As Cassius toyed with the idea of simply tilting the bowl and pouring the entire contents back onto Isaac's lap, because clearly this must have been the young man's brilliant revenge plot.
He found himself robbed of the opportunity as a cluster of maids, drawn in by curiosity and the hope of greeting the newcomer, drifted toward their table like a flock of brightly chattering birds. They set their plates down beside theirs with the kind of warm, innocent smiles that could only exist in people who had absolutely no idea how close they were to danger.
"You must be Cassandra," said one of them— Mires, if Cassius remembered correctly from Isaac's earlier warnings before entering the dining table. She leaned in with the eagerness of someone meeting a long awaited treasure. "We've heard so much about you, but we never actually got to see you! So we thought maybe you were some kind of fairy."
Cassius stared at her, an eyebrow slowly arching. A fairy. Fairy?
