CASSIAN AND THE INFINITE THRONE

CASSIAN AND THE INFINITE THRONE

Volume 2: The Road to the Academy

Chapter 40: The Distance Between Home and Tomorrow

Two months after Verdant Communion overwhelmed him, Cassian sat at the family table in ordinary frontier clothes.

He had turned ten one week earlier. Tomorrow began a journey his family expected to keep him away for at least five years.

Tomas had arrived from Stagwatch the previous afternoon, bringing two wagons, a hired teamster, his two regular bodyguards, three road guards, merchant news, and an expensive Stagwatch honey cake.

Lena crowded the remaining space with venison, herb bread, vegetables, preserves, and enough roasted roots to supply a patrol.

“This is too much food,” Cassian said. “We could feed half the southern hunting party.”

“We are feeding Tomas,” Elara replied. “That already requires planning for half a hunting party.”

Tomas pressed one hand against his chest. “I accepted a farewell supper, not an attack upon my dignity.”

“You accepted three servings before Mother placed the bread down,” Darren said. “Your dignity surrendered before the meal began.”

Gareth's laughter warmed the room despite everything Ironclaw had taken.

Tomas pointed his fork toward Darren. “A successful merchant recognizes limited opportunities. Your mother's cooking becomes unavailable when my caravan leaves tomorrow.”

Lena smiled without looking away from Cassian. “Some opportunities return every so often. Some take five years before they return at all.”

The table quieted as every unfinished thought gathered between them. Cassian knew the academy's curriculum, Caeldor's distance, and the uselessness of short holidays.

They are grieving a distance I can cross before a normal traveler finishes breakfast. Telling them would remove one pain and expose every secret behind it.

Elara broke the silence first. “We should discuss clothing before Tomas carries him into Stagwatch looking like a very small poacher.”

“I planned to purchase something suitable there,” Cassian replied. “Tomas already threatened to supervise the process.”

“I offered guidance,” Tomas said. “Threats become necessary only if he chooses another coat entirely by pocket capacity.”

“Useful pockets prevent unnecessary luggage,” Cassian said. “That principle remains difficult to dispute.”

“Proper sleeves prevent public embarrassment,” Tomas replied. “Civilization considers both principles important.”

Darren inspected Cassian's patched cuff. “Caeldor may reject him at the gate and send him back for repairs.”

“That would solve several problems,” Lena said, though her smile trembled. “I would prepare another supper and praise the capital's judgment.”

The dark-blue coat I purchased months ago remains hidden beneath my supplies. Nobody in Frostwood can know I already visited Stagwatch.

Gareth reached across the table with his remaining hand. “Look at me, Cassian. You are allowed to feel excited.”

Cassian raised his eyes and met his father's steady expression.

“Nobody here needs you to feel guilty because the road leads somewhere worth seeing,” Gareth continued.

“I am excited,” Cassian admitted. “I am also leaving all of you behind.”

“You are moving forward,” Gareth corrected. “Those are not always the same thing.”

Lena retrieved a folded length of deep gray wool and placed it across Cassian's hands. Soft lining and hidden pockets completed the scarf.

“I know city shops sell finer things,” she said. “This one was made by someone who knows you forget meals whenever questions become interesting.”

Cassian traced the careful stitching. “What are the pockets intended to hold?”

“Food, letters, medicine, and whatever prevents you from becoming a brilliant frozen corpse.”

Tomas nodded gravely. “That is an excellent commercial category.”

Lena ignored him. “Eat before curiosity makes you forget hunger. Sleep before exhaustion starts making decisions. Ask for help before pride creates something I must cross Caldran to correct.”

“I promise to remember every part of that advice.”

“You promise to write,” Lena said. “Remembering without writing helps nobody here.”

“I will send letters whenever a trusted caravan can carry them.”

Her arms closed around him before he finished. Cassian pressed his face against her shoulder and smelled bread, woodsmoke, and the herbs near the stove.

I remember in my previous life leaving workplaces, rented rooms, and people I never saw again. I never understood how different those departures were until now.

Gareth waited until Lena released him, then placed a compact knife beside Cassian's plate. The antler handle had been shaped unevenly but polished smooth.

Cassian lifted it carefully. “You made this with your own hand.”

“It took longer than it should have,” Gareth replied. “One hand encourages patience and discourages complicated decoration.”

This blade is ordinary frontier steel, yet nothing in Caeldor could make it more valuable to me.

