Page 33

Chapter 30

IRIS

A note arrived the morning after we returned to Kacidon, written in Aspen’s near-perfect handwriting.

They may know someone who requires your expertise.

With Theon’s help, I discovered that the names and locations scrawled across the parchment belonged to healers—people who might recognize the patterns.

Broken bones. Bloody lips. Bruised ribs.

We couldn’t traverse the entire realm, but it was a start.

I wrote to Nadya, asking her to visit. She had the network to facilitate more complicated escape plans if necessary. And, well, because it was Nadya.

The missive included a note about the attack in Marikaim, so I sealed the entire message in the solution I’d devised years ago—rendering it unreadable to anyone without the accompanying reagent.

The book— Maladies and Miscreants —had taken a fortnight to translate the first half. Starting with the page containing the sketch proved useless without context, so we’d gone back to the beginning.

Aspen and I had attempted working on separate pages simultaneously, but the book was too fragile, and the constant back-and-forth only slowed us down further.

Now, we took turns, switching when our eyes became too bleary or our hands too cramped to continue. Nothing of consequence had revealed itself in the weeks we’d spent translating, but we were nearing the original passage, and I remained hopeful.

He was almost always silent. Though, sometimes I caught his eye from across the library. A shared look—acknowledgment of the same exhaustion, the same gnawing fear that it had all been for nothing.

But he was different now. More like before Marikaim, rather than the way he’d been while we were there. I recognized the wall of ice between us. It grew thicker with each passing day.

Colder and colder.

Though, now I knew where the cracks were. I found myself studying him, ensuring they were still there. Seeing if I could uncover more.

Beside me, a cauldron simmered as I translated a line of text, full of ingredients for another batch of revitalizing tonic. The infirmary, which had once hesitated to accept my concoctions, now readily took anything I offered. I had to restock their shelves every few days.

Since returning, a makeshift apothecary had taken up residence in an unused space off the infirmary. A warm cup of tea cooled beside me, alongside a pastry that looked remarkably similar to the ones we’d eaten in Marikaim. They were always waiting when I arrived each morning. I took a sip as I thumbed to the next page.

One by one, I compared each Divinian letter to its common language counterpart, leaning back after completing a page to read it in full.

Clinical autopsies of Ethera were never commonplace, as most perished from visible battle wounds or simply reached the natural end of their lifespan. However, more brutal forms of both torture and experimentation have long since given insight into the biological structure of the Ethera, with Medikai able to provide input on how these structures interacted with one another and their essence. Plagues were scarce, impacting the population only if they bypassed the Ethera’s internal healing mechanisms.

Bypassing the Ethera healing mechanisms.

I flipped ahead, searching for the already translated passage with the sketch. Three pages away.

I returned to where I’d stopped, pressing the translator directly to the parchment, matching the remaining letters with frantic urgency.

I prayed to the Goddesses I no longer communed with that there was more.

In cases such as this, where circulation has been infiltrated through the venous system, the offending ailment must be pushed back before it returns to the heart. Once the contagion reaches the heart, there is no means of reversal.

Most of the Malum-infected in Gideon’s infirmary were critical, but only a handful had fully succumbed. The others existed in a state akin to torture, waiting for a cure. Waiting for us to do something .

Kacidon, from what I knew, had lost far more.

The next few paragraphs described physical manifestations that mirrored what we’d already seen.

When the visible corruption of the veining begins to recede, it indicates that the impurity is returning to the junction where the internal Ethera healing mechanisms can neutralize the contaminant .

Which was exactly why the revitalizing tonic was working.

It replenished blood supply, which, in turn, sped up the refill of essence reserves. It was slowing the infection down—but not pushing it back. Not enough.

One known element with this ability is the Blight Lotus, native to Kacidon. Exceptionally rare, the Blight Lotus is believed to grow among other flora with unique magical properties. One such location where it is predicted to thrive is the Bedry Caverns—an interconnected network of glacier caves home to an array of sacred flora, located within The Tundra .

This. This was what we needed.

My handwriting became almost illegible as I scrawled across the parchment, my hand cramping from feverish translation.

“Theon!”

The book he’d laid over his eyes to block the sun while he napped toppled to the ground with a thud.

Since returning, I’d been granted a surprising amount of freedom—something about the events in Marikaim must have earned me a marginal amount of trust. Theon now shadowed me only when I left the grounds. I could eat, sleep, work, and spend time in the library without an audience if I wished.

Still, he usually accompanied me when he could.

“ Volume ,” he muttered, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. But when he noticed the tears brimming in mine as I re-read the passage, he straightened, wary. “Iris?”

I held the parchment out to him. “I think we need another meeting with the queen.”

Bubbles rose in the cauldron as his eyes roved over the words. Reaching across his body, I stirred the contents counterclockwise three times.

His eyes widened with each new revelation, landing finally on the two words I’d circled over and over.

Blight Lotus .

* * *

A Gavalon family dinner.

The queen had been away for several days, and apparently, the king was above bothering with the missive I’d left for him. I’d spent the days since continuing to translate the rest of the book while I brewed, moving on to the journal I’d hidden in the library once I was finished.

That one I did alone.

Instead of granting me an audience upon her return, a thick cream-colored card had been placed on my workbench. Embossed in silver, the Kacidon royal crest gleamed above the dark blue wax seal of House Gavalon. The menacing Rimehorn of the kingdom’s emblem looked almost out of place above the sleeping fox nestled in the sigil of Aspen’s house. The invitation requested my presence at an ‘intimate gathering’ to discuss the next steps in the Malum treatment.

According to Theon, that meant an old-fashioned Gavalon family dinner. Whatever that entailed.

“You cannot wear that.”

Deyanira Leoven’s long arms were crossed against the slate-blue velvet of her dress, an exact match to her hair.

“Always a pleasure, Deyanira.” I rubbed at my temples. “Do your duties with the queen not keep you entertained enough? Or must you continue to insult my wardrobe for sport?”

“I’d much prefer kicking you out in the snow, if I had the choice.” Her grin was vicious, her teeth bared as if she might tear me apart with them. “But your color palette will have to do.”

I was too anxious to dwell on where her disdain for me stemmed from. Too exhausted from the last revelation.

I sighed, padding over to the dresser. Green. Purple. Plum. Tan. A few Kacidonian colors had crept in, but they were rare.

“Blue, then, I presume?”

“Divine, no.” She barked a laugh. “It’s horrid with your hair.”

She contemplated me with unnerving scrutiny. I needed to open a window.

Her perfectly manicured fingers tapped against her forearm, a thick silver band with engravings I couldn’t quite make out glinting in the light.

“Silver.”