Chapter 61: The Devil’s Workshop
"She is... yours?"
Those three words sent Mia’s pupils dilating. But the man before her did not so much as flinch. If anything, his gaze turned faintly sharper, cool and assessing, almost... judgmental.
"She is my disciple, is she not?" He replied, and only then did Mia understand his words. He continued, "Your interference suggests I am incapable of guiding what is under my charge. I take it as an offense to my achievements."
He did not need to raise his voice.
Something beneath them, cold and coiled, pressed faintly against the room. Even the drifting petals beyond the open frame seemed to shrivel slightly.
"That was not my intention," Mia quickly replied, her composure faltering just a bit. "I meant no offense. In the Aquiline Quarter, it is customary for masters to assist one another. Though we take on our own disciples, we see no need to withhold guidance from the others. In truth, we regard them all as ours. I did not mean to offend you so, Lord Caelion."
Calhoun regarded her in silence.
For a fleeting moment, it seemed as though the very space between them had tightened.
"Be that as it may," he said at last, his voice quiet, yet edged with something far less forgiving, "my words remain."
Mia shifted in her seat, a subtle unease settling in her chest, though she could not quite name its source.
"So what brings you here?" Calhoun switched the topic, no longer lingering on the matter and instead, focused on the point of her visit.
"The Grand Arbiter has summoned all the masters for this evening," Mia replied, regaining her composure. "There is news... from the Veil of Aurelieth."
At that, Calhoun met her gaze, his attention sharpening.
"The three principal cores maintaining the veinlights balance..." she continued, her voice lowering, "have gone missing."
"All three cores?"
"Yes," she said. "I came to inform you of the gathering. Now that the cause has been identified, we may yet devise a means to restore the veinlight before further damage is done. The Grand Arbiter will explain further at the gathering."
A brief silence followed.
Outside, the last of the drifting petals passed through the open frame– unnoticed.
*****
The day waned, surrendering at last to the quiet hush of the night.
Beneath the flowering tree, with the basin before her, Kyva sat unmoving, save for the slow rise and fall of her breath. A fine sheen of perspiration gathered at her brows, but she did not falter.
Her master’s voice lingered in her memory, firm and exacting, but so did Lady Mia’s voice.
You are not him
Kyva exhaled slowly, her shoulders loosening at once. She might never be able to wield the power her master did, but that did not mean she must become a reflection of him. His teachings were a guide, not a mold.
She needed to make them her own.
The rigid structure she had clung to... the need to replicate, to perfectly mirror— she released it, piece by piece. In its place, she reached outward, not with control, but with quiet understanding.
A bead of sweat ran down her temple, tracing the line of her cheek before falling– and stopping.
Suspended in the air.
The surface of the basin quivered in answer, no longer uncertain, but rather responsive, as though recognizing something it had not before.
For the first time since she started practicing, Kyva felt it.
Her breath hitched at the sensation, but she dared not lose focus.
The water stirred and rose.
A thin, wavering stream lifted from the basin, suspended in the air like fragile glass, trembling yet whole. Kyva steadied her breathing, forcing the tension from her limbs, and in turn, the water steadied with her.
Move right...
It obeyed.
Move left...
A little further to the left...
Now back again—
It followed the faintest guidance of her will, as though attuned not to her command, but to her understanding of it.
Kyva stared at it, her disbelief softening, then unfolding into something brighter, a quiet triumph.
"...I did it," she breathed, the words trembling with a feeling she had long denied herself. The water faltered, and with a soft splash, it fell back into the basin, but it did not matter.
Kyva’s eyes lit with unrestrained joy.
"I really did it!"
She sprang to her feet, her hands lifting skyward in triumph, laughter almost breaking free from her chest.
"Master!"
Without another thought, she turned and hurried inside, her steps quick with excitement, as she was eager, at last, to share her victory.
So bright was her triumph that she forgot herself entirely.
Without knocking, she pushed through the door, and her steps halted.
Silence fell at once.
Calhoun stood with the faint glow of the lamplight tracing the sharp lines of his form. His robe hung loose upon his broad shoulders, carelessly fastened, leaving much of his torso bare, as though he had just finished bathing and had not yet seen reason to fully compose himself.
Droplets of water clung to his skin, catching the light like scattered crystal, whilst damp strands of pale hair clung lightly to his skin, trailing dangerously over the intricate markings that adorned him.
He turned fully at the intrusion.
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
Kyva froze where she stood, her earlier excitement scattering like startled birds, replaced instead with the sudden, flustered stillness she had not anticipated. Her gaze, traitorous as it was, flickered, then snapped up just as quickly.
"I–!" she began, only to falter.
Calhoun regarded her in silence, his expression unreadable, though there was a faint pause in his movement, as though her presence, unexpected as it was, had momentarily disrupted him.
Kyva was amazed.
He... had all that hidden behind robes?
Her thoughts stalled completely.
Such a face, paired with a muscular build like that, was just unfair.
Who were his parents?
She had thought she understood what "handsome" meant
Apparently she had not.
Calhoun’s stiff lips finally parted, but before he could speak, the door slammed shut in his face. Another silence followed, but it did not last, because from the other side of the door, Kyva’s voice rang out, rushed and mortified.
"Forgive me! please forgive me! I did not mean to barge in like that! I accept that this is my fault!"
Kyva’s mind raced.
Her words tumbled out in a panic, as though speaking faster might somehow undo what had already happened.
She nervously pressed a hand to her forehead.
What was she supposed to do now– run? Stay and apologize until she dissolved into the floor? How does one even recover from this?
This was the second time. The second time she had managed to entangle herself in a situation so thoroughly humiliating it bordered on fate.
She exhaled shakily, still staring at the door as though it might offer divine solution if she looked hard enough. Honestly, she should have known better than to let something as trivial as excitement override basic manners.
A moment later, the door opened.
Kyva immediately lowered her gaze, too mortified to meet his eyes. Even from her limited view, she could tell that he had not not corrected his appearance.
Of course he hadn’t.
Calhoun, however, was not bothered by his appearance.
If anything, there was only a quiet, confident acceptance, as though the situation held far less chaos in his mind than it did hers.
She was his mate.
To him, there was no reason to conceal himself from her gaze– not in a moment like this, not in any moment at all.
"You look distressed," he observed.
Kyva made a small, strangled sound and promptly averted her gaze, fixing it on the far corner of the corridor with such rigid determination, one might think it held the secrets of the universe.
"Uhm..." she began, "I don’t mean to suggest that you’re trying to show off, but you should wear your clothes properly before speaking to me."
Her eyes slid even further away, as if avoiding him required strategy.
"I already apologized for barging in," she continued. "So there is no need for you to step out like this. I think... one of us should at least have the decency to survive this awful situation properly."
The last sentence came out smaller, almost a mutter, but he heard it.
Calhoun merely blinked, a brief pause settling between them.
"Awful?" he repeated. "You find this... awful?"
Even when he stepped closer, Kyva stubbornly refused to look. She did not even try to peek. As much as Calhoun was confident in himself, her refusal to look scraped against his pride.
Most would have stared.
Most did stare.
But this woman was treating him like he was something she needed to endure.
"You entered my chamber without permission," he said calmly.
"I’m aware," she replied.
"And yet," he continued, "you act like you’re being subjected to something deeply unpleasant. Most would consider themselves fortunate."
Kyva pressed her lips together, unable to fathom why he sounded annoyed.
"...an idle mind becomes the devil’s workshop," she muttered.
And that earned a reaction.
Calhoun’s eyes widened, just slightly, but enough to betray the flicker of surprise that crossed his stoic demeanor.
This woman—
