Chapter Twenty Eight #2
She’d filled nearly a full page with observations about their captain, ranging from tactical assessments to things she definitely shouldn’t have noticed.
Like the way he always checked on Barrett first after difficult exercises, knowing the gentle giant took failures personally.
Or how his jaw tightened when instructors questioned his training methods, pride and defensiveness warring beneath that calm exterior.
Footsteps echoed through the library stacks, too measured to belong to a wandering student. Cassara quickly flipped her notes over, but not quite fast enough.
“Planning our victory strategy?” Gideon’s voice carried a hint of amusement as he approached her table.
She kept her tone light, casual. “Something like that.” Her hand moved, resting protectively over the papers. “Shouldn’t you be getting rest before tomorrow?”
“Couldn’t sleep.” He settled into the chair across from her. “Thought I might find you here. You’ve been avoiding the common areas.”
“I don’t avoid anything.”
“No?” His eyes held a knowing glint. “Then you won’t mind if I see what’s got you so absorbed.”
Before she could stop him, he’d flipped over the nearest page. His eyebrows rose as he took in her meticulous handwriting, the detailed behavioral observations, the tactical assessments arranged in neat columns.
“This is… thorough,” he said, clearly impressed. Then his gaze caught on something that made his mouth curve into a genuine smile. “What’s this about my ‘insufferable need to have the last word in every conversation’?”
Heat flooded Cassara’s cheeks. “Those are private notes.”
“‘Tactical assessment: excellent situational awareness, possibly the result of mild paranoia,’” he read aloud, his smile widening.
It was a rare sight and Cassara found her breath catching despite herself.
“‘Physical capabilities: unfairly competent at everything he attempts. Probable theory: made some sort of deal with dark forces.’”
“Give that back.” She reached for the paper, but he held it just out of reach.
“‘Leadership style: thinks brooding in corners makes him mysterious. Don’t tell him, but it works.’” Gideon’s laugh was low and warm, entirely too pleased with himself. “Should I be flattered or concerned that you’ve analyzed my brooding technique?”
“You’re insufferable,” Cassara muttered, but there was no real heat in it.
“Wait, there’s more.” His expression shifted to something softer as he continued reading. “‘Puts team before personal recognition. Chose Oliver knowing others would question it. Defended my placement despite obvious political cost. Either secretly noble or terrible at self-preservation.’”
The last comment settled between them, more honest than she’d intended. Gideon’s eyes found hers across the table, something unreadable flickering in their depths.
“Terrible at self-preservation,” he said at last. “Definitely that one.”
Before the moment could stretch too far into dangerous territory, he flipped to the next page. His expression sharpened as he took in her notes on the other teams.
“These observations—how did you gather this much detail?”
“I pay attention.” Cassara leaned forward, grateful for the safer topic. “Julian’s team has obvious power, but they’ve barely trained together. Vash and Jonas follow his lead without question, which could be useful if we can force Julian into making impulsive decisions.”
Gideon nodded slowly, his tactical mind clearly engaged. “And Morrison’s squad?”
“More cohesive, but predictable. Their captain favors direct confrontation, probably because his beast is built for it. If we can force them into terrain that doesn’t favor their approach…”
“You’ve been watching their training sessions.”
“From a distance,” Cassara admitted. “The library has an excellent sight line to the practice yards.”
“Clever.” Gideon pulled the papers toward himself, studying her assessments with growing interest. “But you’re missing some context. Morrison’s second—the girl with the ice drake—she’s got a temper problem. Push her too hard and she’ll break formation to chase personal vendettas.”
“Really?” Cassara grabbed a fresh sheet, making quick notes. “What about Julian’s team composition? I know Vash and Jonas, but the other two…”
“Magda is bonded with a wind serpent, fast but fragile. She’ll hang back unless she’s certain of victory.
And Marcus…” Gideon’s expression darkened slightly.
“His family specializes in enhancement potions. Not illegal, but his beast performs significantly better than its natural capabilities should allow.”
They worked together after that, building strategies around observed weaknesses and unexpected strengths.
Cassara found herself appreciating Gideon’s analytical mind—the way he considered multiple angles before committing to a plan, how he factored in not just tactical considerations but psychological ones.
