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Chapter 22

IRIS

The arching, elegant Marikaim architecture we’d admired at the Wisteria Lodge was even more pronounced here, the opalescent walls shimmering like the inside of an oyster.

After reviewing our formal summons and verifying the Driftwyrm crest emblazoning the letter, a stocky blonde guard escorted us to a smaller library within Tidemoor Keep. The quaint room was full of open windows, the salty breeze from the nearby Cerulean Sea wafting in, while rows of enchanted flames crackled along the walls. Though our primary goal in Marikaim was to gain access to the Etheran Archives, we would likely have to undergo significant bargaining before being granted entry.

The library shelves brimmed with fictional tomes—grand tales of epic adventure and romantic fables. The sight immediately reminded me of simpler days, when Nadya and I would exchange weathered books each time we met, discussing which far-off place we would call home if we had the choice. There was something uniquely magical about sharing stories—fictional lands becoming a haven for unspoken dreams. It was as if novels had been crafted specifically as an oasis for daydreamers.

Unsure of how long we’d be waiting for our meeting with the queen, I perused the shelves for something to pass the time. My fingers skimmed over several spines before stopping on a butter-yellow cover, the brown lettering faded with age. I knew the story well—a young immortal who fought tirelessly to make a name for herself in a long-forgotten land, seeking peace and serenity after a life spent in peril. She had found love, only to lose it a short while later, the rest of her years devoted to honoring the bond she had forged.

It was a tale of heartbreak and loss—but, ultimately, of hope. She had continued to live ferociously, in spite of all she had endured, never relinquishing the love she held for the one who had claimed her soul.

A tingle at the back of my neck alerted me to his presence, and I spun, bracing the backs of my legs against a bench lining the bookshelf. Aspen leaned forward, his hand grazing my ear as he plucked a book from the shelf behind me.

Time seemed to suspend, caught on an inhale, as he hovered above me. His breath left a trail of awareness down the column of my neck, and I found myself caught between the familiar wave of irritation at his disregard for any sense of politeness and an unwelcome need to lean into him. To want more. To seize more, with careless abandon.

I wasn’t even sure it had anything to do with him at all. Just the opportunity to...want.

Which was ridiculous. And among the worst mistakes I could make, currently.

This was not the man I sat with in the snow. He might not even exist.

Aspen Gavalon was antagonizing. Vexing . Rude.

And I had much more important things to do than concern myself with him. No time to worry about anything more than a cure and what would lead me to it. Save our people. Free my mother.

Perhaps I was becoming sadistic after all.

“Excuse me,” I said, mustering as much politeness as I could fathom.

Another rush of warmth caressed my jawline, and I cursed the gooseflesh that betrayed me.

“You’re excused,” he murmured, before stalking off to another section of the library.

The room was suddenly too big. Too open. Like there was too much space to fill and not enough of me to fill it. Heaving a sigh of frustration, I scanned the room for somewhere to sit. And to breathe. An empty chair by the window caught my eye, positioned across from a woman already deeply engrossed in her own book. The glow surrounding her immediately shifted my focus.

She was one of the most stunning people I had ever seen.

The midday sun cast golden rays across her deep brown skin, highlighting the intricate braids that framed her face. Trinkets, beads, and pearls adorned her hair, adding to her glittering presence. Her garment, fastened in various places with bronze pins, draped rust-colored cloth around her form, and I felt a pang of envy at the rust-colored cloth draped around her, wondering what it would be like to wear something so unconfining.

“Do you mind if I escape here for a moment?” I asked, motioning to the chair across from her.

She peeked at me over the edge of her book, the silver swirls of makeup tracing her mahogany eyes shimmering. “I never mind aiding in an escape.”

“I’m Iris,” I offered, settling into the chair and pulling my knees in close.

“Kel,” she replied with a bright smile.

“That’s one of my favorites,” I said, recognizing the navy cover of the novel she was halfway through.

“Yours as well?” She beamed. “The first meeting between the lovers is my favorite of any novel I’ve read thus far.”

“Oh, yes! The way she steals the horse?”

“And the weapons along with it,” she chuckled.

“The correct choice.” I held up the book I had chosen. “You should try this one next, if you haven’t already.”

“I will add it to my list.”

We fell into silence, engrossed in our respective stories. I had made it through a quarter of the book, the rustling of pages mingling with the distant crash of waves, when a sharp gasp made me look up.

A bead of blood formed on the tip of Kel’s finger. An ailment familiar to anyone who spent significant time around books, and just as bothersome. I rifled through the pouch attached to my bag, pulling out two small tins and handing them to her.

“This will stop the bleeding and seal the skin,” I said, pointing to the darker container. The cut would heal on its own soon enough, but the salve would hasten the process. “You seem like someone who doesn’t enjoy staining books,” I added with a soft smile.

She eyed my outstretched hand warily—understandably hesitant to accept an unknown substance from a stranger. To reassure her, I grabbed a small pair of shears, pricked my own finger, and rubbed the salve over the wound. Her expression shifted as she watched the bleeding stop, the skin knitting together in seconds.

“Thank you.” She applied a generous amount to her finger, observing as the same magic took effect.

“This one,” I added, offering the lighter tin, “will coat your fingers while you read.”

“What a neat concoction.”

“Vaelithe specialty.”

She tucked her book under her arm, holding the tins toward me as she stood, her shimmering copper gown billowing in waves.

“Keep them.”

She nodded, smiling softly before turning toward the gilded arch leading to the hall.

“It was nice to meet you, Iris.”