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Chapter 32

IRIS

The first half of the ride to the Tundra was utterly silent.

Steeds might not have been necessary after all—I used to trek this path daily.

Early morning sun creeped over the horizon, casting the expanse of land behind Arcton Palace in streaks of purple and pink. The layer of fresh snow was deep enough the entire grounds were a blanket of white, cool crisp air tickling my nose as we rode toward a familiar tree line.

“How often do you come to the Tundra?”

That must have been why he’d been there that day.

Aspen continued to stare ahead, eyes unfocused—almost glazed over.

Another brick of ice fell. Somehow, it was worse than before Marikaim.

My damn neck hurt from whipping back and forth between his moods.

He was going to have to get over it. Nothing—absolutely nothing —was going to stand in the way of finding this cure.

Time ticked by, only the sound of hooves against packed snow filling the air as we moved past our old meeting spot, deeper into the woods. Thankfully, both of our horses wore saddles this time, making it easier to remain seated. I wasn’t in the mood to deal with Aspen’s ever-changing demeanor, much less falling off my horse.

“I have a feeling this trip is going to make me wish I had some of Zinnia’s Elementalist magic,” I laughed, trying to break the taut band of tension hanging between us. “I could set myself on fire.”

He didn’t take the bait.

Aspen remained in that far-off place I'd watched him retreat to time and time again.

“I’m trying here, you know,” I exhaled.

He twisted, and I felt his gaze bore into me—studying, assessing.

“Why?”

I readjusted, meeting his stare, taken aback by the intensity. “What do you mean, why?”

“Why are you trying? Why do you keep trying?” It wasn’t cruel. If anything, he sounded resigned. Tired. “Why do you bother?

“I told you.” I shifted to face him. “I won’t allow anything to get in the way of this cure. Right now, you’re the only way there.”

I sighed, pressing the heel of my hand across my temple. “So, it’s worth it, isn’t it? To at least try and be civil? Perhaps get to know the person you’ll be spending the foreseeable future with? In Marikaim, we…” I trailed off. I wasn’t sure what Marikaim had been. At one point, it had felt like the start of a friendship. A stolen, secret joke we’d shared when our gazes met. In the tower…

Never mind that.

Working on the cure would be much more efficient if I wasn’t doing it alone.

A muscle in his jaw ticked as he contemplated. “I’m not sure.”

A large part of me wished I could have left it there. Accepted his stubbornness. Been content with his determination to remain at arm’s length permanently.

“Well, I am.” We came to an abrupt stop, and I shifted, tightening my core to remain upright. “So, if you’re resolute on never speaking, you’re going to get awfully tired of my voice.”

I brushed a hand over the horse’s dark mane before dismounting onto the sodden ground.

I adjusted the stiff sleeves of my jacket. It must’ve contained some sort of enchantment too, to stay this warm without restricting mobility. My tunic and britches were more than enough with it, but I’d added an overdress as well. Not necessary, but the extra coverage was comforting.

“We’re hiking.” Aspen eyed my boots.

“I did work that much out, thank you.”

“Heeled boots aren’t practical.” He looked me over again. “Nor are skirts, for that matter.”

“Then it’s a good thing you didn’t wear them, if you can’t manage. Though I’m sure your legs would look great.”

I always felt more at home in skirts. I’d wore them so long I could hike, fight, and forage in them without a second thought. I just liked them. I didn’t much care about being criticized for the decision.

By the Goddesses though, his legs probably would look great.

A familiar tang of Threader magic coated my tongue as I studied the shimmer of the ward in the sunlight. The barrier surrounding the Tundra stretched as far as I could see, pulling at my magic. It writhed—a knot in my stomach tugging me forward, seeking its partner, its match.

“Stepping through may feel strange,” Aspen warned, those ice-shard eyes searching mine for something I couldn’t place. “Almost like your magic is being controlled. It may feel expanded, twisted—possibly even shrunken.”

“Just another day in the life of a Threader, Your Highness. I’m used to being a bystander to my magic’s agenda.”

He ignored this, offering his hand. “Are you ready?” He inclined his head toward the barrier.

I gave him a sardonic smile and laced my fingers through his as he pulled me through the translucent veil.

It was worse than I expected.

The barrier was extraordinarily complex—pulling every drop of my magic from the well deep inside me and stretching it taut through my body. Power sparked through my fingertips, pooling inside my head until it felt like it might burst.

I was glad it wasn’t my responsibility to untangle.

The cold metal of Aspen’s rings was the only thing grounding me to reality. The roaring subsided as we broke through the wall, pressure popping in my ears as nausea churned through me.

I managed to calm my stomach with a few sharp intakes of winter air and stepped forward—only to pause at the sudden tug on my arm.

I glanced down at our interlocked fingers.

“When I said I wasn’t sure if it was worth it,” Aspen breathed, his voice low, “I didn’t mean getting to know you.”

He shifted, glancing between my face and our intertwined hands.

“I meant getting to know me.”

I couldn’t stop my eyes from widening as he released my hand.

“I need you to know that.”