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Chapter 28

IRIS

Aconite, sheathed always at my thigh, glinted bloody in the moonlight.

The blade was enchanted not to cut my skin or any clothing I wore, making it easy to conceal beneath my gowns without a full sheath. It was why I couldn’t use it to access my essence, and if Nadya knew about it, she’d take great pride in the fact that it couldn’t be used to drain my magic. That restriction, however, did not extend to anyone else. For any other purpose, it was lethal.

I ran to my bag, thrown haphazardly on the floor.

“Fucking Divine, why won’t it close?”

I didn’t need to look back to know his healing magic was barely working against the gaping wound across his palm. Nadya had spared no expense—the blade was laced with enchantments. I dropped the bag in front of him as blood poured from the gash, smearing across the floor.

“Put pressure on it. Quickly,” I rasped.

Hands slick with his blood, I tore through the bag, cursing the extending enchantment I’d had Theon commissioned from a Spellbinder before we left. Bottles flew as I tossed them aside, desperate to find what I needed before he lost too much blood.

A flesh wound of this caliber was hardly fatal.

Blood loss, however, was.

“Fuck!” I screamed as more bottles I didn’t need rolled in front of him.

“It’s all right,” Aspen murmured, his skin paler than usual. “It’ll be all right.”

My fingers finally found purchase, extracting the bottle I was searching for. I’d brewed it using the blade itself, never expecting to need it. The dagger drastically slowed natural Ethera healing and rendered Medikai magic nearly useless. If we had another healer and a revitalizing tonic, it wouldn’t have been so dire. The gash was deep, and the blood loss—combined with wasting his essence trying to stitch himself...

I sliced the barrier around the bottle with one of my Threads, pouring the solution over his palm. The blood slowed; the dark ring hidden beneath it fading back to normal. I slathered another salve over the wound, watching as the skin knitted itself together.

Safe .

“There we go. There we go,” I whispered. “There we go, it's fine—” I turned over bottle after bottle, searching for the revitalizing tonic. I needed to replenish his blood supply.

Safe. Safe. Safe.

“Iris.”

“It’s fine, it’s?—”

“ Iris .”

I wiped my forehead, smearing blood across my face as I looked up.

“I’m fine.” He held up his palm—bloody but whole—a weak grin spreading. “See?”

I nodded slowly.

He began sifting through the bottles scattered at his feet, turning the labels to read their contents. “Now, if we can find something here to?—”

“There should be a revitalizing tonic,” I joined his search, less frantic. He was safe. “It’s green.”

“Green. Green, it’s?—”

His hands stilled. He grasped a black bottle, knuckles white, blood smearing over the label. Slowly, he picked up another, holding them both in front of him.

“Fucking unbelievable…” His voice was barely a whisper, the bottles so small in his grasp that I couldn’t discern exactly what they were. “I am an absolute idiot.”

His eyes flicked up, burning with cold fury. The bottles clattered to the floor, rolling toward where I knelt.

“Couldn’t kick the Virlana habit, could we?” he snarled, leaping to his feet. “Poisons, really?”

“Look, it’s not?—”

“What it looks like? Enlighten me, darling . Did you put something else in the bottles labeled with illegal poisons, then? You are far too smart for that.”

“It’s none of your business—” I stood, matching his posture, the vials gathered in my hands.

“It damn well is!” His voice echoed, the night wind blowing his white hair astray. “Did you plan to finish the job, then? Slip it into my wine? Maybe straight down my throat while I slept?”

“These are not for you!” I shouted back, tears brimming. I swallowed hard, willing them not to fall.

“Sure,” he laughed. It felt like a slap.

“I can’t jeopardize the debt!”

“You’re resourceful enough to find a way.” Anger rolled off him in waves, but his eyes… his eyes were completely grey. Empty.

“I would never do that to?—”

“You have before!”

“What?” I blinked, a tear escaping. “I’ve never…”

“I wouldn’t take you for one to play dumb, Iris Virlana .” He spat my last name like it was the poison, tainting his tongue.

“I know Zinnia supplied?—”

“Do you believe me to be this dense?”

“I understand your anger, I do, but it was a mis?—”

“You tried to kill my family!” His voice cracked fury and anguish seeping from it in equal measures.

It sliced like a blade.

“That’s not what?—”

“You can change your hair color, Iris Virlana, but I will never forget the girl who smiled at me as she handed me poison.”

Time stood still. I swore the waves outside paused.

Rhythmic pounding against a bolted door in my mind.

“What are you talking about?”

I couldn’t think. Couldn’t breathe.

I’d never met Aspen before...I would know him. I would remember.

The swirling visions returned, bursting through sharper and louder. I waded through the onslaught of pain, trying to decipher the haze.

“I was young, not stupid.” His shoulders sagged. “You two were such a perfect team,” he scoffed, shaking his head. “My mother trusted you—trusted both of you. I don’t know if you made it. I don’t really care.” He wiped his bloody hands across his trousers, smearing them crimson. “I do know that you slipped it into each of our drinks that day. I was watching you. I’m always watching you.” He laughed. A broken, cruel sound. “And then you handed it to me, with a smile on your face.”

“I don’t… I don’t remember that.” My voice wavered.

Think, Iris.

“I see.” His eyes widened, red rimming blue. A disbelieving laugh escaped his chest. “Our lives were that insignificant to you. How many times, do tell, did you play that game? How many families? Or was it only the royals?”

Think, Iris .

I searched my memories of that trip to Kacidon, so long ago. It had been right before we settled in Vaelithe, Zinnia insisting that constant travel was no longer safe. I combed through the bookshelves of my mind, pulling tomes, flipping pages.

