Chapter 36
CASSIA
The car was quiet for most of the drive.
The city fell away behind them, replaced by winding roads flanked by pine and stone.
Angelene’s skyline gave way to wind-bent trees and the steady hush of the distant tide.
Cassia kept her gaze on the horizon, watching for the first glimpse of silver seafoam.
As a child, she’d made this same trip with her mother during her father’s illness—the long drive down the coast a monthly pilgrimage.
They brought offerings in wicker baskets.
Her mother would wade into the tide and kneel with her palms to the waves, whispering to Thaloriel, the sea goddess.
Sometimes they asked for healing. Other times, for luck.
But the rarest prayer was for blue algae, the kind that surfaced only when the goddess was pleased.
Her mother swore it was the key ingredient to an elixir that healed what modern medicine couldn’t.
Most highborn witches dismissed the tale as poor people’s myth. A fable for romantics, or the hopeless with no access to higher magic or upscale medical care. But her mother had believed with conviction, and that belief had shaped Cassia in ways she hadn’t realized until now.
If the goddess answered, if the algae bloomed, she would brew the elixir her mother had taught her. And then she would bring it to the father of the man she loved, and offer him the one thing she could give.
She’d done this ritual for her mother once before, five years ago, when the multiplication spells had finally come to collect.
Opalina and Lilibeth had been with her then, younger and just as scared, huddled on the sand with wind-lashed hair, poring over the notebook by moonlight.
None of them had known if it would work.
But they’d believed—or faked it well enough to fool the sea.
When the algae finally bloomed, phosphorescent and glimmering, it had felt like being seen by something ancient and kind.
The road narrowed as they neared the coast, tall trees giving way to salt-worn brush and scrub.
The scent of the sea arrived first, cool and sharp.
Cassia leaned forward as the coastline unfurled before them, wide and grey-blue beneath the fading light.
Wind scattered the clouds across the horizon, and the beach stretched out far and wide.
They parked just beyond the dunes. No one said much as they carried their things down. The wind did most of the talking.
It was Lilibeth who broke the silence, glancing at the tide. “Feels exactly like last time.”
Cassia hummed. “Except last time I was shaking too hard to walk straight.”
“You weren’t the only one,” Opalina said dryly, settling down to build a fire. “I couldn’t even light the candles without nearly dropping them. Do you remember? You had to recite the incantation five times because I kept letting the fire die out.”
“We messed up so many steps,” Lilibeth added. “The blooms almost didn’t rise.”
“They did, though,” Cassia murmured. “In the end.”
She let her boots fall away and stepped barefoot onto the sand. Cold. Grounding. The wind tugged at her coat like a hand pulling her gently back into time.
Opalina glanced over. “I can’t believe that was five years ago.”
Cassia knelt to anchor one of the blankets. “My mother said drinking it gave her strength to last another day. Let her sleep after nights of pain and no rest.”
It didn’t save Celestia, but it gave her peace—and a painless passing.
She hoped the blue algae would bloom again tonight, for Ark’s father.
Together, they began to set up camp. Blankets were spread. Candles anchored in glass jars. The kettle placed over the steady hiss of a travel flame. Everything unfolded like muscle memory.
Like faith.
The wind picked up as the sun dipped lower, turning gold to indigo at the horizon. Long shadows stretched over the beach, and the hush of the sea deepened.
Cassia rose slowly, brushing the sand from her palms. She walked to the blanket where the supplies lay and crouched by the fire pit.
Lilibeth brought the copper kettle closer.
The scent of an herb bouquet steeping in seawater rose with the steam—earthy and briny.
Opalina placed stones in a wide circle around the firepit, then set the candles between them.
Their placement followed the pattern drawn in the back pages of her mother’s notebook: north for endurance, south for sacrifice, east for clarity, west for return.
As darkness took the sky, Cassia lit the first candle. Its small flame flared, then steadied, casting a pool of golden light dancing in the hollows of their faces. One by one, the others followed, and with each lit wick, a hush settled over them.
They sat close around the fire. Cassia unfolded the flower petals she’d picked from her garden, piling them into a small porcelain dish warmed by the kettle’s edge.
She pressed a moonstone into her palm, letting it absorb the heat of her skin.
When it warmed fully, she laid it at the centre of the stone circle.
And then, the last part—the token.
From her coat pocket, she drew a small pouch. Inside it: Ark’s father’s gold cufflink. She’d picked it up and intended to return it that evening in the conservatory, but then Delphyne came, and the cufflink was forgotten.
And now . . . now it felt like more than an accident. It felt like a thread the universe had given her to follow.
Cassia placed it on the moonstone and whispered something only Thaloriel was meant to hear:
O tide that keeps what light forgets,
Where moonlight weeps and shadow sets—
I offer threads and clover’s breath,
To call thee, bloom, from ocean’s depth.
Come forth, aglow, O ancient balm,
To mend the heart, to bring him calm.
Let silver roots through silence grow—
And rise, blue light, from deep below.
These were words she hadn’t spoken in half a decade, yet they returned to her easily.
For a moment, it seemed almost as though her mother was standing beside her, reciting the same ancient words.
Lilibeth and Opalina joined on the third line, their voices weaving in and out like overlapping tides.
The sea, just beyond the shore, whispered back.
The flames flickered. A shimmer passed across the sand—barely there—and the tide inched closer.
They kept chanting, voices low, no louder than breath.
The water crept toward them, curling around their ankles, icy cold.
It reached the moonstone first, then lapped at the bowl, the bundled herbs, the flower petals.
The cufflink vanished beneath the surface with barely a ripple, as if claimed by something unseen.
