A folded throw blanket draped over a nearby ottoman caught her eye, and she gently shook it open, the soft fabric smelling faintly of cedar and parchment. She laid it over him with the lightest touch she could manage, allowing herself just one moment to study his face without his knowledge. Sleep had stripped years from him. The perpetual tension in his jaw had released, and his dark eyelashes rested against his cheeks without the accompanying glare. A lock of black hair had fallen across his forehead, making him look almost boyish.
"You should try this relaxed look more often," she murmured. It suits you. Her stomach growled, reminding her that magical recovery required fuel. She slipped from the room, surprised when the usually creaky floorboards fell silent beneath her feet. The house was helping her let Cassian sleep. Mirelle's doing no doubt. Thanks, she whispered to the empty air, running her fingers along the wallpaper. The house seemed to shiver pleasantly in response. As Jake moved through the hallway, she noticed the framed photographs along the walls subtly shifting, their angles adjusting to follow her movement.
Generations of Blackmore stared back with the same stormy eyes and serious expressions. Not a smile among them, though one young boy, perhaps Thornne as a child, appeared to be suppressing a grin in what looked like a formal graduation photo. "Was he always so serious?" she asked. A particularly sternlooking portrait of an older woman with a silver streaked bun. The portrait didn't answer, but the frame tilted slightly as if in consideration. The kitchen welcomed her with a gentle brightening of the enchanted light fixtures. Bram the teapot sat waiting on the counter, its spout lifting in recognition as she entered.
"Good morning," she whispered conspiratorally. "Any chance you'd help me make some breakfast without waking our grumpy host." Bram rocked enthusiastically back and forth, then hopped to the edge of the counter and whistled softly, like magic. Well, literally magic. The kitchen came to life. Cupboards eased open without their usual creek. A measuring cup tiptoed across the counter to the flower bin, and eggs rolled gently from their basket into a waiting bowl. You're much more cooperative than the kettle at Madame Olstrms, Liora told Bram, brushing her finger affectionately across its porcelain side.
That one used to wait until I was half asleep, then scream like a banshee. Bram shuddered sympathetically, releasing a small puff of steam. While the enchanted kitchen wear prepared breakfast, Liora leaned against the counter, watching the choreographed dance of utensils and ingredients. A mixing bowl spun in lazy circles while a whisk beat eggs with remarkable precision. A pad of butter slid itself into a warming skillet, spreading evenly across the surface. You know, she confided to a particularly enthusiastic spatula. I've stayed in 17 different homes since I was first summoned.
Not one of them had such helpful kitchen wear. Most were either hostile or completely indifferent. The spatula flipped with what seemed like pride, and Bram whistled cheerfully. As Liora waited for the kettle to boil, her attention drifted to a narrow door in the corner of the kitchen. She frowned. Had that always been there? The door seemed to shimmer slightly, visible only when she looked at it from certain angles, as though it existed in multiple places at once. "That's new," she murmured, moving closer. As she approached, the door emanated a faint sense of resistance, a gentle magical pressure warning her away.
But after a moment's hesitation, the resistance shifted to reluctant acceptance, and the door swung open with the softest of creeks, revealing a narrow staircase, climbing upward into darkness. "Well, that's not ominous at all," she said, peering up into the gloom. A faint light flickered to life at the top of the stairs, illuminating worn wooden steps. "Mirelle, is this okay?" The house didn't exactly answer, but the light at the top of the stairs brightened encouragingly. Liora glanced back at Bram and the breakfast preparations. Watch the food.
I'll be back in a bit. The teapot rocked in acknowledgement, and Liora began climbing the stairs, her fingers trailing along the wall for balance. The wood creaked beneath her feet, each step sending up tiny puffs of dust that sparkled in the magical light. At the top of the stairs, Liora found herself in a sprawling attic space, utterly unlike the orderly rooms below. While Cassian's living quarters were meticulously organized, the attic was a chaotic jumble of magical artifacts. Furniture draped in sheets and stacks of books reaching nearly to the rafters.
Dust moes danced in shafts of morning light streaming through small round windows. Now this," she whispered, stepping carefully between teetering towers of boxes, feels more like a real wizard's home. The space was a treasure trove of magical curiosities, childhood spell components in labeled jars, training wands with scorch marks and worn grips, academic awards gathering dust on shelves. A display case held what appeared to be family heirlooms draped in fading preservation charms, jewelry, pocket watches, and ceremonial daggers whose enchantments had grown sleepy with age. Liora moved carefully through the space, touching objects eyes and pressed a small package wrapped in parchment and tied with twine into Liora's hands.
Special connection scones, just in case you want to keep what the magic started. No pressure, her eyes gleamed mischievously. Much pressure. The perfect amount of pressure. You're impossible, Liora muttered, but tucked the package into her bag alongside the now quiet journal. You wouldn't have me any other way, Briar replied cheerfully, then gave her another flower dusted hug before releasing her. The walk home was quiet, but not uncomfortably so. The spring air was fragrant with early blossoms, and the morning's tension had dissolved into something almost like companionship.
The harmony lantern bramble had sneakily slipped into Liora's bag glowed a soft rose gold. "Well," Liora finally broke the silence. "That was an experience. Sorry about the bedding pool," Elwin started on whether we'll stay bonded. She glanced sideways at Cassian with a grin. I put money on. Yes, by the way, so don't disappoint me. I noticed, Cassian replied dryly. And sorry about Bram's detailed commentary on your magnificent scowlling technique. Though he's not wrong. You do have impressive scowl range, from mildly inconvenienced all the way to might summon a thunderstorm indoors.
The teapot was the least of my concerns. Was it the background enchantment that made romantic music swell whenever we made eye contact? Because that was definitely Briar. I saw her casting it behind the pastry case. To her complete shock, Cassian actually chuckled. A brief rusty sound as if from disuse. Your friends are exactly as overwhelming as you are. Liora grinned up at him, feeling the sigil's dark energy recede further in the warmth of the moment. I'm taking that as a compliment, Archavist Blackmore. The rose gold glow of the lantern in her bag intensified slightly.