Think, Iris .

The pages stuck together, images blurred. Words in languages I didn’t understand.

Think, Iris .

I thought of snow and blue-grey eyes and wooded tree lines. The only thing I could recall were two girls, several years younger than me. We had played in the snow. His face was nowhere. I would remember him.

“I wouldn’t forget…”

“You did,” he scoffed.

“No, you don’t…” I shut my eyes tightly, fighting for memories I couldn’t grasp. “Look,” I said, finally meeting his gaze. “My childhood is hazy. I went through…” His face was stone, the openness from moments ago already a dream. I sighed. “I don’t expect you to understand, but I… I went through a lot as a child. I’ve blocked out so much. My memory isn’t the best anymore.”

“That doesn’t mean it didn’t happen.”

“I know,” I whispered.

Fury burned inside me—anger at myself, at something I didn’t remember doing. He did, though. And by the look in his eyes, it haunted him.

“I may not remember. And I know you don’t believe me. But I…” My throat tightened. “I am so sorry.”

He stared at me. I counted my breaths. Blood streaked his beautiful face, tangled in his bright hair.

In . One. Out . One. In . Two. Out . Two.

“I…” I scrambled for something—anything—to explain what I didn’t understand myself. “I was a child.”

“So was I.”

I stood in a puddle of blood and potion bottles as he stormed from the room.

* * *

Several loud bangs rattled my door. “Iris, that Threader magic replenished yet?”

I groaned, throwing on a dressing gown before opening the door. Theon leaned against the frame, arms crossed over the silk robe hanging from his bare shoulders.

I tightened my sash, acutely aware of how the slip pressed against my back. “Mostly. Why?”

More than replenished—the fight outside the lodge had given me a day's relief, but the rush of emotion earlier had brought the pulsing back in full force. I needed to drain. Desperately.

“Perfect!” He pushed past me, striding into the room and dropping onto the settee before pulling two small pieces of metal from his pocket. His sleep trousers shifted even lower on his hips as he sprawled, propping one leg across my lap.

I eyed his palms. “What’s that?”

“I need you to bind these together. Permanent but movable.” He fit the pieces into each other, twisting them to demonstrate. “And then a ward around that piece in the middle.”

“Why?”

“Super-secret mission.” He put a finger to his lips.

“They can’t be fixed another way?”

“Nope.”

“Tidemoor doesn’t have its own Threader?”

“Nope,” he popped the last syllable.

I ran my fingers over the indents in the metal.

“Problem?”

“Nope,” I mimicked him.

I was too tired to think up a reasonable excuse. There wasn’t one. I couldn’t exactly blurt out that I avoided Threading because it was both a key to my true identity, and a reminder that I was never in control.

Sighing, I grabbed the pieces and sat beside him. I was grateful normal Threading didn’t require blood. I didn’t want to see the color right now.

I pulled several smaller Threads, twining them together. Flexibility had never been my strength. I’d preferred flashy, unyielding magic—wards and weapons, inflexible. The magic fought me, as it always did. As if it was furious at me for constantly abandoning it.

“Gav isn’t here.” Theon’s voice was even.

“Nope.”

“It’s late.” The worry in his voice caught me off guard.

“We got into a fight.”

Theon sighed. “I hate to break it to you, Red. That isn’t new where you two are concerned.”

The nickname from the tavern returned a glimmer of warmth to my chest.

“A real one,” I admitted with a voice that felt small. My fingers twisted, the strands knotting as they fastened at the edges. I wasn’t sure if he heard me over their soft, gentle melody.

“How real?”

I didn’t look up, focusing on finding frays in the latticework.

“It was about the last time I was in Kacidon.”

Theon blew out a slow breath, leaning back.

“Theon.” I plucked an errant Thread, tying it off before tucking it into a braid. “I don’t remember it.”

The music quieted as the ward locked into place. The writhing in my veins ebbed, the pulse of it quieted with less magic flowing.

“What do you mean?” His tone wasn’t accusatory.

“Were you there?” I rubbed my swollen eyes. “Did I really poison them?” My voice neared pleading. Maybe he had been far enough removed to be less angry.

“I didn’t know the Gavalons then,” he admitted. “But I know the story. Everyone tells it the same.”

“Which is?” I regretted it as soon as the words left my mouth. But I needed to know.

“You befriended them,” he said. A pause. A breath. “And then you served them poison. With a smile on your face.”

I nodded, handing back the bonded metal.

“He doesn’t forgive himself for trusting you.”

I nodded again, not meeting his gaze. Not ready to see what lay there.

“Do you truly not remember?” His voice was still gentle. Still kind.

“I don’t remember him at all.”

He hummed, contemplating. “Would you do it again?”

“We did a lot to survive,” I admitted. We lied. Stole. Sold poisons to eat, or sleep under a roof. Forced into tight corners with nothing more than desperation and each other.

“Now,” he amended. “Would you do it now?”

“No. Not like that.”

His brow lifted.

“I deal now for those who can’t help themselves. For Ethera beaten by their partners, girls who’ve had their autonomy taken… That’s who I brew for now. Those with no other choice.”

“I understand.” He nodded. Still no judgment. “How do you know, though? That it's being used for those purposes?”

“I trust them. I trust their scars, their bruises, their broken bones. I believe them.”

He studied me then stood, shaking his loose hair out of his face.

“I think he will too. Understand, I mean. Once he knows.”

Theon hesitated in the doorway, leveling me with something that resembled sorrow.

“Iris? Don’t make him have to forgive himself for trusting you twice.”