Chapter 4 #3
Outside, the air was crisp, laced with the scent of damp earth and the faint, lingering traces of old magic.
They sat on the porch, bottles of ale in hand, watching snowflakes float and settle over the empty fields beyond the house.
Halewick mansion was quiet now. No more restless energy, no more lingering Grief pressing against their senses.
Rhodes stretched out his legs, thick as tree trunks, with a satisfied grunt. “When’s your brother coming to do the renovations?”
Ark tipped his head back against the wall, gaze tracking the slow drift of clouds past the moon. “Let’s give the new sigil a few days to settle, but I’ll call Oromon tomorrow and work out the timing.”
Caius swirled his drink, the motion idle. “We’ve decided to sell, then?”
Rhodes huffed. “It has to be renovated either way. But we can try out the new sigil for a few weeks, make sure both house and land are happy before we pass it on to a buyer.” He shot Ark a glance. “Make sure Oromon’s team can get it done within the timeframe.”
Ark smirked. “You know how he is. He likes a challenge.”
They all did. It was strange, sometimes, to think back to how this venture had started.
They’d met at boarding school, three eight-year-old boys thrown together by chance but bound by years of shared corridors and crowded dining halls. The holidays had been the worst—long stretches of time when the dormitories emptied.
They’d been the only three boys who hadn’t wanted to go home.
Ark had never been eager to return to his father’s expectations, to the weight of a legacy he’d never wanted.
Caius, with his ambitious and calculating family, had learned early that ‘home’ didn’t always mean warmth.
And Rhodes . . . well. A boy with Furia blood and a temper to match had never fit neatly into a noble elf household that valued refinement above all else.
So, they had made their own kind of home while the rest of their classmates scattered to grand estates and waiting families.
They had filled the empty spaces with late-night schemes and reckless adventures—sneaking into forbidden wings of the school, finding hidden destinations where magic pooled, daring each other into stupid, impossible feats.
And when they’d grown too restless for the school’s walls, they took to traveling together, pooling all the coins they had, hopping trains to abandoned places.
They’d stumbled into things they weren’t meant to find, uncovered secrets buried beneath layers of time.
Over the years, they’d learned to tame those ancient things, to turn what was abandoned into something worth loving again.
Now, twenty-five years after they first met, their business stretched across Meredith, woven so deep into the country’s foundations that not even the government noticed how much Land Magic they’d claimed.
Rhodes took another sip of his drink. “When do you think the Regency Council will catch on?”
Caius smirked. “When the quarterly land registry reports cross the desk of someone who’s actually paying attention.
” He tilted his head. “They’ll see a series of perfectly legal transactions, all neatly filed.
They’ll follow the trail and find it leads right back to us, three ‘idle’ law-abiding civilians with a quirky hobby. ”
“A hobby they’ve been ignoring for years,” Ark added, his voice dry.
“Precisely,” Caius said. “By the time they realize our ‘hobby’ has amassed a portfolio that controls the flow of Land Magic across Meredith, it’ll be too late to stop it.
But they won’t be able to deny it: we followed every one of their tedious rules to get here.
If a large company like Agmon Group could do it, why not us? ”
The mention of Agmon Group made Ark’s thoughts drift back to the fiery-haired witch and her brood of orphaned children.
He took a swig of ale and shifted his weight as he leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees. “What do you two know about Starlight Orphanage?”
Caius hummed and tapped a bare finger against the bottle’s neck. “It sits on a prime piece of land across from Eldryn Gardens.”
“It’s also the only home in Angelene that takes in mixed-blood orphans,” Rhodes added. He sprawled back against the porch railing, grunting as his muscles stretched. “My lovely mother used to threaten to send me there when I misbehaved as a kid.”
Ark and Caius exchanged a look but kept quiet. The less said about Lady Elios, the better.
Caius arched a brow. “Why do you ask?”
Before Ark could answer, a deep rumble cut through the quiet. Rhodes sighed, rubbing a hand over his stomach. “Sorry about that. Cleansing jobs always leave me starving.”
