Chapter 38
Chapter Thirty Eight
The afternoon sun cast long shadows across the snow-covered grounds, turning the academy gardens into a glittering wonderland. Cassara stood at the edge of it all, arms crossed, watching a group of third-years attempt to build what might generously be called a snowman.
“The proportions are all wrong,” she muttered to herself. “The base needs to be wider if they want structural integrity.”
Nearby, two second-years shrieked with laughter as they pelted each other with loosely-packed snow. Another group had started what looked like snow angels, though why anyone would voluntarily lie in frozen water was beyond her comprehension.
Three days without proper drills. Three days of “rest” that left her feeling like a bowstring pulled too tight with nowhere to release. Her muscles ached for movement, for purpose, for something more than watching other students engage in… whatever this was.
Fun, a small voice in her head suggested. They’re having fun.
She pushed the thought away. Fun was for people who didn’t have legacies to uphold, rankings to maintain, hearts to sort out from their tangled mess of—
THWAP.
Something cold and wet exploded against the back of her head, sending her hat sliding forward over her eyes. Snow trickled down her neck, shockingly cold against her skin.
She spun sharply, hand already reaching for a weapon that wasn’t there, to find Gideon standing twenty feet away. He tossed another snowball lazily from hand to hand, grinning like he’d just executed the perfect tactical maneuver.
“Your situational awareness needs work,” he called out, that insufferable smirk widening.
Cassara shoved her hat back into place, glaring. “Did you just—”
“Hit you with snow? Yes.” He shifted the snowball to his right hand, arm cocking back slightly. “The question is—what are you going to do about it?”
“I don’t engage in childish—”
The second snowball caught her square in the shoulder.
“Oh, you’re dead,” she growled, diving for the nearest snow bank.
Her first attempt at forming ammunition was pathetic. The snow crumbled in her hands, too powdery to pack properly. Meanwhile, Gideon had somehow produced three more perfect spheres and was advancing with military precision.
“Having trouble?” he called out, dodging behind a topiary. “Need me to teach you this too?”
“I know how to make a snowball!”
“Evidence suggests otherwise.”
She flung her malformed attempt at him. It disintegrated mid-air, dusting his coat with harmless powder.
His laugh was warm and infuriating. “Was that supposed to be an attack?”
This is ridiculous. Flicker’s voice chimed in her head as he materialized near her feet. You’re terrible at this.
“Whose side are you on?” she hissed, finally managing to pack something resembling a proper snowball.
The winning side, he replied primly, and then, the traitor, bounded across the snow toward Gideon, chirping happily.
“Flicker!”
“Smart creature,” Gideon said, reaching down to pat Flicker’s head while maintaining his supply of ammunition. “He recognizes superior tactical positioning.”
He gives better treats, Flicker informed her without shame. And he’s not losing.
“We’ll see about that,” Cassara muttered, using a stone bench as cover. She peaked around the edge just in time to see Gideon’s snowball coming straight for her face. She ducked, heard it splatter against the stone, and immediately returned fire.
This time, her snowball held together. It caught him in the chest with a satisfying thump.
“Better!” he called out, but he was already moving, circling to flank her position.
What followed could only be described as warfare.
The other students, drawn by the commotion, quickly chose sides. Fenn and Edwin joined Cassara, while Mira and Dania backed Gideon. Snow flew in deadly arcs across the garden. Defensive positions were established behind benches, statues, and the increasingly malformed snowman.
“Left flank!” Cassara barked at Fenn, fully embracing the tactical nature of the engagement. “Edwin, suppress their position by the fountain!”
“This is a snowball fight,” Edwin laughed, even as he followed orders. “Not a military campaign!”
“Everything is a military campaign if you’re doing it right,” she shot back, nailing Mira with a perfectly aimed throw.
Gideon had turned a decorative wall into a fortress, launching devastating volleys while Flicker, the absolute traitor, used his small size to scout enemy positions.
Behind the rosebush, Flicker reported to Gideon, apparently delighted by his new role in espionage. She’s making a big one.
“Saboteur!” Cassara accused when her extra-large snowball was intercepted before she could throw it.
Strategic intelligence gathering, Flicker corrected, preening.
The battle raged on. Alliances shifted. The quiet first-year turned out to have a wicked throwing arm. Fenn accidentally hit a passing professor, who simply shook his head and muttered about “youth.”
