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Chapter 21

IRIS

“Theon, I need to be doused .”

The guard shot me an exasperated look, flexing his fingers. “Working on reserves here.”

Dirt and gore coated every inch of us, and the front of my skirts were soaked in vomit. Returning to the lodge would raise too many questions, and under no circumstances could we arrive in the city in such a state. Roadside washing was our only option.

Water burst from his palms, drenching me instantly. I turned, letting my hair shield my back, then waved him on to repeat the process. Once I was fully dripping, and highly uncomfortable, I stepped into the carriage to change.

The battle had shattered both front wheels, leaving the carriage slumped at an angle. We’d propped several logs beneath it to lessen the dip, but each shift in my weight made it creak precariously.

I stripped off my sopping clothes, using any relatively clean sections to wipe away the last traces of grime from my face and body before wringing out my dripping hair. Forgoing the overstuffed trunk in the storage compartment, I rummaged through a smaller bag for a spare skirt, blouse, and bodice. As I dressed, I silently thanked my foresight to overpack—the extra garment concealed up to the top of my neck without the need for an overdress. Which was a relief, since I felt near suffocated already.

Vigilance, Iris.

I knew I was being paranoid.

The pink bodice practically had a collar, for Divine’s sake. The tattoo wouldn’t be visible through the thick material. Not a single inch of skin was exposed.

Always hidden. Always.

Pushing aside the nagging voice in my head, I twisted my wet hair into a single braid down my back. The headache pressing against my temples eased slightly, the itch to crawl from my own skin lessening now that the damp strands were secured. Running my hands along my back and shoulders, I reassured myself one last time before stepping back into the clearing.

“What in the five realms were those four on?” Theon was still shirtless when I returned, beads of water rolling down his muscular back. “I’ve never seen anything like that.”

“A pity Evreonis had already left. We could’ve offered him as a distraction,” Aspen deadpanned, kicking at one of the lifeless bodies.

I glared. “Nothing I’ve ever seen before.” I walked toward our attackers, now piled near the edge of the woods. Even in death, their presence emanated unease. Foreboding. I closed their eyes.

“If they ingested something—an illegal tincture or potion—it would have dissipated after they died.”

“It had to be something else,” Aspen murmured, attention locked on the corpses.

“Or something we haven’t discovered yet,” I countered, returning to the horses. We’d be fools to assume we knew all the possibilities of what it could be and deny how much remained unknown.

“Maybe a new unpromised faction?” Theon offered. “There hasn’t been much activity lately outside of the Shades and the Keywardens, and there isn’t any strife that I know of with either. But it’s never out of the question.”

“The brand wasn’t one I recognized,” I said. “Plenty of guilds take jobs similar to the shades, and the Keywardens aren’t antagonistic. They just have their own allegiances and code. It could be related to any number of them.”

“Your hair is different.”

Aspen’s voice was measured, but the way he stared made me uneasy. It wasn’t confusion—more like unnerving observation. The inquisition made me want to move, but I refused to give him the satisfaction.

“Very astute,” I kept my expression neutral.

Theon, meanwhile, had started shoving as many of our belongings as he could into several saddle bags, likely enchanted for extra depth given how easily he stuffed an entire evening gown into one.

I added the pouches to the mental tally I’d unknowingly started since arriving in Kacidon. Old habits from life on the road told me the sheer cost of the enchanted items we’d used on this trip alone far exceeded what the Raven’s Grove made in a year.

“You don’t wear it like that,” Aspen pressed, arms crossed.

“Not often.”

“You’re still bleeding.”

I reached up to the gash on my cheek, confirming his observation when my fingers came away tinged red.

His hand lifted, but I turned before he could touch me.

“Someone should give you a medal for your observational skills, Gavalon.”

His eyes bore into the back of my neck. I fought the urge to check my corset again.

“It should be healed by now,” he continued. “It will scar.”

I busied myself with refastening my belt. “I don’t mind.”

Theon, arms crossed over his bare chest, gave me a reproachful look.

I couldn’t place why I was avoiding Aspen’s healing, and I wasn’t about to examine it further. Weariness still clung to my muscles, my body aching from the power I’d wielded.

The surging pulse through my veins was new. Not the hollow exhaustion that followed manually draining my essence, nor the mild depletion that came with simple Threading or using a mental connection. This was something else. Something more… contradictory. Depletion and invigoration at once.

It hadn’t been like this before I stopped using it. Even when I was still training…

No use pondering it now.

My hand brushed over the white mare’s coat as Theon secured the last of our gear, fastening makeshift reins for each horse. I reached into her mind gently.