“Watch people before you watch their weapons,” Gareth said. “Strength does not make fighting correct. Leave when staying serves nothing except pride.”

“I will carry it with me every day.”

“You will also remember that Frostwood remains home. Titles, robes, and impressive teachers do not change where you are welcome.”

Elara slid a leather-bound journal across the table. Cassian's name had been pressed carefully into one corner.

“The first pages contain birthdays, family dates, expected letter intervals, and promises you have made,” she explained.

“That sounds less like a gift and more like an organized accusation.”

“It becomes both if you don’t do them.” Elara's composure held until Cassian found a pressed Frostwood leaf beneath the cover.

“You included everyone's handwriting and left several pages for future corrections,” he said.

“Mother wrote recipes you pretend not to need. Father marked northern trails. Darren added something I refused to inspect.”

Cassian found a drawing of himself being chased by an enormous book with teeth.

“The likeness lacks accuracy, although the alleged danger appears sincere,” Cassian said.

“The terror is historically accurate,” Darren replied.

Elara moved around the table and embraced him. She had grown taller than Lena, yet her hands shook against his shoulders.

“You will meet people who think intelligence excuses cruelty,” she whispered. “Do not become impressed merely because they speak beautifully.”

“I will remember that warning when impressive people begin speaking.”

“You will write it down,” she corrected. “Memory becomes unreliable whenever the subject is ordinary life.”

Darren waited until Elara returned to her chair. He tossed a small ashwood hawk hanging from a leather cord across the table.

Cassian caught it. A shallow compass marked the wings, with the northern point cut deeper than the others.

“So you remember which direction home lies,” Darren said.

Gareth smiled with approval. “That may be the most sensible gift you have ever made.”

“It was accidental,” Darren replied. “I intended something far less responsible.”

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Darren carved our secret into a gift everyone can understand differently. The deeper northern mark points toward the ridge where he saw me descend.

Tomas stood and adjusted his merchant's coat. “I should give the family their remaining evening before Gareth decides my fifth serving constitutes theft.”

“You stopped counting after the sixth,” Gareth said.

“Then mercy requires immediate withdrawal.” Tomas rested one hand on Cassian's shoulder. “Sleep properly tonight. Tomorrow contains enough road without borrowing exhaustion.”

After Tomas left, familiar stories continued. Lena recalled Cassian's first forest escape, while Elara exposed habits Darren had forgotten.

Their laughter softened as the lamps burned lower. Cassian stood between them while Lena adjusted his collar, Gareth gripped his shoulder, and Elara refused to release one hand.

I prepared words for this moment, but none can pass the pressure in my throat. Silence will hurt them more, so I must try.

“I do not want five years to pass without seeing you,” Cassian said, and the words broke halfway through.

Lena pulled him close. Gareth joined with his remaining arm, Elara pressed against his other side, and Darren wrapped both arms around everyone while complaining about the formation.

Cassian cried into the warmth of his family.

No calculation reduces this pain. No secret shortens this moment. I can cross the kingdom quickly, yet I cannot make leaving harmless.

Later, Darren followed him outside beneath the twin Watchers, Aurel and Vaela—the larger, brighter moon and its smaller, differently colored companion. Frost silvered the roofs while Tomas's two wagons rested near the storehouse beneath the guards' watch.

“You told them five years,” Darren said quietly.

“That is what the journey means to them.”

“And what does the journey mean to you?”

Cassian held the ashwood hawk beneath the twin Watchers. “I will return after the first year, once I understand the academy's schedules, wards, and expectations.”

“You mean you will visit frequently after that first year?”

“When I can leave without exposing the method.”

Darren exhaled slowly. “Learn the city before trying to defeat it. Mother will survive one year. She will not survive discovering you crossed half the kingdom carelessly.”

“I understand the risk, and I will prepare before returning.”

“You usually understand immediately before doing something unreasonable with better preparation.”

Cassian smiled despite the ache behind his eyes. “That still qualifies as improvement.”

Dawn arrived with frost, harness bells, and villagers gathered beside Tomas's lead wagon while the hired teamster checked the second.

He wore familiar frontier clothes, Lena's scarf beneath his travel cloak, Gareth's knife at his belt, and Elara's journal inside his pack.

Lena adjusted the scarf three times. Gareth inspected straps Cassian had already checked. Elara made Tomas repeat the route as though the merchant had not traveled it for decades.

“Buy him proper clothing before anyone important sees him,” Lena told Tomas.