And through it all, Cassara found herself… laughing? When had that started? Somewhere between diving behind a hedge and watching Edwin get pelted by Mira’s rapid-fire assault, actual joy had crept in.
She was having fun.
The realization distracted her just long enough for Gideon to break from cover. He charged her position, and she scrambled backward, trying to reload. But movement in snow was still her weakness, and her boots found a hidden dip in the ground.
“Oh no,” she cried out as she went down. “My ankle!”
Gideon skidded to a stop immediately, snowball forgotten. “Cass?” He dropped to his knees beside her, hands hovering uncertainly. “How bad—”
She smashed a handful of snow directly into his face.
“You little—” He spluttered, wiping snow from his eyes.
“Tactical deception,” she said sweetly, scrambling to get up.
But he was faster, catching her around the waist before she could escape. “Oh no. You don’t get to fake an injury and just walk away.”
“It’s a legitimate strategy!”
“It’s cheating!” But he was laughing as he said it, spinning her around to face him. “I was actually worried!”
“Your mistake,” she managed, breathless from laughter and something else as his arms tightened around her waist.
They were close, too close. Snow clung to his dark hair, and his cheeks were flushed from cold and exertion. His hands were warm through her coat, and she could feel his chest rise and fall against hers.
The laughter faded slowly, replaced by that dangerous awareness that seemed to follow them everywhere now. His eyes dropped to her mouth, and she found herself leaning in slightly, drawn by something stronger than strategy or competition.
You’re both very silly, Flicker observed from somewhere nearby. But at least you’re not boring anymore.
The spell broke. Cassara pulled back, clearing her throat. “I should—”
“Right.” Gideon’s hands loosened but didn’t quite let go. “The battle.”
“The battle,” she agreed.
They stood there for another heartbeat, snow falling gently around them, before Dania chose that moment to lob a snowball that caught them both.
“No fraternizing with the enemy!” Fenn called out, grinning.
And just like that, the war resumed. But something had shifted in that moment of closeness, something that made every subsequent glance feel weighted, every accidental touch spark with possibility.
By the time they finally called a truce—cold, soaked, and exhausted—the sun was setting. The other students drifted back inside, chattering about hot cider and dry clothes.
Cassara shook out her scarf, surprised to find herself reluctant for the afternoon to end.
“Same time tomorrow?” Gideon asked, brushing snow from his hair.
“I don’t know,” she said, fighting a smile. “I might be busy with something actually productive.”
“Like brooding in the library?”
“Strategic planning.”
“For the next snowball fight?”
She threw her last handful of snow at him, loose and powdery. He didn’t even try to dodge.
“I’ll take that as a yes,” he said, grinning.
He’s not wrong, Flicker piped up, shaking snow from his fur. You had fun. Admit it.
She scooped up her traitorous beast, who purred despite his soggy state. “You’re supposed to be on my side.”
I am, he said, nuzzling against her chest. That’s why I helped him win. You needed to laugh.
And as she headed inside, warm despite the cold, she couldn’t quite argue with that logic.
The common room had emptied as evening deepened, leaving Cassara alone with the crackling hearth and her tangled thoughts.
She’d claimed the best spot, an oversized armchair that let her stretch her wool-socked feet toward the flames without quite touching the grate.
The fire’s warmth seeped through the thick wool, chasing away the last of the afternoon’s chill.
She held her left wrist up to the firelight, watching how the flames caught in the small beads of Gideon’s gift. The Auric Vow symbol gleamed, then the delicate swirls representing Flicker, then the blank one. Waiting. For what, she wondered, rolling each bead slowly between her fingertips.
The leather was already softening against her skin, like it belonged there. Like it had always been there.
A cup appeared beneath her nose, steam curling up with the rich scent of chocolate and something else, cinnamon perhaps? She followed the hand holding it up to find Gideon watching her with that expression she couldn’t quite name.
“Thought you might enjoy something warm,” he said simply.
She accepted the cup, wrapping both hands around it, grateful for something to do with them. “Thank you.”
He settled into the chair beside hers with his own cup, close enough that she could smell the winter air still clinging to his clothes beneath the warmth of chocolate. For a moment they sat in comfortable silence, watching the fire dance.
“There’s another tradition,” he said eventually, gesturing toward the hearth with his cup. “On the last night of the year, you write down your regrets on paper and burn them. Start fresh.”
Cassara raised an eyebrow. “Burn them?”