Page 73 of Smoke, Mirrors, & Misdemeanours

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.

Shelves lined the walls, crowded with books, rolled maps, and glass-fronted cabinets. The air pressed against her skin, humming with protective magic. Through the glass, she caught glimpses of objects sealed behind faintly shimmering wards. A golden vial caught her eye—no larger than her thumb, etched with delicate filigree, alone on a velvet cushion. It looked like innocent jewelry, not something dangerous enough to guard.

A long wooden table dominated the centre of the space, its surface scarred with burn marks and scratches. It looked like something they might’ve inherited from whoever occupied this building before them. Dark green velvet couches faced an unlit hearth, their cushions arranged in groups of three.

The obsidian vase on the marble credenza caught her eye again. She’d passed it on her way in, but now she stopped. She hadn’t even realized how many Flora Notes she’d sent today. It wasn’t until she stood close enough that she realized: Each one was suspended in a gentle stasis spell.

He hadn’t just kept them; he had preserved them. He hadn’t tucked them away in some drawer of forgotten things; he’d placed them on display among his other valued objects, as if her words were a treasure to be protected and studied.

She blinked against a sudden, surprising heat behind her eyes. Her throat tightened as she reached out, fingers brushing a tiger lily. A flicker of her own magic hummed back at her.

Why? Why preserve these?

They’d started as banter—something light, something pretend. Something she’d sent to get him to smile for a moment and then let wilt into nothing.

Yet here they were, fresh as the moment they’d bloomed.

Cassia exhaled, pressing her palm gently to the side of the vase. For a moment, she let herself feel that sweet, trembling ache in her chest: the knowing that despite their arrangement . . . this didn’t even feel like a performance anymore.

Footsteps prompted her to turn around. She spotted Caius emerging from the hallway.

“He’s changed and fully asleep now,” he told her.

“Thank you.”

Just then, Rhodes reappeared at the entrance, holding a small bundle of fresh herbs wrapped in twine. “Matilde sent this—lemon balm and a few other herbs she thought might help.”

Cassia accepted the bundle. “Thank you. She always knows what I need.”