Until Cassian got his hands on the Himura demigod’s blood and took care of Ruelle, it was best not to get involved with Finnian. And if he needed another rational excuse, he reminded himself of how he’d formed a bargain with Mira to curse Naia. Something Finnian would unlikely approve of.
Yet, despite these logical reasons, Cassian coasted through his garden in the late hours of the night. He brushed past the night embers and Black Barlow and burgundy hollyhocks, down the rows of lemon trees and the flourishing mint at their roots. Nuzzled in the back, beyond the blossoms and greenery, was vacant land, surrounded by an iron fence.
Cassian sat on a stone bench at the edge of the emptiness and daydreamed of the magical plants that could fill it. With little knowledge of plants and herbs for potion ingredients, he instructed Mavros to gather information.
“Sage, mandrakes, rosemary, valerian,” Nathaira listed off, her tone inquisitive. “Are you positive about this?”
“Certainly.” Cassian stood next to her, looking out at the barren soil. “The basic plants for a mage. And a small stream here.” He pointed ahead, drawing a curved outline in the air with his finger.
He stepped back, assessing which tree would fill the space best. “How about making it flow between a coppice of hawthorn? The blossoms will be a lovely addition, don’t you think?”
Nathaira’s delayed reply made him look back, catching her exchanging a glance with Shivani beside him.
Shivani pursed her lips, which failed to suppress her grin.
“Yes, my lord, right away,” Nathaira said.
He fidgeted with his thumb and index finger inside the pocket of his slacks. “Is there anything else you think would provide usefulness?”
Nathaira’s arms gently rose and her fingers danced in a fluid movement. Tiny green stems budded from the dirt in a neat row along the fence. “Hemlock and passionflower. I also hear buckthorn and monkshood are common ingredients that mages forage.”
Shivani strolled over to the stems curling like fingernails up from the ground and squatted down to ogle at them like a child in awe.
Cassian nodded. “Add that in as well.”
“And what shall we call this area of the garden?” Nathaira’s arms remained lifted as she looked over at him.
His mouth curved up into half a smile. “Finnian’s Grove.”
A scowl burdenedCassian’s lips as his foot touched down on the solid ground of his realm. While he welcomed any excuse to end a Council meeting early, worry dampened the skin of his palms. Acacius had not shown, and when Iliana informed them of the war, his insides kneaded with dread.
“My lord.” Mavros appeared at his side, the gust of his presence rippling through the tall stalks of lavender. He fell into step alongside Cassian.
Fresh spirits backed up along the shallow edge of the River of Souls. They climbed out along the bank, stretching across the field and intertwining with the River of Eden, something that happened when the water’s population grew too dense. Cassianrarely witnessed the sight—except during the grim periods of mass killing within the Mortal Land.
The Errai dotted the bank, guiding souls from the water.
Nathaira was kneeling in front of a group of children, all sniveling and weeping. “You are safe now. No need to cry.” She wiped their damp faces with the back of her fingers.
“I lost my mommy,” a little girl cried, burying her face in her hands. “Theboomseparated us.”
“How about we go search for her?” Nathaira tucked a strand of the child’s amber hair behind her ear.
She brought her tear-filled eyes up from her palms to the goddess and nodded pitifully.
Nathaira smiled, taking her by the hand. “Let us go.”
Cassian surveyed the number of souls. “Mavros,” he said in a demanding tone.
“The Mortal Land is at war, as you are probably aware of by now,” Mavros explained. “These are all casualties of a recent attack.”
In his five-thousand years, war had become familiar to him. Among gods, mortals, mages. He had grown desensitized to it all. Death was tragic and gory within the art of war, but in the end, death was still death. However, when the waves of war claimed innocent lives—especially children—it triggered a pang in his chest.
“Acacius.” He cursed his little brother’s name. Just as peace was required to exist in the world, so was chaos. Cassian could recall Acacius mentioning at previous Council meetings that Chaos would unfold soon. He now regretted paying little attention when Acacius spoke, too occupied by thoughts of Finnian.
Cassian swallowed the nausea clawing up his throat, his mind already sprinting to problem solve. “I will go assist those at the front gates myself,” he told Mavros. “Assist the Errai here.”
“Understood, my lord.”