I am sorry you had to see that.

Her chest rose and fell in a deep exhale.

We are pleased the three of you are unharmed , she responded. Their fate was deserved .

Will you be all right carrying us?

We’re trained for all. She shook her mane in a show of pride.

“It could become infected.” Aspen’s low voice interrupted my focus. He was frustratingly adamant.

“I cleaned it.” Anger simmered.

“We cannot show up to the palace in such a state.”

There was his reasoning. Vanity.

Except, I'd made that same observation about our clothes.

Not examining it further.

“Fine,” I relented, chin jutting as I stalked toward him. “If it will make you all look better, then fix it.”

Not tempering the irritation felt good, even if it was irrational. To just, feel something.

His brow furrowed, but he didn’t comment. Instead, he reached forward, swiping a thumb over the cut. Warmth spread across my skin as the wound stitched itself together—reminiscent of a ray of sun beating down on an upturned face.

“Happy?” I asked, my voice dripping contempt.

“Yes.”

He looked it, too. Smug.

I turned away before I had another urge to do something I’d regret.

I headed back to Theon as he finished pulling on a tunic. Both horses had calmed, beginning to settle after the commotion.

“Is there no way to mend the carriage?” I asked, fingers along the snow-white fur.

“Is your essence depleted?” Theon tugged at the saddlebag, tightening the straps before fastening the tie.

“Pardon?” I asked, fighting not to let the edge back into my voice.

“I assume you are close to depletion.” He shrugged, gesturing toward the splintered remains of the front wheels. “If you aren’t offering to repair them or craft new ones. That is something a Threader is capable of, correct? Barriers are most common, but you can make and mend just about anything physical with those things, right? Rumor is Solyndra has entire buildings fortified with them. Though I’ve never heard of someone using them like you did.”

No judgement or condescension laced Theon’s words. He didn’t seem to have a propensity for it. Exasperation? Surely. But never judgement. He was spectacularly neutral. I'd be shocked if he cared at all about power levels. “You’re correct on all fronts.”

Not entirely true—I could still feel essence flooding my veins—but the strange unrest writhing within it made wielding again unwise. It felt out of my grasp, an intruder I had no authority over. Now was not the time for experimentation. And I was happy to let them believe this was my limit.

“Then the horses are our only option.”

I hiked my skirt, the laces of my knee-high boots peeking out as I prepared to mount the horse.

“Oh no,” Theon laughed, his face lighting up. “You’re with the prince. The betrothed cannot arrive on a horse with someone other than him.”

The betrothed. The reminder of the arrangement—of our roles here—rankled.

The prince held out a hand, gesturing to the mare at his side. He radiated smugness. “Can you ride?”

“Well enough,” Gathering my skirts in one hand, I stepped up to the large steed—much taller than any I’d mounted before. After assessing it for several moments, I prepared to hoist my torso over its back when a block of ice appeared at my feet. Testing its stability, I shifted my weight. Slick, but not perilously so. The advantage it gave me was enough to haul my other leg over, settling comfortably.

I leaned forward, whispering to the steed as Aspen hoisted himself up behind me.

“Her name is Arilline.”

Straightening, I became acutely aware of his presence behind me. I put gentle pressure through my thighs, urging her forward.

“And thank you,” I added.

“Do you do that with every animal?” Aspen asked.

“Every living being deserves an identity.”

It took time to adjust to the ride, my muscles still aching from the attack and subsequent magic use. I fought to remain upright—the horses were still dressed for pulling the carriage, not riding, and the lack of a saddle required more focus.

“You’re a Threader,” Aspen said after a while, his arm brushing my ribs as he held the leather Theon had fit for reins.

“Again, so astute.”

“You never said anything.”

“What reason would I have?” Even among those I trusted, I rarely shared such things—Aspen had been no exception. He was no open book either. I’d poked and prodded, hoping to make sense of him, to little avail.

“It seems like something I should know.”

“Why?” I scoffed, bracing myself as a sudden shift in pace threw me off balance. “Because I’m worth your time now that you know I have more than a single Goddess blessing?”

“I do not hold those ideals,” he snapped.

“That’s not what I’ve heard.”

“My parents’ sins are not my own.”

I shifted, weighing his words. I’d been quick to judge—not just him, but all of Kacidon. “You could be rich beyond belief as a Threader in Solyndra.” I stiffened at Aspen’s mention of the realm. “Yet you choose to be an Apothecary.”

“My work is not unimportant simply because you refuse to see its value.”

“I know just how impactful it can be,” Aspen ground out.