Then the sea reached the fire. With a final hiss, the flames died.
Darkness fell. No sound remained but the steady pulse of the waves and the quiet gurgle of receding water.
The three of them inhaled sharply, instinctively holding their breath.
The moon, no longer veiled by clouds, cast a broad silver path across the ocean, illuminating their faces.
Cassia kept praying—not aloud now, but in the raw language of memory and hope. To the sea goddess. To her mother, her father. To anyone still listening. Her eyes stayed fixed on the foaming line of the tide. Lilibeth and Opalina stood beside her, equally still.
And then, finally—
A faint, phosphorescent glow bloomed just beneath the water’s surface, ethereal and blue.
It grew stronger, rippling in the wake of the receding tide.
Lilibeth’s hand flew to her mouth. Opalina stood frozen, eyes wide.
Cassia ran barefoot into the waves, heedless of the cold brine seeping into her skirts, her coat.
Salt stung her lips and water splashed high against her thighs.
She bent, hands plunging beneath the surface, and cupped the algae in her palms. It shimmered, soft and iridescent, like holding a star.
Her tears spilled freely now, mixing with seawater.
Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.
It was still hours before dawn when their car rolled into Angelene.
The streets near Eldryn Gardens were teeming with Yulefrost festival-goers.
The air was thick with spiced wine and stewed fruit, laughter echoing off cobblestones.
Music spilled from tavern doors, mingling with the off-key singing of crowds weaving through the streets.
Cassia watched it pass, a knot of dread tightening beneath her ribs. The elixir—still warm—sat in her lap. She held it as though any sudden move might shatter what was inside.
“Where should we go?” Opalina asked from behind the wheel. “Do we take it straight to Arkenoth?”
His name was a knife. Even now, the bond tugged at her—subtle pulses against the mark at her neck. He’d reached for her throughout the day, small wordless nudges that made her breath catch. It had taken every ounce of will not to answer. Not yet. Not when the ritual and this elixir mattered more.
“I’ll call Rhodes,” she murmured, already reaching for the card Rhodes had given her.
The phone barely rang twice before he picked up.
“Miss Aura,” he said, voice deep as always.
“I’m sorry to trouble you this late, but I have medicine for the Daemar. Can you—”
“Meet me at Marvale General,” he interrupted. “Emergency wing.”
Cassia went still. Marvale—the name tightened her chest. She still remembered those halls: the fluorescent light, the linoleum, the smell of antiseptic clinging to her clothes for days after her father died there.
Her mother had refused to go back, choosing instead a small hospice in Little Mineola, surrounded by friends.
Her grip tightened around the elixir.
“I’ll be there,” she said.
When she reached the hospital, the doors hissed open, and a wall of fluorescent light met her like a slap.
Cassia hesitated a beat before stepping inside, boots clicking against spotless linoleum.
The air smelled of antiseptic and wilted visitation flowers.
She hated it. The walls were too white—grief scrubbed down to its bones.
She kept walking.
Rhodes was already waiting, shirt collar unbuttoned, a shadow of beard dusting his jaw. His eyes found hers immediately, flicking to the bundle in her arms.
“Is that it?”
She nodded. “Quickly, while it’s still warm. It won’t stay potent past dawn.”
Caius followed—clean-shaven, composed, but his eyes betrayed him. “The surgeons are preparing,” he said. “It won’t be long now.”
He stepped forward, cupped her hand, and eased the vessel from her fingers.
“No matter what,” he murmured, “thank you. Ark will know you did your best.”
His name cut through her. She pressed her lips together. “How is he? Ark. Is he alright?”
Rhodes exchanged a glance with Caius. “He’s inside. Hasn’t left the room since they brought his father in.”
She closed her eyes. Somewhere beyond those doors, Ark was waiting. Hurting. Afraid. And she couldn’t be there to hold his hand, or stand beside him and pretend everything would be alright.
“Just . . . make sure his father drinks it,” she whispered.
Caius nodded and disappeared down the hall. Cassia stood in the corridor, watching, her heart urging her to follow.
Behind her, Rhodes spoke, his voice deep and quiet, like he’d been holding the words back all night. “He’s in love with you, you know.”
She turned, startled.
He didn’t look at her. He was watching the far end of the corridor where Caius had gone. “He hasn’t said it aloud. Maybe he never will. But we’ve been with him for twenty-five years. We’ve seen what he’s like with everyone else, and what he’s like around you.”
He finally met her gaze. “Trust me. You don’t look at someone that way unless it means something.”
Cassia’s throat tightened.
“As someone of mixed blood,” she said at last, “you already know there are two Merediths. Sir Elios gave you his name, his protection, a place in Elios’s Book of Names.
I’m happy for you. But my story isn’t the same.
I’m Untethered. People see what I am and decide what I’m allowed to be—I’ve stopped trying to explain. ”
Her voice softened. “I do love him. I’m done denying that.” She glanced down the corridor. “But his father is fighting for his life. Whatever peace he has left shouldn’t be burdened by me. And I won’t tear Ark in two—forcing him to choose between me and the people who need him now.”
She met Rhodes’s gaze. “Take care of him. Please. Be his friend the way you always have.”
He studied her for a moment—something unreadable passing through his eyes, like he was seeing her properly for the first time.
Then he stepped forward, his broad frame casting hers in shadow.
His hand found hers, warm and firm. “I don’t care what anyone else says,” he said, a gruff rumble.
“Miss Aura, you’re a first-rate witch. And a remarkable person. ”
Cassia blinked, the sting behind her eyes returning. “Thank you,” she whispered. “That means more than you know.”
Gently, she pulled her hand free, turned, and walked down the corridor.
She didn’t look back.