Chapter 17 #2
Cassia reached into her bag, fingers finding the small tin of emergency balm she always kept with her. “I made this salve myself. It might be too weak for a wound of this extent, but it’s better than letting the magic fester.”
“He’s an Echelon,” Caius said. “His body can handle much more than ours. He just needs something to slow it down while he heals.”
She nodded and began applying the salve—gently, carefully. When she finished, she wrapped his hand in fresh bandages, tucking the end neatly beneath the layers. He didn’t stir.
The floorboards groaned under Rhodes’s weight as he strode out of the room. His shoulders were set, his jaw tight—massive body coiled like a spring about to snap. Caius gave her a reassuring smile before he followed.
In the hallway, the half-Furia’s fist slammed into the wall with a thud that echoed through the quiet.
“It was my fault,” he ground out. “I should’ve protected him. Protected both of you. That’s my only job.”
“It was an accident,” Caius said evenly, but not unkindly.
“It could’ve been prevented.” Rhodes’s voice cracked. “If I’d just put up the barrier sooner—”
“You didn’t know he was going to touch the mirror.
” There was an edge to Caius’s voice Cassia had never heard before, hard and unyielding beneath the usual calm.
“He was distracted, otherwise he would have remembered. You know our rhythm. We do not move until all three of us are in position. You maintain the barrier. I draw the sigil. Ark channels the power. That is how we have always operated. That is why we take these assignments together.” His voice softened.
“And that is why we walk out together—always.”
Cassia watched from beside the bed, heart knocking against her ribs. She knew she was witnessing something intimate: the weight of trust, the rawness of blame, and the fear they shouldered together when things went wrong.
She looked back at Ark, and wondered how often these three had brushed so close to the edge of the abyss—how many times they’d pulled each other back from it.
Silence returned, punctuated only by Ark’s laboured breathing. Then—
“Rhodes,” he croaked.
Cassia startled. Rhodes and Caius froze before rushing to the bedside. She stood and stepped away, giving the three a moment of privacy.
“It wasn’t your fault,” Ark rasped, his voice raw and thin. His eyes were still closed, as though he didn’t have the energy to open them. “Caius was right. I was . . . distracted. I shouldn’t have moved before we were all ready.”
Rhodes crouched beside the bed, arms braced on his knees. “I was three seconds from position. You didn’t need to go in.”
“I know.”
When Caius motioned her to come closer, she knelt beside the bed, careful not to jostle him, careful not to let her hands do what they wanted—touch, check, make sure he was still alive.
Up close, the smell of scorched cloth mingled with the faintest trace of cedar and smoke. His breath came ragged, uneven. His mouth was set in a hard line, but she could see the tremor. The fight to stay composed. The fight not to let them see just how much this cost.
And it had cost him. She didn’t need a healer’s lens to see that. It was written in the bruising beneath his skin, in the white of his knuckles where his good hand fisted into the sheets. In the fact that he hadn’t opened his eyes—not even now.
“This is a new low,” she said gently, “even for the Idle Prince.”
His long lashes stirred. His eyes flickered open, and what gazed upon her was no longer the flat, dull gold of his glamour, but molten amber threaded with copper and bronze, the colour of embers that had never cooled.
A colour that didn’t belong to mortals. She should’ve been startled by the weight behind his eyes—the generations of magic staring back at her, the purest kind Meredith would ever know.
But all she felt was pain beneath her ribs.
“All because you didn’t reply to my last missive,” Ark rasped, a tiny smile ghosting his lips. “A demon has rights. Including the right to acquire a curse wound just to secure his Chosen’s attention.”
A brittle laugh escaped her. She hated how relieved she was to hear his voice again, teasing and impossible, even like this. Hated how easily it undid her.
“You nearly died,” Cassia murmured, “for a reply.”
“I was aiming for mildly injured. The curse was an unforeseen variable.”
She brushed a damp strand of hair from his brow. “Insufferable demon.”
“Yet, it brought you to me. Brushing hair from my brow. Looking at me like I’m not an entirely lost cause.”
