Chapter 2: Dinner with Mistress
"Is this okay, Mistress?" The pixy, Bliss, chirped into Elara’s ear. A flutter of images asking about the wrongness of the bond below passed through the bond.
“It’s not wrong, Bliss.” Elara murmured aloud, her voice a low whisper carried by the dawn breeze. “It’s inverted. Unprecedented, but not wrong.” She watched as the imp patiently guided the boy to his feet, unwinding her tail from his throat. "It wasn't usurped by her. He willingly gave her control. That's the only way such a thing is possible. It's unprecedented because, as you well know, the familiar knows to expect subordination and accepts it before even arriving. It's their choice to allow themselves to be summoned. The magic binds the familiar to the contract and consent is given by both parties to finalize the binding. But in the freedom of that consent, they seem to have found a loophole. They reversed the subordination. Most interesting, indeed. I'll need to research this further."
The pixy frowned. It was unnatural. She liked being her mistress’s familiar and couldn't imagine being the one who had to make the decisions. This was simply the way things were done. This whole situation bothered her down to her fae core.
The walk from the amphitheater to the main citadel felt both endless and instantaneous. Cedric was aware of every sideways glance, every whispered comment that trailed in their wake like a bad smell. Vexia, however, sauntered beside him, her tail now a relaxed coil around his wrist, her small boots clicking a satisfied rhythm on the flagstones.
“Stop slouching, pet.” she said, not unkindly. “They’re only staring because you’re interesting to them. That’s better than being invisible. I, for one, am proud to be seen with you.”
He tried to straighten his spine. The weight of the bond was a tangible thing in his chest, a warm, humming tether that felt less like a chain and more like an anchor. For the first time since arriving at Lachrim Arcanum, the ever-present buzz of his own anxiety was muted, dampened beneath her quiet, imposing presence. He was tired, a deep ache in his bones from the massive mana expenditure, and his stomach growled loudly in the quiet corridor.
Vexia chuckled, the sound like dry leaves. “I hear that. Your realm’s food had better be worth the hype. Ash-baked grubs lose their appeal after a decade or two.”
The dining hall was a vaulted cavern of noise and light. Long tables of dark oak ran its length, crowded with students in robes of various hues. Enchanted platters floated down the aisles, and the air was thick with the smells of roast meat, fresh bread, and the faint ozone of minor culinary magics. Cedric’s usual routine involved grabbing the nearest, cheapest option and vanishing into a corner.
That wasn’t an option anymore.
Vexia hopped onto an empty bench at a table near the back. “Right. You’re depleted. We need meat, some bread, something green.” Her amber eyes scanned the floating dishes with a critic’s intensity. “That one. The roast with the red glaze. And three of those honeyed rolls. Not that gray porridge; it looks awful.”
Cedric fetched the heavy, steaming plates, balancing them awkwardly. He returned to find Vexia directing him to place them before her. She didn’t touch the food yet, instead watching him expectantly. “My turn!” she said, nodding toward the bustling service line. “I want the pink fish in the citrus sauce. And a bowl of the berries with the cream. And a… what is that, a chocolate tart? Two of those.”
He assembled her feast, the plates weighing down his arms. When he returned, she had already pulled his plate closer and was slicing his meat with a precise, practiced hand. The sight was so domestic and so bizarre he just stood there, holding her dishes.“Sit, sit.” she commanded, not looking up. “You need to eat before you fall over. You need energy so you can make lots of warm, powerful mana, for me.” she said looking conspicuously at his groin. He followed her gaze, confusion clear on his face.
He slid onto the bench opposite her. The food smelled incredible. He realized he’d never actually taken the time to taste any of it before. He was about to dig in when a cold dread slithered into his gut. He put his fork down.
“What’s the matter?” Vexia asked, spearing a berry. “The meat’s perfectly tender. “The… the payment runes....” Cedric mumbled, staring at the table. Each plate had a small, glowing sigil etched into its base, tallying the cost. “It’s automatic. They bill your student account at the end of the week.”
“So?”
“So my account has about three silver thrones in it.” His face burned. “That’s supposed to last me the term. This meal alone is probably five.” He gestured weakly at the spread. “I’m here on a merit scholarship. My family are… they’re farmers.”
Vexia stared at him for a long moment, her head tilted. Then, to his shock, she laughed—a rich, genuine sound that turned a few nearby heads. She reached out and patted his hand where it lay clenched on the table. “Oh, pet. You really are new at this, aren’t you?” She leaned back, her tail snaking around to a small, seemingly empty pouch at her hip. “Did you think I planned to live off your peasant allowance? I'm a mage in my own rite. You belong to me now. You're my responsibility and I mean to see that you are taken care of. Now don't worry about our finances. That's my concern, now.”
