Chapter 24: Cassian

He waited until nightfall to meet her.

The old conservatory on the west edge of the estate had been unused for years. Overgrown vines choked its glass ceiling, and half the stone pathway leading to it had crumbled from disrepair. But the interior, somehow, remained dry. Quiet. Hidden.

Nerisse stood near the window when he arrived, her hands clasped lightly behind her back. She hadn’t removed her Council robes, though she’d exchanged the formal outer layer for a sleeker undercoat—still violet, still warded, still designed to remind him who held the power here.

“I wasn’t sure you’d come,” she said without turning.

Cassian didn’t smile. “You don’t summon people. You imply. It’s worse.”

She allowed the smallest twitch of amusement to pass over her lips before glancing at him.

“You’ve grown bolder,” she said. “Is that the castle’s influence… or hers?”

He took a few slow steps into the room. “Delphine Ashwood is powerful. Unpredictable. Possibly compromised.”

“You were the one who recommended her for the contract.”

“I recommended her because I believed she would collapse under the pressure and expose the castle’s vulnerabilities. That part worked.”

Nerisse arched an eyebrow. “And yet she’s still standing. Marked. Integrated.”

“She wasn’t supposed to last this long.”

“Clearly.”

Cassian bristled, but kept it buried. “The castle has chosen her. We both saw it. The vault is shifting. The ward anchors are migrating toward her leyline path. That’s not coincidence—it’s surrender.”

Nerisse turned fully now, her eyes sharp. “And you’re hoping I’ll see that as a problem to be corrected.”

“I think we both know she can’t be left to continue unchecked.”

He expected her to agree. He’d spent the better part of two years preparing for this moment—feeding just enough instability into the Council’s perception of Castle Thorne that they’d feel compelled to send someone. Nerisse was the perfect blade. She didn’t strike unless she already knew where to cut.

But she surprised him.

“She’s more than a liability,” Nerisse said slowly. “She’s proof.”

“Proof of what?”

“That the system still recognizes bloodlines. That the seal is awakening. That the castle, even now, can still be... tamed.”

Cassian’s jaw clenched. “You don’t tame a sentient magical structure. You either bind it, or you let it consume.”

“And yet she walks its halls as if it were hers.”

“She’s walking into a death sentence.”

“She’s rewriting one.”

Silence stretched between them.

Nerisse stepped closer to the table in the center of the room. A map lay spread across it—one Cassian had marked himself. The vault. The anchor points. The seal glyph. He hadn’t needed to show her this. But he wanted her to know how closely he’d been watching.

“How deep is her integration?” she asked.

“She’s not just marked. She’s tethered. The anchor responded to her emotional output two days ago. When she and Valemont—”

He stopped himself.

Nerisse’s gaze sharpened. “Ah. So it’s that kind of bond.”

Cassian didn’t speak.

She didn’t need confirmation. “Emotional resonance,” she said. “Explains the sudden spike in ward sensitivity.”

He took a step toward her, choosing his words with care.

“If you issue a formal recall order, she’ll have to stand trial. We can strip her magic. Re-seal the vault before it bonds fully.”

“And Valemont?”

“He’ll fall in line,” Cassian lied.

Nerisse studied him again—this time more carefully.

“I don’t think you want her removed,” she said. “I think you want her replaced.”

He didn’t respond.

Which was answer enough.

“Be careful, Cassian,” Nerisse murmured. “This castle doesn’t like betrayal. And neither do I.”

Then she turned, her robes sweeping behind her like dusk.

And Cassian, for the first time in a very long time, felt something unfamiliar press against his spine.

Not magic.

Dread.