“I will personally prevent your son from purchasing garments designed for caves,” Tomas promised.

Cassian embraced each of them again. Darren held him last and spoke near his ear.

“Remember our promise after the first year, little brother.”

“I will return after the first year, once the route is safe.”

The two-wagon caravan began moving. Cassian sat beside Tomas in the lead wagon while two guards rode ahead, two guarded the rear, and the fifth ranged beside the teamster.

Tomas intended to visit three southern villages before turning both wagons toward Stagwatch.

I keep looking back as though one more glance can make the village remain visible.

The caravan traveled south until Tomas halted beyond Frostwood's usual hunting range.

The teamster took the lead wagon’s reins while one road guard drove the second. The remaining four guards spread around the caravan, giving Cassian and Tomas privacy without pretending danger had disappeared.

Tomas climbed down and studied Cassian. “Your family believes I am taking you to Stagwatch.”

“You are carrying the journey everyone expects me to follow toward Stagwatch.”

“That sentence has troubled me since yesterday.” Tomas opened the rear wagon. “Show me what will make the axle regret meeting you.”

Cassian removed four reinforced cases containing Drykeep stock, Freshkeep components, reconditioning packets, guides, and warranty seals.

“This supplies two months at the agreed release rate,” Cassian said. “Four standard Freshkeep systems, two medical systems, Drykeep replacements, and commercial inserts.”

Tomas stared at the labeled rows. “You prepared all this while organizing your departure, maintaining production, and apparently refusing to sleep like a reasonable person.”

“I scheduled the manufacturing separately and completed the critical components in parallel.”

“That explanation does not make the accomplishment more reasonable.”

Tomas retrieved two compact iron-bound strongboxes. Gold coins shifted inside with a dense, controlled clink.

“Drykeep produced one hundred ninety Royals across two months,” Tomas said. “Freshkeep produced fifty after installation costs, warranty reserves, and my modest distribution share.”

“The complete settlement is two hundred forty Gold Royals,” Cassian calculated.

“In physical coin, because someone considers merchant drafts insufficiently reliable.” Tomas opened both chests. “One hundred twenty Gold Royals in each, making the complete settlement two hundred forty.”

“All in Gold Royals,” Cassian said. “That is better for academy fees, secured lodging, books, and major purchases.”

“I still recommend depositing most of it before walking through every market in Caeldor,” Tomas said.

“Caeldor contains reputable banks and professional money changers, but reputation is not the same as proof,” Cassian replied.

“I will inspect their security, contracts, and ownership before trusting one with the greater portion.”

Tomas closed both lids with a sigh. “That answer is irritatingly sensible.”

“How are you carrying this?” Tomas asked, glancing between the chests and Cassian's luggage. “The combined load would be awkward for a child traveling alone.”

“The weight will not remain a problem,” Cassian said. “I prepared a method for transporting it.”

“A method you intend to explain?”

“Not unless it fails.”

Tomas rubbed his forehead. “That answer somehow reassures me less.”

“I cannot explain every method safely.” Cassian lowered his voice. “Knowing too much would place you beside dangers you cannot prepare to face.”

Tomas's expression softened. “I understand that. It does not stop me from wishing you trusted ordinary people with more of the burden.”

Cassian looked toward the guarded wagons. “I trust you with my family, my business, and the public trail leading toward Stagwatch.”

“That is a merchant's way of saying you trust me considerably.” Tomas handed him two sealed letters. “One introduces you to the Crowned Laurel, one of the most reputable inns in the capital. The other confirms your passage, identity, commercial legitimacy, and lawful possession of the funds.”

“I appreciate everything you have done for my family and me.”

“Do not become grateful until you see the inn's prices.” Tomas drew him into a firm embrace. “Write home regularly, eat proper meals, and avoid nobles who ask friendly questions before offering names.”

“I will record the warning before Elara somehow learns I forgot it.”

“You understand your sister better than most scholars ever will.”

Tomas now carries the life everyone expects me to follow. My real journey begins when his caravan disappears.

Cassian entered the woodland and opened the concealed compartment inside his luggage.

He removed the dark-blue coat, fitted vest, clean shirt, trousers, polished boots, and weatherproof cloak purchased in Stagwatch.

He changed beside a narrow stream. Lena's scarf remained around his neck, Gareth's knife disappeared beneath the coat, and the ashwood hawk rested against his chest.

My family believes Tomas will buy these clothes after his southern circuit reaches Stagwatch. The lie survives because every visible part resembles the truth closely enough.