“This formation here,” she said, sketching out a rough diagram. “If we can get them to commit to direct assault, Barrett and Verena could hold the center while the rest of us—”
“Won’t work,” Gideon interrupted gently. “Barrett won’t hold center if it means Liri’s exposed on the flanks. His protective instincts override tactical positioning.”
“So we use that.” Cassara’s mind raced. “Position Liri where we want him to go, let his instincts guide the formation shift…”
“That’s…” Gideon stared at her diagram, then looked up with something approaching admiration. “That’s actually brilliant. Turn his weakness into a strategic advantage.”
“We all have our patterns,” Cassara said. “The trick is making them work for us instead of against us.”
They continued planning until the candles burned low, filling pages with contingency strategies and backup plans. By the time they finally gathered the papers together, they had something resembling a comprehensive battle plan.
“The others should see this,” Gideon said, carefully stacking their work. “Before tomorrow.”
“Will they listen?” The question slipped out before Cassara could stop it. “I’m not exactly the most popular strategist on the team.”
Gideon was quiet for a moment, considering. “They’ll listen. And this—” He gestured to their accumulated plans. “This gives us a real chance.”
As they prepared to leave, he paused at the edge of the table. “For the record, I don’t brood.”
“You definitely brood,” Cassara replied without hesitation. “Right now, for instance. That’s a classic brooding stance.”
Gideon glanced down at himself—one hand braced against the table, shoulders angled just so, that familiar intensity in his dark eyes. “This is strategic contemplation.”
“Strategic contemplation,” she repeated, barely suppressing a smile. “Is that what we’re calling it?”
“I prefer it to ‘brooding.’ Brooding implies unnecessary drama.”
“And standing dramatically in corners while staring pensively into the distance is what—tactical positioning?”
“Exactly.” His mouth twitched. “I’m maintaining visual superiority over the training yard.”
“Of course you are.” Cassara gathered her notes, shaking her head. “And here I thought you were just trying to look mysterious and tortured.”
Gideon’s mouth curved. “Does it work?”
She looked up at him then, taking in the way magelight caught the angles of his face, the strength in his posture, the intelligence that flickered behind his carefully neutral expression.
“I’m sure someone finds it charming,” she managed at last.
Silence hung between them for a moment before Gideon cleared his throat, some of his composure slipping back into place.
“We should get some rest,” he said. “Tomorrow’s going to be interesting.”
“I never took you for an optimist,” Cassara replied.
Walking back through the darkened corridors, their makeshift battle plans tucked safely between them, Cassara found herself stealing glances at her enigmatic captain. Maybe her assessment had been more accurate than she’d realized.
The brooding definitely worked.
The arena stretched before them like a colosseum built for gods, its massive walls rising toward a dome of crystalline panels that would shift to mimic whatever environment the magical systems conjured.
Students filled the tiered seating that surrounded the combat floor, their excited chatter creating a buzz of anticipation that made Cassara’s nerves thrum with electric tension.
On the arena floor, eight teams stood in neat formations while Instructor Nareen’s voice carried across the space with crisp authority.
“First-years,” she began, her halberd planted firmly at her side like a ceremonial staff. “Today’s exhibition match will test more than raw strength. You’ll be judged on coordination, strategy, and field awareness. The objective is territorial control.”
Auren, who had been standing beside her, stepped forward.
“There are nine beacon points throughout the arena. Eight are scattered across varied terrain. The ninth—” He flicked his fingers, and an illusion formed behind him, revealing a high-floating platform gleaming with runes, utterly exposed.
“—is central. Worth three points, but harder to hold.”
A murmur ran through the assembled teams.
Nareen continued. “The match duration is forty-five minutes. Victory goes to the team controlling the most beacons when time expires.”
Cassara felt her stomach clench as the rules sank in. Forty-five minutes of sustained tactical combat, with terrain that could shift beneath their feet at any moment.
“The arena environment will be randomly selected and unknown until combat begins,” Auren added, his gaze sweeping over the assembled teams. “Adaptation will be as crucial as preparation.”
“You’ll have one hour of prep before deployment,” Nareen finished before turning her attention to a rune-crystal display that flickered to life between them, shifting to show the match pairings. Murmurs broke out again—some surprised, some smug.