“You have more skill with a blade than I’d expect for an Apothecary,” Theon chimed in. “Not nearly combat ready, but sufficient.”

“Impeccable aim too,” Aspen grumbled.

“Altaerra isn’t always a kind place,” I said.

Hand-to-hand combat was never my first choice, even when I’d trained at the palace. But sometimes it was the only one.

“I didn’t expect that level of training. Especially in your line of work,” Theon shrugged.

“One doesn’t usually question a woman’s occupation before deciding to strike.”

Aspen’s knuckles paled on the reins.

“May your aim remain true, then,” Theon said quietly.

“Speaking of powers,” I said, hoping to change the subject, “are you two going to enlighten me with yours? Since we’re sharing and all?”

“One-talent wonder over here,” Theon called from his horse, sending a spray of water in my direction.

Suddenly, I felt like an absolute ass for mentioning the old war and what it had meant.

“And you sure do like to use it.” I rolled my eyes, wiping the moisture from my cheek.

He chuckled, flicking a few more droplets at me.

“You’ve seen them,” Aspen said, just as another jolt in pace sent me slipping from my seat. “Frostmancer. Medikai.”

His voice didn’t waver, no shift in tone, even as his arm pressed against my stomach, pulling me back firmly to prevent me from falling.

I inhaled sharply, the motion forcing us even closer together.

“And yours?” he asked. “What all can you create with those things?”

“My Threading is not of much consequence,” I lied easily. “That’s pretty much the extent of it. Hence why we are currently not inside the carriage. But skilled Threaders can do what you mentioned, Theon. Weaving and unweaving barriers, stitching together unbreakable weapons, reinforcing infrastructure. If they can create and understand the pattern and control the Threads, it will solidify into existence.”

“Like those golden ropes you used?”

“If it’s necessary.”

“That seems endless,” Theon said. “So, you’re an Arcanist and a Scriptor?”

I nodded tightly.

“I’ve always wondered how that felt,” he mused. “Temperi magic is about manipulating what’s around you—what you can feel in the atmosphere, at least for Elementalists. It’s everywhere. I’m aware of every drop of water, every ounce of humidity in the air, waiting for my command. I haven’t met many Ethera outside of that classification.”

My hands tightened on the harness I’d been holding onto, the conversation about our magic nearly drawing mine to the surface. Millions of tiny pinpricks, trying to push through the layers of skin.

“Makes me curious what it feels like for the others.”

It hurts , I didn’t say aloud.

Temperi magic was similar to Scriptor magic, interacting with the outside world. Whether it was the manipulation of what existed, or the bridge built for communication—the magic directed external. Arcanists and Innatus pulled from within. Harnessed raw essence to create or withdrew another form to transform into.

Always internal.

All magic came from our essence, only the manifestation differed.

Did that external magic burn too? Did it beg to rip you apart from within?

The ride began to smooth as we reached the city proper, dirt roads giving way to paved pathways. I let my hands relax, only to accidentally brush against Aspen’s where he still held me.

He stiffened immediately, pulling away.

I hated acknowledging the accompanying sting. Instead, I focused on the bustling streets ahead.

The winding roads of Marikaim were alive with early morning activity—vendors manning market stalls overflowing with fresh goods. Aromatic spices filled the air, wafting from booths adorned in deep jewel tones accented with gold. Buildings and residences were crammed together, so tightly packed they might as well be stacked atop one another.

Rivers rushed beneath us as we crossed a gilded bridge, finally beginning the spiral descent to the outermost portion of the capital city.

Cionaxus was the pinnacle of the elemental spectacle of Marikaim. Smooth stone spires soared into the clouds, bridges arched between cobblestone streets, and lively entertainers and vendors filled the winding roads. Water to flowed directly through homes, their framework built for such an integration.

“It is my duty to remind you two,” skepticism laced Theon’s tone, “that from here on out, you are to be the picture of pleasantry—a budding alliance and hopeful companionship.”

Even I wasn’t sure what to make of the string pulled taut between Aspen and me—the constant ebb and flow between playful banter and grating irritation.

“Noted,” Aspen ground out. I felt him straighten even further behind me.

As the road evened out, the roaring of water grew deafening.

The cause became clear when we reached the gates of Tidemoor Keep.

The palace was breathtaking, the familiar elegance of Marikaim architecture rendered in sweeping arcs, occasionally meeting in sharp points. Gold lined the edges, etched with runes in ancient languages.

And the entirety of the grounds—from the ornate front gates to the sprawling bridges connecting the wings, to the high watchtowers—was built atop a massive waterfall.