Ark sucked in a breath and rose to his feet, limbs heavy with the lingering pull of exertion. “That reminds me. I have something in my car.”
The fatigue settled deep, familiar but no less unwelcome. He’d had worse nights—ones that left him sleeping for three days straight. This job hadn’t drained him anywhere that badly, but still, his muscles protested as he strolled to his car.
He returned to the porch with the box. The scent of butter, spices, and honey curled into the crisp night air as he untied the ribbon and flipped the lid open.
Rhodes wasted no time, plucking out a cake and biting into it without ceremony.
He blinked. His chewing slowed. Then, he took another bite, brows lifting.
Caius took a piece and pressed it briefly to his lips before tasting it. A moment later, his shoulders eased, the tension melting from his frame. His gaze flicked toward Ark.
“There’s magic in these,” he murmured, the astonishment clear in his voice.
Ark took one for himself. The moment it hit his tongue, his tastebuds came to life—not just with rich, buttery sweetness, but with magic woven seamlessly into the food.
It wasn’t the raw, untamed energy of spellcraft, nor the precise, demanding geometry of high ritual.
This was something instinctive—like warmth on a winter’s day, or the first breath after a deep sleep.
It settled into him, spreading slowly through his limbs.
Rhodes let out a contented exhale, rolling his shoulders. “Damn. Feels like I just had a full night’s rest.”
At that moment, Ark understood. His mind ran through the esteemed witch archetypes—Flora, Augury, Cosmic, Ritual—the arts the witch society respected, with their clear rules and academic prestige.
A Kitchen Witch didn’t belong in that company.
Echelons sneered at the title, relegating it to domestic triviality—the lowest rung of the magical arts.
This kind of magic didn’t command; it nourished. It didn’t break; it mended. It was the subtle, profound art of turning sustenance into strength, of weaving care into something as simple as a cake. It was, he realized, the magic of foundations. Humble, yet essential.
Caius watched him, his own piece finished. “Where did you get these?”
Ark popped the remaining bite into his mouth. “My Chosen made them.”
Caius stilled. Rhodes froze, hand already halfway to another cake. Both turned to look at him.
“I beg your pardon?”
“Since when do you have a Chosen?”
Ark sighed. He knew they wouldn’t let that slide.
Caius shifted to face him fully. “You better start from the beginning.”
He kept it brief. After he finished, Caius turned another cake over between his fingers, studying it like an artifact of particular interest. “Does your fake Chosen know she’s got this kind of talent?”
“She’s a Kitchen Witch who owns a bakery. I assume magic is a tool of the trade.”
Rhodes let out a low whistle. “If she can bake like this, you might want to keep her around.”
Ark shot him a flat look. Caius sighed. “So—now you’re entangled with a Kitchen Witch, a group of orphans, and Alderrath’s growing irritation.”
Ark stretched lazily, flicking off a crumb. “It’s nothing I can’t handle.”
Rhodes grunted, finishing his third cake and already reaching for a fourth.
“He’s stooping to a new low, kicking out a handful of orphans.
Nothing surprising, though. It’s standard Agmon playbook.
Find a vulnerable property on a magically significant site, acquire it, demolish it, build something profitable right over the convergence point.
Harvest the Land Magic while the new structure turns a profit. ”
Ark nodded. It made sense—business as usual. Alderrath would never care about collateral damage as long as someone else paid for it, and a prime convergence point under a vulnerable building was exactly the kind of opportunity he’d seize.
“What will you do next?” Caius asked.
“I’ll visit Starlight myself. Do a survey. Familiarize myself with the project.”
Ark exhaled, glancing toward the moonlit sky. A visit. He could survey the property, read the Land Magic, and give Cassia a clearer sense of what she was up against. All sensible enough.
He reached for the last cake before Rhodes could snatch it, then hesitated.
Somewhere between one bite and the next, a realization crept in: he was looking forward to seeing her again.
The thought caught him off guard. It settled somewhere unfamiliar, and it took him a moment to recognize it for what it was.
Anticipation.