Chapter 18 Bond over Baked Goods #2
“Magical disturbances near Solandris. A merchant’s entire cargo of silk spontaneously transformed into angry butterflies.
That’s… actually kind of amusing. But this—” He pointed to another line.
“Three mages in Sunspire fell into comas while attempting a simple scrying. And here, a ley line intersection near the border just collapsed.”
My blood ran cold. These weren’t random events.
“That’s unusual,” Sebastian said, frowning. “What would cause something like that?”
“Griffin, you should inform Lord Blackrose immediately,” I said, perhaps too quickly. Sebastian didn’t know about the corruption of the ley lines.
Griffin started to protest—clearly wanting to stay for the scones—but Sebastian was already wrapping one in a clean cloth. “Blueberry,” he said, pressing it into Griffin’s hands. “Still warm.”
“My hero.” Griffin looked like he might cry.
Sebastian chuckled good-naturedly. “Good luck with your research.”
Griffin practically floated out of the kitchen.
Vex stood. “I better make sure he actually delivers that message—it’s too important for him to get distracted.” She paused to look back. “Sebastian, save me one of the lemon ones?”
“Already set aside,” he assured her.
As their footsteps faded, the background noise of cooks and clattering pans seemed to recede, leaving Sebastian and me in an odd bubble of quiet.
The Heirloom pulsed warm against my forehead, hidden beneath the glamor.
If the ley lines were deteriorating this quickly, we didn’t have time for the Alchemist’s games.
But refusing to go to the God Spire wasn’t an option.
The warning about my father had saved his worthless life, and now I owed a debt I couldn’t refuse to pay.
It would have been simpler if I’d just let Auremar’s assassins have him and ignored the Alchemist’s warning.
But then I’d never have learned the truth about my mother.
“Arabella?” Sebastian’s voice pulled me back.
“Just thinking about the trip,” I said, finishing my scone. “The timing is unfortunate.”
“Most things involving the Syndicate are.” He began covering the remaining scones. “Though I’m curious to see the God Spire. I’ve only heard stories.”
“What about your father?” I asked. “Aren’t you worried Auremar will retaliate against him for your sudden departure?”
Sebastian shook his head. “He’s in no danger from Auremar.”
“How can you be certain?”
“The heroic bloodline came through my mother’s side,” he explained, his voice softening at the mention of her. “She’s been gone for years now. Without her connection, my father is just another minor lord from the Northern Peaks—hardly worth Auremar’s attention or wrath.”
I frowned. “Still, your father must have some political value. Auremar doesn’t strike me as the type to let potential leverage slip away unused.”
“Oh, my father has survived far stickier situations than an angry king.” The affection in his voice was unmistakable as he began wiping down the workstation.
“Most of the court thinks he’s a simple, practical man—too straightforward for intrigue.
They underestimate him constantly. It’s his greatest asset. ”
“He taught you well, then.”
Sebastian glanced up, surprised. “What do you mean?”
“The way you let people underestimate you,” I said. “The polite, harmless nobleman routine. You’re more like him than you might think.”
His expression shifted—something between pleasure and melancholy crossing his features. “I suppose I am,” he said quietly. “Though he’d be horrified to know where his lessons have landed me.”
“In the Dark Lord’s fortress, covered in flour and making scones?”
Sebastian’s laugh was soft but genuine. “Not exactly the diplomatic triumph he’d envisioned for his son.” His gaze turned assessing.
“What?” I asked, hoping the glamor hadn’t slipped.
He shrugged. “You look different.”
“Oh,” I said, relieved. “It’s been years since you last saw me properly.”
“That’s not what I mean.” He set down his cloth and turned to face me fully. For a moment, something raw and complicated flickered in those violet eyes—a look that made my chest tighten inexplicably. “You look… settled. Like you’ve found where you belong.”
“I have,” I said simply.
“Good.” His voice was almost wistful. “That’s… good.”
He held my gaze for another heartbeat, and I had the strangest sensation of standing at the edge of a precipice, looking down at something I’d lost but couldn’t remember losing. Then he blinked, and the moment shattered.
“Another scone?” he asked, his cheerful mask sliding back into place. “I made extra.”
“No,” I said, standing too quickly. “I should go. Packing to do.”
“I should finish up here and do the same.” He turned back to his cleaning. “Are you certain Lord Blackrose wants me along? I’d hate to be an imposition.”
I studied him more closely. Was he trying to avoid going? Or was this about something else?
“Kazimir wants you where he can watch you,” I said.
Sebastian huffed. “He doesn’t trust easily, does he?”
“Few people do. Don’t you want to go?”
He shrugged. “I admit Griffin’s description of the Academia sounds interesting.”
“Then it’s settled.”
As I headed for the door, I couldn’t resist one last glance back. Sebastian was standing perfectly still, staring off into nothing.
A young cook—broad-shouldered, elbows deep in dough—caught Sebastian’s eye from across the room. The man’s gaze lingered, his smile warm and inviting as he paused mid-knead to watch Sebastian remove his apron.
Sebastian offered a polite nod, his expression pleasant but distant as he hung his apron on a hook. The cook’s smile faltered, and he returned to his dough with slightly more force than necessary.
I left before I could examine why the sight of Sebastian forcing cheerfulness made something in me simultaneously relieved and strangely bereft.
It was the same feeling of reaching for a memory that wasn’t there.