That sounded…stressful. Araya forced herself to nod, but she must not have done a good job hiding her anxiety because Jaxon stepped closer, cupping her face with gentle hands and brushing a chaste kiss over her lips.
“You’re allowed to touch anything here, Starling,” he said. “Even banned books. Now get dressed and come out and eat something. I know you must be starving, and we have a few logistics to go over—but after that, you’ll have the rest of the week to snoop through my things to your heart’s content.”
By the timeAraya emerged from the bedroom wearing one of her sensible dresses, Jaxon and his father had cleared the table of Jaxon’s clutter and set out a spread of dishes piled high with food. Despite her nerves, the rich scent of roasted meat and seasoned vegetables made Araya’s stomach rumble.
“... and then she actually tried to argue with me,” the High Magister said, shaking his head as he carved thick slices from the meat. “I had to remind her that mirrors simply reflect the chaos we create.”
Jaxon laughed. “I can just picture the look on your face.”
The High Magister chuckled, shaking his head as he passed Jaxon a dish of glazed carrots. “You know me, I’ve never been one for theatrics. But sometimes, it’s the only way they’ll listen?—”
Araya hovered at the edge of the room, feeling like an intruder on this warm familial scene. But Jaxon seemed to sense her there, glancing over his shoulder with a smile.
“Araya, come join us.” He set a full plate down at the empty place next to his. “I hope you’re hungry.”
His hand skimmed her leg as she sat, and Araya ached to lean into the barely there touch—but the High Magister’s gaze kept her spine rigid. She had embarrassed herself once in front of him today—she wouldn't do it again.
“Sir,” she murmured, inclining her head respectfully. “I apologize for earlier. I wasn’t expecting you.”
“This is your home now,” the High Magister said, arching an eyebrow. “I should be the one apologizing to you, Araya.”
“Please don’t,” Araya laughed weakly.Home—the word snagged in her chest, unexpected and too large for her to wrap her head around. She stared down at the table instead, wonderingly taking in the lavish spread.
“Where did all this come from?” she asked. “It looks delicious.”
“The Hearth.” Jaxon scooped up a bite of meat and potatoes. “We picked it up on our way back from the Aetherium. I don’t have any food here.”
“I noticed,” Araya said, smiling slightly despite her nerves.
“That would be my fault,” the High Magister sighed, shaking his head with a rueful smile. “It never occurred to me that the domestic arts would be Jaxon’s weakness?—”
Jaxon snorted. “I’m perfectly happy with this.” He stabbed another piece of meat. “What I don’t like is camp food. You should see what they’re serving the mages at Elvanfal?—”
The conversation flowed on around her until Araya finally relaxed enough to eat. The food was excellent—perfectly seasoned,juicy meat and crisp roasted vegetables. There was even a basket of fresh fruit—juicy and plump without a single bruise.
After a while, Jaxon set down his fork, groaning as he leaned back in his chair. “Gods, I’ve missed the Hearth.” He chuckled, slinging an arm across Araya’s shoulders. He stroked the skin along the collar of her dress, grinning when she blushed.
“Father and I had a long talk about what your role would be moving forward,” he said. “It’s clear to anyone who knows you that you’ve earned the freedom to expand your work—under my guidance, of course. You’ll have your own workshop, right alongside mine. No limitations.”
Araya’s hand paused over her plate, her fork hovering in midair as she stared at Jaxon. “That sounds… generous.”
Jaxon grinned—that familiar, wicked edge flashing just long enough to send a shiver down her spine. He reached into his pocket and produced a small, intricately carved amulet. He placed it gently in her palm, his fingers brushing against hers.
“Have you ever seen one of these before?” he asked.
Araya stared down at the Arcanum’s Eye amulet in her hand, wide-eyed. The black disk gleamed, the eye set into its surface shining gold. It buzzed in her hand, charged with magic that would give her access to—well, just about everything.
“Not in person,” she breathed.
The only fae she’d ever heard of carrying one of these were half-fae who allied with the Arcanum during the overthrow of the fae monarchy. For her to receive one as a three-quarters fae…it simply wasn’t done.
Araya swallowed back tears. “Thank you, Jaxon—and thank you, sir.”
Jaxon lifted the pendant from her palm. The delicate golden chain slithered through his fingers, gleaming in the firelight.
“Let me,” he said.
Araya’s breath caught as he gently brushed her braid to the side, the weight of the pendant settling against her collarbone as hefastened it around her neck. It settled against her skin, charged not only with magic, but with meaning.
