doing it for me. You made it about you. You always do."
"Cass, this isn't the place—"
"It became the place when you went behind my back."
Vash shifted on the bench. Jonas had frozen mid-move, the charstone still glowing beneath his fingers.
Julian's voice dropped. "This is exactly what I was worried about, what I tried to warn you about. You don't know what he's like. He’s manipulative and—"
"It doesn’t matter. You don't get to decide my life for me."
The tension in the air was thick now. Too many eyes. Too much space that suddenly felt too small.
Cassara’s pulse thundered. She felt the flush creep into her cheeks. The weight of every stare. A part of her hated it, the spectacle, the weakness of letting it boil over here.
But the rest of her was too angry to care.
“You think I’m yours to manage or control.” She didn’t shout, but her voice cut clean. “But you’re wrong.”
“Everyone is watching, you’re making—”
“Let them.”
Julian took a step closer.
“You really want to pick this fight here?” he asked, voice low and fraying. “Make a big scene? In front of them?”
You’re not exactly shy about making a scene.
“I didn’t come here for a fight.”
“Then what did you come for?”
She stared at him. The answer wasn’t as clear as it should’ve been.
“I came to remind you that I don’t belong to you,” she said. “No matter how many times you try to act like I do.”
“Cassara,” Julian called as she turned away.
She didn't stop. Didn't look back. Whatever he wanted to say—apology, excuse, another attempt to spin this into something reasonable—she didn't want to hear it. She was done listening to men tell her who she was allowed to be.
By the time she reached the girls’ dorms, Cassara’s breath was shallow and her ribs were screaming. The stairs were brutal, but she took them anyway.
She didn’t stop when she passed Liri napping on the common room cushions, or when Sonia glanced up from her perch on the windowsill with a smirk she didn’t bother to hide. Cassara didn’t speak. She didn’t even blink.
She shut herself in her alcove, tugged the curtain closed, and sat on the edge of her bed.
The ache behind her eyes wasn’t physical. Not exactly.
After a moment, she reached beneath her pillow and pulled out the worn journal.
Cassara flipped it open without thinking, letting the pages fan until one caught on her thumb. Midway through. Mid-year.
She recognized the curve of the script instantly, quick, confident strokes, the ink faded in places where fingers had lingered too long.
We ran drills today. Nareen nearly sent her partner to the infirmary, and Isadore keeps tripping over her own shadow but won’t admit it. I’m not sure what the instructors saw in me, but I’m starting to think I belong here.
We’re behind, but not broken. That counts, right?
I still don’t know what I’m going to bond with. Something magnificent, I hope. A beast with wings.
Every time I pass the overlook, I pretend I can feel the wind lifting me. Hopefully, someday I won’t have to pretend. I think I’m falling in love with the air up here.
Cassara stared at the page. Her thumb brushed the edge of the ink, careful not to smudge what time hadn’t already claimed.
She didn’t know what she’d expected. Something stronger, wise maybe. But the words were real. Unpolished. Hopeful in a way Cassara hadn’t let herself be since she was a child.
She didn’t close the journal, she just sat with it open in her lap, eyes drifting to the corner of the page where the ink had bled faintly from being read too often.
The dorm was quiet. Just the low hum of magelight, the muffled sound of water pipes shifting behind the walls, the occasional creak of someone turning in their bunk.
Leaning back against the wall of her alcove, the journal still open across her knees, her eyes drifted over the page again, slower this time. Not really reading, just remembering.
Her mother had been young here. Full of dreams and scraped knuckles and the same gnawing need to matter. It felt distant and close all at once.
Cassara closed the book gently but she didn’t put it away. She caught the edge of the blanket by her feet and dragged it over herself. Beyond the drawn curtain, the dorm light dimmed to its softest flicker, and she lay still beneath it all, eyes open, thoughts sharp, heart restless.