She opened her mouth. Closed it. “I’m checking your pupils. For head trauma.”
“Mm. How do they look?”
She held his golden, shimmering gaze for a beat too long. His pupils were beautiful—he was beautiful. “Uneven. You might have lasting damage.”
His smile widened, just slightly. “I’ve been told that before.”
Helplessly, she chuckled. Even battered like this, he was still Ark.
Her fingers ached to touch him—not his hand, not his brow, but him.
To press her palm to his chest and feel his heartbeat.
To curl up beside him and not leave. Her eyes slid down to his lips.
They were dry and cracked. She didn’t care.
She wanted to kiss him. Here. Now. In the middle of his secret lair, with his blood still on her hands.
The urge pressed against her sternum, hot and reckless and too loud to ignore.
From the doorway, Rhodes cleared his throat. “Not that this isn’t fascinating, but how do you really feel?”
Beside him, Caius sighed. “As much as we’d love to watch this play out, perhaps we could focus on the medical update for now.”
Cassia jerked back, her face flooding with heat. She hadn’t realized how close she’d been leaning, how long she’d been staring at his mouth—with an audience at the door.
Ark’s throat worked before he managed, hoarse, “I’m fine. Just a little nauseated. And my right arm feels like a hellhound mistook it for a chew toy.”
“That sounds promising,” she said dryly, reaching for the thermos in her satchel and pouring a little of its content into a cup. Herb-scented steam rose into the air.
“Here. Drink this beef bone broth. I made it this morning.”
He brought the cup to his lips without protest. One sip turned into two. Then three, and he drank the rest without complaint.
She watched him closely. The tension in his face eased. A hint of warmth crept back into his cheeks. By the time he set the thermos down, his eyes were already drifting shut.
Cassia tucked the blanket higher across his chest. Her healing skills were rustic at best, and she wasn’t a High Witch or a Grand Mage—not by any standards—but she’d long since learned to weave healing into her food.
Her spells weren’t dramatic, but they were steady.
Restorative and quiet, the kind of enchantments that worked best when no one was watching.
Now, that magic would begin its work from the inside out.
She lingered a moment longer, letting the sound of Ark’s breathing ground her. Then she turned toward the corridor where Caius and Rhodes waited.
“Is there anything here I can cook with?” she asked softly.
Caius tilted his head, a knuckle to his chin. “We keep a few humble ingredients. Eggs and milk. Possibly butter.”
“It’s quite basic,” Rhodes said. His eyes hadn’t left Ark. “But if you need anything specific, just say the word.”
“Basic is perfect,” she said. “He wouldn’t want anything complicated right now. But if one of you could stop by Starlight and ask Matilde for a bundle of mixed herbs, I’d be grateful. She’ll know which ones.”
Rhodes nodded. “I’m on it.”
She glanced at Ark again—sleeping now, face slack, breathing slow. The damp shirt clinging to his skin made her chest tighten. She opened her mouth, but her throat had gone dry.
Just ask. It’s not strange. It’s practical.
“Uhm . . . before you go . . .”
Both men turned to her.
Cassia gestured toward the bed, trying to keep her voice unaffected.
“Would you mind . . . seeing to his clothes? The shirt is soaked through. It’ll only chill him further.
” She met their eyes, willing herself not to blush.
“I can tend the wound. But undressing him . . .” She faltered.
“That feels like a line I shouldn’t cross without his permission. ”
Caius’s brow lifted a fraction in clear surprise, and Rhodes’s mouth quirked as if a joke was born and died behind his eyes. They exchanged a glance—one that spoke of a deep, shared understanding of their friend’s private nature.
“A wise boundary,” Caius said, his voice devoid of its usual teasing lilt. “We’ll see to it.”
Rhodes nodded, his gruffness softening. “Yeah. We’ve got it.”
Cassia wandered out into the office area.
The room was spacious, with three desks—each one in a different state of use.
One was clear except for a single sheet of paper, a quill, and an ink bottle set beside it.
The second was buried under stacked books and curling maps.
The third had a neat stack of papers covered in sigil sketches, their lines dark against the parchment.