Her fingers dipped into the pouch and emerged with two coins. They were heavy, made of a dull, ancient-looking silver, and stamped with the profile of a beautiful, stern-faced demoness. She tossed them onto the table between them with a solid clink.
“Demonic realm currency,” she said casually, picking up her fish. “It’s mostly bullion-based. The exchange rate in your markets is very favorable. One of these should be worth ten to fifteen of your small silvers. Now Eat.”
A wave of dizzying relief washed over him, followed by a deeper, more unsettling awe. He picked up one of the coins. It was cold and oddly heavy, even for its size. “You just… carry these?”
“I came prepared for a long stay. I'm just glad you didn't dominate me and take it all for yourself. I was afraid I wouldn't get to indulge.” she said around a mouthful of food, her eyes closing in momentary bliss. “Oh, stars above. That’s good. The sour-sweet balance is exquisite. This is the reason I answered your summoning. I felt your gentle spirit call and I thought, this is a soul that would pamper me, the way I deserve. I'm sorry, Cedric, Im so glad you turned out to be such a softy.” she moand in delight as she took another bite of her meal.
Cedric finally took a bite of his own food. It was incredible. He ate with the single-minded focus of the starving, the flavors exploding on his tongue, the energy seeping back into his weary muscles. For a few minutes, there was only the simple, profound pleasure of sustenance.It was shattered by a familiar, honeyed voice dripping with faux sympathy.
“Aw, look at the little housekeeper. Feeding her master. How… quaint.” Samantha Hinkley stood at the head of their table, flanked by two of her usual friends. She’d changed out of her summoning robes into something more form-fitting, her blonde hair a perfect cascade. Her eyes, however, were fixed on the two demonic coins beside Cedric’s plate. “Demonic scrip?” she said, her smirk not reaching her eyes. “Trading with interplanar entities for goods and services. That’s a mid-level ethics violation, Thornwood. At least.”
Vexia didn’t look up from her chocolate tart. “Its my share of the dinner tab, not an alchemical drug deal. Are you the campus coin police, or are you just stalking us?”
Samantha’s composure flickered. “I’m a student in good standing. I have a duty to report violations.” Her gaze slid to Cedric. “Especially when they involve easily-influenced first-years and their… clever imps.”
Cedric felt the old panic rise, the urge to stammer an apology, to defer. But then he felt it—a slow, warm pulse through the bond.Not a command, just a reminder of its presence.He swallowed his bite of roll.
“The bond was approved by Professor Grisham.” he said, his voice quieter than hers but steady. “My f-finances are my concern. Is there s-something else you need, Ms. Hinkley?”
Samantha’s friends exchanged surprised glances.Samantha herself blinked, thrown by his directness. Her gaze lingered on him, on the way he sat a little straighter, on the defiant, protected light in his hazel eyes that hadn’t been there that morning.
The look that followed was complex, a messy tangle of anger, frustration, and something raw that Cedric couldn’t name. Her cheeks flushed again.
“You’re going to regret this,” she said, the words lacking their usual venomous punch.They sounded almost like a plea. “When she gets bored and consumes your soul, don’t come crying to the rest of us.”
She turned on her heel and strode away, her friends scrambling to follow. Vexia finally looked up, licking chocolate from one of her long canines.
“She’s wrong, you know,” Vexia said conversationally, pushing her empty plate away.“I have no interest in your soul. It’s messy and full of angst.” She stood on the bench, leaning over the table toward him, her crimson face inches from his.“Your power, though?That’s a different story. And you have so much of it just… leaking everywhere.”
She reached out and tapped a single, cool finger against his sternum. A tiny, almost imperceptible spark of energy transferred from him to her.It felt like the gentlest tug, a sip from a shared drink.
Cedric’s breath hitched.It wasn’t painful.It was shockingly intimate.
“We’ll need to work on your control,” she murmured, her amber eyes holding his. “All that strength, with no discipline. It’s wasteful.” She hopped down, her tail re-coiling around his wrist.“Come on.You need rest. Our room awaits.”
He followed, the coins heavy in his pocket, her touch a brand on his skin, and the eyes of the dining hall following them out.For the first time, the weight of their stares didn’t feel like judgment. It felt like a confirmation.He was seen.He was claimed. And as terrifying as that should have been, walking beside the small, impossible creature whose will now shaped his world, Cedric Thornwood felt, unmistakably, alive.