Marrying a Warhound (Cassian) novel Chapter 164

Chapter 164

ATASHA’S POV

“My lady, it was just as you expected. Lady Kenneth’s maid sent a letter as soon as they reached the guest house,” Grace reported.

I pressed a clump of damp soil around the base of a thin, blue–veined stalk, the dirt cool and grainy between my fingers. The greenhouse behind the infirmary was heavy with warmth, glass panes fogged at the corners, wooden benches crowded with trays, and the air thick with the scent of wet earth and crushed leaves. It was the kind of place where time slowed, where even the faint drip of water from the pots seemed loud.

“Good,” I said, adjusting the stalk until it stood straight. “It would have been disappointing if she hadn’t.“Grace set a wooden crate on the bench beside me. “It seems that showing your ability worked.”

“It did what it needed to,” I answered, loosening the roots of a frostbane cutting and easing it into a clay pot. Frostbane looked fragile with pale stems and translucent leaves, but boiled low it pulled smoke from lungs and soothed the throat. “If she writes to the capital, they’ll focus on me. That’s the point.”

Grace watched my hands for a moment. “You’re certain the attention won’t turn ugly?”

“It might,” I said, tapping soil until the cutting held straight. “But the alternative is worse.”

I reached for a bundle of ironleaf, a tough, gray–green, serrated edges that stained the fingers. Dried and ground, it stopped bleeding faster than any cloth. I trimmed the lower leaves with a small knife, set the cutting, and pressed it firm. The work steadied my head in a way the ride back hadn’t.

In the kingdom, fear and respect didn’t always follow strength. Everyone bowed to the Alpha King because he kept food moving and walls repaired. Generosity made rule last.

Yet, the strongest man in the realm was not the King. It was Cassian. Everyone knew it, even if they didn’t say it. But strength without a leash scared people. His curse had been that leash for years. With it broken, the last thing we needed was eyes turning toward him and asking how, and why, and who had touched the knot that held him back.

I had made the testing worse by acting on impulse. I’d tied my choices to him through the bond and then announced myself to an enemy who was looking for a reason to doubt the North. If I was going to be the storm they talked about, then I would stand in front of it.

I slid a flat stick into the pot and wrote in charcoal: ironleaf A3. Grace took it and set it on the back rack with the others.

“Any names from the mine, from the men you healed?” she asked.

“Mendez will have them by noon,” I said. “Send broth to their families either way. Let them see we follow through.”

Grace nodded and opened the crate. Inside were clumps of dusk nettle bound in twine, roots still damp.

Dusk nettle was ugly, dark purple stems with fine hairs that burned the skin if you weren’t careful. Boiled with milk and a bit of ashroot it slowed poison long enough for a second dose of salve to work. I pulled on thin

linen wraps, broke one clump into three, and set each into fresh soil. The tiny hairs brushed my wrist and prickled. I ignored it.

“You wanted Lady Kenneth to send those letters,” Grace said, voice low. “You were counting on it.”

I dragged Cassian into this the moment I accepted the bond and opened my mouth in public. I wouldn’t do it again. Let them talk about me, the healer who wasn’t a witch. Let them argue, accuse, and dissect my motives. They could do that all they wanted. Cassian would stay untouched, unchallenged.

That was all that mattered.

I was wiping my hands on a cloth when the door opened, letting in a rush of cold air and the faint echo of footsteps from the corridor. One of the servants stepped inside, her head bowed.

“Your Highness,” she said, a little breathless, “Sister Veris is here to see you.”

I paused, the cloth still in my hands. Sister Veris. That name hadn’t passed my ears in months. “Now?”

“Yes, my lady. She’s waiting by the entrance hall.”

Of course she was. Veris never waited anywhere quietly–if she was here, it meant something had happened, or she wanted something she didn’t trust to a letter.

I nodded and set the cloth down. “Tell her I’ll be there shortly.”