Chapter 29 #2
“Everyone is in pain, Miss Aura. But you have a particular weakness for it, don’t you? For father-shaped wounds.” He leaned his shoulder against the marble wall, a picture of casual elegance. “Tell me, do you still dream about arriving too late?”
Her vision blurred around the edges. His question put her most painful memory front and centre: standing in the hospital corridor with the crumpled cheque in her hand, her father lying still and pale in that bed, eyes forever closed.
“How do you—” She let the question trail off. Did she even need to ask? Alderrath was an Echelon, powerful and well-connected. He could hire an investigator, unearth her family’s history, or bribe the hospital for the details of her father’s death.
“By now, you’ve realized Ark doesn’t know,” he continued. “He doesn’t know how fast time is running out. But you do, now.”
Her heart thudded in her ears. She felt a picture forming—the slow, terrible architecture of his plan.
He hadn’t shown her Kassenor’s illness for nothing.
He hadn’t even made his offer yet, but she could already feel its burden, the dread smothering the light that had cautiously begun to glow in her chest.
She didn’t want to hear the rest.
She knew she would have to.
“Do you really want Arkenoth to spend his father’s last months at odds with him—over an Untethered half-witch?
To wonder if he could have done more?” He stepped closer, his gaze steady, silver threaded with crimson.
“Would you take his chance to reconcile with his father and condemn him to the same grief you know so well?”
Ah. There it was.
Softly, with none of the tremble he must have hoped for, she said, “You’ve done your research, haven’t you? Congratulations. How pleased you must be with yourself.”
He didn’t say anything at first. The pale, marble-like column of his throat was utterly motionless, as if he didn’t need to swallow, to breathe the same air she did.
“You also sent the footman, didn’t you?” Cassia pressed. “To draw Ark away.”
He chuckled. “It was quite easy. I’m good at identifying those who need something. He needed coins, and I provided it.” He observed her. “And now, I will provide you with what you need.”
He held out a folded parchment, crisp and pristine, but it hummed with an official magic she recognized—the kind that gave mere words and paper the force of law. Her blood ran cold.
“This is an accelerated Notice of Eviction, magically sealed and ratified today,” he explained.
“Arkenoth’s ardent challenges were denied.
The new Certificate of Ownership is now complete.
Starlight Orphanage has fourteen days to vacate.
After that, the enforcers will remove the children and seal the doors. ”
Fourteen days. The words were a death knell. It was an impossibly short amount of time. There would be no place in the city that could take all the children at once.
“They’ll be thrown out onto the street,” she whispered, horror hollowing her out.
“A tragic consequence,” he agreed, his tone almost gentle. “But it doesn’t have to be.”
He paused, his head tilting as if considering a simple business proposition. “I own a vacant property, far away from Angelene. It is a former academy—spacious, with a walled garden and zoning that permits a residential school. It could accommodate all Starlight’s children, and more.”
He let the image of that orderly, peaceful future hang between them—a perfect, impossible salvation.
“The lease would be yours for free. I would even provide funds for train tickets and moving expenses, and a monthly endowment for the children’s care. Consider it my investment in their stability . . . and your discretion.”
Cassia felt the absurdity of it rise in her throat—a wild, hysterical urge to laugh. Of course. Of course this was where it was leading. The trap had been set, and now he was springing it, with all the grace of a man who had done this a hundred times before.
“And in return?” she croaked.
His gaze was pitiless. “End the engagement tonight. Make him believe it was your choice. Make him believe you’ve come to your senses, then disappear.”
He took a final step forward, his voice dropping to a venomous whisper.
“Do this, and you save Starlight. Refuse, and in fourteen days, the city’s social workers will take those children away because you love a demon more than you love them.
Heart or conscience, Miss Aura. I wonder which will weigh more. ”
He held out the parchment.
Cassia stared at it, the utter disgust crystallizing into a single, piercing understanding.
Agmon Alderrath had taken stock of her life and weaponized every piece of it.
The children’s fear of losing their home.
Her father’s memory. The Daemar’s secret illness.
Her love for Ark. The orphanage’s future was simply the final lever.
He’d been conducting a ruthless symphony of her deepest loves, designed to turn her own conscience into a weapon.
He called the new building a solution. In truth, it would be proof he owned her.
She looked at him for a long moment. The words were there—vicious, scalding, ready to flay the smug composure off his face. She wanted to hurl every one of them at him until he choked on them.
But he wasn’t worth her voice. He wasn’t worth the breath it’d take to utter a single syllable.
She walked past him, leaving the eviction notice in his hand.
The light in the ballroom assailed her first—a brutal glitter of chandeliers, each drop of crystal as sharp as splintered glass. The air, thick with cloying perfumes, caught in her throat. Her eyes adjusted slowly, the gaiety of the room already feeling like a mockery.
She saw Ark striding toward her, a plate balanced in each hand. Something in his step lightened when he saw her, as if her presence was a quiet harbour he’d been seeking.
“I don’t know where my mother went—she wasn’t in the library,” he said, then paused, a flicker of something almost sheepish crossing his face.
He held out the plates, a small, wry smile tugging at his mouth.
“I’m sorry it took me so long. I spent far too long deciding what to present to a skilled Kitchen Witch.
I hope you won’t turn down my offerings. ”
Cassia stared at the plates, and then him.
Each dish he selected had an ingredient she’d often reached for when cooking for the bakery, the children, or herself.
Each dish was chosen with her in mind. Her chest ached.
He had learned her, memorized her, built this small offering as proof that he’d been paying attention since the first honey cake she’d ever handed him.
She blinked back tears and smiled up at him, brushing her fingers against his cheek before she could stop herself. A small, instinctive gesture—but the way he leaned into her touch without hesitation, without suspicion, cinched her chest.
He was a good man. Too good for the pain she was about to force upon him.
“Do you know,” she said, her throat tight, “that I am the luckiest woman in Meredith right now?”
Before he could see it in her eyes—whatever storm had begun to stir—she pulled her hand back.
“Are you alright?” he asked softly.
Too late—he’d already seen. She couldn’t answer that honestly. She looked past him, at the swirling, glittering denial of the ballroom. “I just . . . don’t want to be here anymore. I don’t want to spend the rest of our night performing.”
Ark was quiet, his gaze searching hers. Then, wordlessly, he set the plates down and offered his hand. “Then, let us leave.”
The ease of his surrender—his immediate, unquestioning alliance—pierced her more deeply than any suspicion could have.
This was what she had to kill. This effortless ‘us.’