Chapter 63: The Spymaster and the Matriarch
The three polite knocks seemed to echo off the heavy iron skillets hanging above the kitchen island.
Callis stood frozen. The man who had unflinchingly charged a mutant Obsidian Crawler was currently staring at the heavy oak door as if it were a primed explosive.
Mara let out a quiet, exasperated sigh. She didn't move out of the way. She simply stood her ground, planting her flour-dusted boots firmly on the floorboards, and gave Callis a stern, expectant look over her shoulder.
Callis swallowed hard. Reaching a long, trembling arm past Mara's shoulder, he grasped the iron bolt. He slid it back with a loud, grating scrape and pulled the heavy door inward.
The moment the winter wind howled into the warm kitchen, Callis instinctively took a half-step backward, angling his broad-shouldered frame behind Mara. It was a subtle movement, but the visual was absurd—a massive, six-foot-four man in a timber-wolf coat using a flour-dusted tavern matriarch as a human shield.
Lady Cassia Vale stood on the threshold.
She looked entirely out of place in the slush-filled alleyway, yet completely unbothered by it. Her dark sable fur cloak brushed against the doorframe, and her striking, grey-blue eyes immediately swept the room. It took her less than a second to process the tactical layout of the kitchen: the heat of the hearth, the expensive silk draped over the woman by the fire, and the towering wall of a woman standing between her and her brother.
Cassia held up the canvas sack of red apples. They had been perfectly wiped clean of the mud.
"You used to be much faster, Callis," Cassia noted, her voice smooth, melodic, and devoid of anger. She stepped gracefully over the threshold, closing the heavy door behind her to cut off the biting wind.
She set the sack of apples on the edge of the flour-dusted island. Then, she turned her sharp gaze to Mara.
Cassia didn't look down her nose at Mara. Her eyes simply analyzed her with the rapid precision of a jeweler inspecting a diamond. She took in the calloused hands, the rigid spine, and the unshakeable authority radiating from her.
"I assume you are the reason my little brother is currently trying to hide his very large shoulders behind your apron," Cassia said, a faint, genuine glimmer of amusement touching her red lips.
"I'm Mara," she replied, her voice an immovable, grounded rumble. She didn't bow, and she didn't offer a title. She simply crossed her arms. "This is my kitchen. And you are tracking slush onto my floorboards."
Callis closed his eyes, bracing himself for the political explosion.
Instead, Cassia let out a soft, elegant laugh. She smoothly unclasped her fur cloak, draping it over a nearby wooden chair, and purposefully wiped her flat-soled riding boots on the coarse entry rug.
"My apologies, Mara," Cassia said warmly. "I have spent the last three weeks on the imperial road. Good manners sometimes fray in the cold."
She turned her gaze toward the hearth. Maeve was still seated, her hands resting lightly in her lap. Cassia's eyes flicked over the pink silk, lingering for a fraction of a second on the protective placement of Maeve's manicured fingers over her lower abdomen.
Cassia's gaze sharpened. She read posture like a written ledger. The subtle rounding of the hips, the protective cradle of the hands, the way Maeve breathed.
"Interior silk," Cassia observed quietly, her tone shifting into something far more calculating. "Custom tailoring. A merchant's wife, but with the posture of a guild leader. And yet, you are sitting in the back kitchen of a frontier tavern instead of the merchant ward, guarding your stomach as if you carry the crown jewels."
Maeve didn't flinch. She met Cassia's eyes with a sharp, dangerous intelligence that matched her own.
"I prefer the company here," Maeve purred, her red lips curving into a wicked smile. "I am Maeve. Welcome to Hartsgate, Lady Cassia."
"Just Cassia, please," she replied smoothly, though her eyes lingered on Maeve's stomach for one heartbeat longer before she turned away.
Finally, Cassia turned her full attention to Callis. The calculating edge vanished from her grey-blue eyes, replaced by a sudden, overwhelming wave of profound affection.
She walked slowly around the kitchen island. Mara held her ground, but allowed her to pass.
Cassia stopped directly in front of Callis. She had to tilt her head back to look him in the eye. He was tense, his jaw locked. He was entirely prepared for a scolding, a royal decree, or an emotional gut-punch.
Instead, Cassia reached up with her soft, bare hands. She gently adjusted the heavy collar of his timber-wolf coat, her thumbs brushing against the rough, bruised line of his jaw. She smelled faintly of lavender and old parchment—the exact scent of the study where she used to read him to sleep when the storms hit the capital.
But as Cassia stepped closer to embrace him, she paused.
Her hands slid down the lapels of his coat, her fingers tracing the unusual patchwork of the lining. Her sharp nose caught a complex, unmistakable scent wafting from the intricately stitched panels—a heavy, overwhelming blend of forge soot, sweet bakery vanilla, expensive rose oil, and pure, unabashed feminine musk.
Cassia gave the thick lining a subtle, calculating squeeze. She felt the layered seams of silk, cotton, and lace stitched deep into the coat's interior.
Cassia froze for a fraction of a second. Her grey-blue eyes blinked in sheer, aristocratic shock, her brain rapidly processing exactly whose intimate garments her little brother was using to line his winter coat. Then, profound, deeply suppressed amusement danced across her face.
"You've grown, Callis," Cassia whispered, her voice cracking slightly with genuine emotion, though a wicked, knowing gleam had entered her eyes. "Mother thinks you are starving in a ditch. But look at you. You are practically built of iron now. And apparently keeping very busy."
Callis let out a ragged, shaking breath, his pale face flushing deeply as he realized exactly what she had just felt in his coat. "Cassia... I..."
"Shh," Cassia murmured, stepping forward to wrap her arms around his waist, pressing her cheek against his chest.
Callis hesitated for a fraction of a second before his armor cracked. He wrapped his massive arms around Cassia, burying his face in the crown of her hair. He held tightly onto the woman who had raised him while the empire burned, the sheer, crushing weight of his guilt and gratitude finally spilling over.
Mara and Maeve exchanged a quiet, heavily loaded look. This wasn't a hostile invasion. It was a family reunion, which made it far harder to fight.
After a long moment, Cassia pulled back. She kept her hands resting warmly on his forearms, but her sharp, calculating composure slid effortlessly back into place.
"I intercepted the courier line three days ago," Cassia stated, her voice dropping into business. "Mother does not know you are here. But she is expecting the provincial tax reports by the end of the week, and when she checks the registry, she will see the Vale signet."
Callis stiffened. "How long?"
"Four days," Cassia said calmly. "You have four days before Mother realizes where you are. Which gives us exactly that long to figure out why my little brother just authorized a fortune in royal-grade steel to be smuggled into a muddy frontier town, and exactly what kind of war you are preparing to fight."
Cassia looked past him. Her eyes met Mara's steady gaze, and then flicked back to Maeve's calculating smile and the protective hands resting on her silk-draped stomach.
"Because looking at this kitchen," Cassia noted softly, a complex mix of pride and terror coloring her voice, "I have a feeling you are not planning on coming home."
She gracefully released Callis's arms and took a single step toward the hearth. She tilted her head, her sharp eyes locking dead onto Maeve's.
"And besides," Cassia murmured, her red lips curving into a smile that was equal parts terrifying and fiercely delighted. "I need to know how much time I have to prepare the capital for the scandal. Tell me, Maeve... when exactly should I be expecting my new niece or nephew?"
Callis choked on his next breath, his eyes blowing wide. Maeve, however, didn't even blink. Her wicked smile only widened, settling deep into her dark eyes as she looked back at Cassia.