Chapter 38 #4
Cassia stared at the closed door, then whirled on Delphyne. “You’ve chased away my buyers!”
Delphyne simply breathed in the air of the house, unhurried, as if Cassia hadn’t spoken at all. Then she turned. “You’re welcome.”
Cassia’s jaw dropped. The audacity of this woman. But before she could yell, Delphyne continued, her voice pointed, “Your parents left a blessing in these walls. How can you face their memory if you’re so quick to trade it away?”
Something snapped behind Cassia’s ribs.
“Quick?” Her voice came out raw, scraped. “You think I came to this decision lightly? This house is suffused with my mother’s magic! It’s one of the few places in the world where I can still feel her presence, and my father too. I was born here. I have memories here.”
Her feet wouldn’t stay still. She paced, arms tight around Anuck, the words tumbling faster than she could shape them.
“You stand on a mountain of generational power and lecture me on principle. My mother’s legacy isn’t protected by bloodline and political influence. It’s protected by me. And I am failing.”
She turned back, eyes burning. “The Starlight children are her legacy too. She gave her life for them as surely as she did for me. If selling this house is the only way to save the other, then that is the choice I will make.”
Her lungs ached, but the fury had nowhere left to go. It guttered and died, leaving her hollowed out.
And then—no. No, no, no—the tears came.
She felt the first one slip down her cheek and wanted to claw it back.
Wanted to shove it back into her eyes where it belonged, where she belonged, composed and capable and not falling apart in front of a demon who probably hadn’t cried in decades, if ever.
But another followed. Then another. A steady, humiliating stream she couldn’t stop no matter how hard she pressed her jaw shut.
Nothing made her feel more ridiculous than this. Crying in front of this immovable royalty. Letting her see the cracks. Letting her see how weak Cassia really was.
“I wanted to show the children,” she croaked. “I wanted them to see that even someone like me—an Untethered—could still protect the things she loved. Could still matter. Could still fight.” She pressed Anuck to her chest. “I wanted them to know I’m not helpless. That they aren’t helpless.”
She let out a shaky breath, her shoulders drooping. “But I am, aren’t I? Scrambling. Losing. Burning everything I love just to keep the fire going for one more day.”
Delphyne watched her, a long, measuring silence stretching between them. “You would burn your inheritance to keep the children,” she said. “A noble act. Or a desperate one.”
Cassia’s throat tightened. “Sometimes,” she whispered, “they’re one and the same.”
Delphyne reached out, and Cassia flinched before she could stop herself.
But the hand didn’t strike. It simply brushed her tear-damp cheek.
The gesture was small, but it cracked her chest open.
No one had touched her like that in five years.
It was the kind of motion she’d seen a hundred mothers make, often from behind the counter at the bakery.
A caress offered between sips of tea and wiping jam from a child’s chin.
Simple. Intimate. Ordinary.
But for Cassia, it felt like lightning striking a hollow tree.
“You are not wrong,” Delphyne murmured. “I misspoke. I didn’t understand the depth of the choice you were making. To willingly surrender a shrine to save a flock . . . that is not weakness. It is a terrifying strength.” She withdrew her hand and inclined her head. “I apologize.”
Cassia’s breath caught. Her eyes widened.
The Daemaris—apologizing?
The world tilted briefly on its axis.
She didn’t know whether to cry again or laugh. So she did neither. Just stood there, blinking, with Anuck oddly still in her arms and the walls of her childhood home somehow less heavy than they’d been a moment ago.
“Now,” Delphyne said, tilting her head toward the door. “Get in the carriage.”
Cassia’s mouth fell open. “Pardon me?”
Delphyne tsked impatiently. “You heard me. Let that—” She peered at Anuck. “What is that?”
Cassia looked down at the soft, squishy blob of black fur in her arms. “This is my cat, Anuck.”
There was a beat of silence. Then the unmistakable sound of a snort—sharp, refined, and just a touch humorous. “If you say so.”
Anuck, as if in protest, let out a low, imperious mrrreow.
Cassia clutched Anuck closer. “I’m not getting in any carriage until you tell me where we’re going.”
The Daemaris turned to her fully now, voice crisp. “Aura Cassia. I’ve just stopped the sale of your house, humiliated a property agent, and allowed myself to be gawked at like a relic in a museum. Don’t push your luck.”
Cassia’s mouth opened. Closed. She shot Anuck a look. He blinked, unhelpfully. She let him go, and he bounded over to his favourite window, utterly unconcerned.
Delphyne gave a regal nod. “Get in the carriage. You’ll understand soon.”
Then she turned on her heel and strode out the door without waiting, as if she’d known without a doubt that Cassia would follow.