Cassian secured the strongboxes, luggage, letters, and records inside a distributed pressure frame.

He shaped Adaptive Sunveil around himself and the cargo. The technique curved daylight through layered currents, erased reflections from cloth and metal, softened his shadow, and folded the forest across his outline.

He formed Wind Shell around the concealed frame. Clear air thickened into a seamless boundary, loose fabric settled, pressure stabilized around his lungs, and the stream flattened beneath the rising force.

Cassian climbed above the forest. The strongboxes followed as though they had forgotten gravity.

He accelerated south-southwest until Frostwood became memory behind the horizon.

Two hours and twenty minutes later, the Greater Caeldor appeared beneath him.

Caeldor did not begin with walls. It began with roads.

Highways and river routes converged through estates, camps, craft towns, warehouses, and ports across the royal heartland.

The city is already surrounding me, yet its walls remain distant. Greater Caeldor is not one settlement. It is an entire region organized around one center.

Fields narrowed as roads multiplied. Caravans formed moving chains below, while kiln smoke marked industrial districts beyond crowded homes.

The first defensive wall no longer defined the city. Later neighborhoods had swallowed it, leaving old towers embedded between shops, houses, guildhalls, and paved avenues.

Beyond that ring stood a broader wall with monumental gates. A newer outer defense enclosed the most vulnerable approaches while entire suburbs extended past its protection.

I am looking at history written in stone. Each ring marks the moment Caeldor outgrew an older answer and built another around it.

A wide river crossed the capital, dividing around fortified islands beneath bridges crowded with wagons, awnings, patrols, and pedestrians.

Cargo barges passed beneath swinging cranes. Fishing boats threaded between heavier vessels while customs towers watched every landing.

Spectacular how the river divides the city without separating it. Water carries food, stone, timber, people, and information through districts that roads alone could never support.

Slate roofs dominated older quarters. Red tile, copper domes, greenhouse glass, and pale towers caught Solara's light.

Noble estates occupied guarded terraces containing gardens, stables, training courts, and servants’ housing resembling small villages.

The royal palace crowned the highest rise. White terraces climbed through audience halls, archives, barracks, gardens, and silver-roofed administrative wings.

Crystalline ward anchors surrounded the restricted grounds, their surfaces flashing at regular intervals as invisible barrier lines passed between them.

From above, the palace looks less like one building than a fortified city raised above another. Descending anywhere near it would invite a royal investigation.

The academy occupied another elevated district. Seven towers rose above lecture halls, dormitories, libraries, greenhouses, and enclosed workshops.

A circular arena stood among reinforced fields. Covered bridges joined libraries and halls, while ward towers marked the outer boundary.

I cannot mistake the academy. Its grounds could contain Frostwood several times and still leave space for gardens.

Cassian slowed until the wind carried him in a silent circle.

I once saw cities built through concrete, engines, electricity, and steel. Caeldor rose through stone, rivers, beasts, mana, law, and thousands of years of answers Earth never needed.

I know six hundred fifty thousand people live inside the city proper, while more than a million occupy the greater region. Frostwood could disappear inside one district without changing its sound.

For several minutes, Cassian allowed himself to stare.

Sunlight shattered across the river. Bells crossed between towers, banners rolled above bridges, and the motion below never paused long enough to become one understandable pattern.

I thought knowledge would prepare me for scale. It did not prepare me for beauty, or for the humiliating relief of feeling small again.

Caution returned when he studied the overlapping distortions around the palace and academy wards.

Using Tomas's directions and the inn's gilded laurel sign, Cassian located the Crowned Laurel near the academy district before selecting a secluded service lane nearby.

He circled once, confirmed that no people or animals occupied the enclosed delivery court and that no active ward covered it, then descended behind high walls, laundry lines, and chimney smoke.

Adaptive Sunveil dissolved into pale threads. Wind Shell lowered every case without impact, then loosened into a passing breeze.

Cassian unfolded a compact two-wheeled travel frame from beneath his clothing case. He locked the case onto the upper frame, strapped both strongboxes beneath it, and drew a fitted canvas cover over the combined load. Concealed pressure control reduced its effective weight.

To anyone watching, he appeared to be a well-dressed boy pulling one unusually heavy travel trunk.

I enter Caeldor wearing clothes my family believes Tomas will purchase only after his southern circuit reaches Stagwatch. Even my first step into the capital begins inside a lie.

Cassian sighed.

End of Chapter 40