Page 37

Chapter 34

IRIS

The walls pressed in too close, darkness bleeding into my vision.

I gasped for air, but water filled my lungs. I sputtered, choking, desperate to expel the liquid. My chest ached under the crushing pressure. I thrashed as the air grew thinner, but my body wouldn’t budge ? —

I couldn’t move.

“Get me out, get me out, get me out…”

My eyes flew open as I jolted upright, hands searching frantically for solid ground beneath me. Air flooded my lungs in ragged gulps. I blinked rapidly, trying to adjust to the darkness. Fragments of reality snapped into place as I recited the facts that tethered me to the present.

My name is Iris Virlana. I am twenty-seven years old. I am safe. I am in a tent in Kacidon.

Aspen is kneeling beside me, his face mere inches from mine.

Oh. Shit.

The world sharpened into focus as my mind caught up with my body. Aspen’s hands gripped my shoulders, his fingers pressing hard enough to anchor me, like he was afraid to let go.

“Nightmare…” I rasped, my voice hoarse. Had I been screaming? How long had he been trying to wake me?

“What do you need?” he asked softly, running his palms along my arms in a steadying rhythm.

I swallowed, throat burning, and averted my gaze. “Water,” I whispered. “Please.”

He hesitated, then gave my shoulders a final, gentle squeeze before shifting toward our bags on the other side of the tent. When he returned, he handed me a canteen, sitting cross-legged in front of me, one hand gripping my knee. As though he feared I might slip back into the nightmare if he let go.

I drained the canteen in one go, wiping the stray droplets from my chin before handing it back. A faint glow flickered in the tent, and I realized Aspen must have ignited a pocket sunflare when he retrieved the water. In its light, I noticed a thin scratch tracing down the side of his face, a bead of blood forming at the end.

Horror struck me, cold and sharp.

“Oh, Aspen…” I reached up to wipe the blood away. “I didn’t mean— I’m so sorry.”

Before I could touch him, he caught my wrist, lowering our joined hands into my lap.

“That’s new.” His smile was slow, bright.

I blinked. “What?”

“You’ve never called me that.”

“Aspen?” I repeated, bewildered.

His smile widened on a sharp inhale.

Had I never called him by his name before?

“I’m fine,” he assured me, waving his free hand over his cheek. A soft light shimmered at his fingertips as the wound stitched itself together, though a thin pink line remained. “You’re doing me a favor,” he laughed, wiping away the traces of blood. “Keeping my magic on its toes.”

I tried to return his smile, but I knew it didn’t reach my eyes. I was so tired.

Always so tired.

“I can’t say the same for your blanket, though.” He nodded toward the shredded remains.

I shut my eyes, refusing to picture what he’d witnessed before I woke.

Warmth seeped into my limbs as Aspen draped his own blanket over my lap. “Don’t worry, I’m well acquainted with the cold.”

Moments passed in silence. When I still didn’t open my eyes, he squeezed my hand once.

“What do you need?” he asked again, lifting my chin with a gentle finger.

The exhaustion weighed heavy, pulling me under. “I just want to go back to sleep.” I slipped my hand from his grip and laid back—silently pleading for him not to push.

Understanding softened his face. He shifted closer to where I curled beneath his blanket.

“I’ll stay here until you drift off.”

I inhaled deeply, and the familiar scent filled my lungs.

Eucalyptus, lavender, juniper berries.

The same combination I had smelled on the wind that first day in the woods. And again, in Marikaim. It soothed me, the lavender reminiscent of the bundles I had hung around my office at home. Of my favorite things.

I glanced up at him once more, trying to mask the lingering fear. “Promise?” I whispered, extending my pinky.

I immediately felt ridiculous. He was a grown man—one who had likely considered throwing me off a cliff more than once—and I was asking him for a pinky promise. I held my ground, smiling as I silently kicked myself for the childhood habit I couldn’t quite grow out of.

Foolish, foolish girl .

But Aspen didn’t falter. He grinned, laughing as he hooked his pinky with mine.

“Promise.”

* * *

I awoke at sunrise, my body aching and throat raw—no doubt from the nightmare and a fitful sleep.

Aspen’s soft snoring pulled me from my haze, and despite myself, I smiled. He was curled up beside my bedroll—one arm tucked under his head, the other extended toward me—his features softened in sleep. A sight I’d come to crave.

I swallowed against the lump forming in my throat, knowing that, whether he intended to or not, he hadn’t left my side all night.

Aspen stirred, bringing a fist to rub the sleep from his eyes. His sudden movement snapped me from my trance, and I hastily busied myself with fixing the blankets. He needed no padding of his ego.

“Morning,” he yawned, his voice gravelly with sleep.

I swallowed, trying to ignore the way his mussed hair and husky voice sent a pull straight to the pit of my stomach.

“I…” I hesitated, unsure how to broach the tentative return of familiarity between us. “Thank you for the, you know…” I waved vaguely at the bedroll, hoping to the five hells he wouldn’t make me finish the thought.

He ran a hand through his hair, eyes darting between me and still-frantically gesturing hand. I watched as recognition dawned.

“Oh.” A crooked grin tugged at his lips as he pushed himself upright. “Don’t mention it, Sunbeam.”

I froze.

The nickname hung between us like a ghost, my hand suspended in the air, Aspen’s expression mirroring my shock. He cleared his throat, smoothing the front of his shirt. “Well,” he muttered, avoiding my gaze as he rose to his feet, “ready to go?”

I heard the trepidation in his voice and felt a small relief that I wasn’t the only one struggling to find normalcy—to figure out if we fit together. I stood, stretching my limbs before flashing him a lazy two-finger salute.

“Ready as I’ll ever be.”

What the hells was I doing?

As we packed up camp and ate breakfast, I couldn’t ignore the glances Aspen kept shooting my way. He hovered each time I tried to pack something, offering to help at any opportunity, apologizing every time he opened his mouth. I could feel my temper rising, irritation bubbling at the familiar treatment.

It reached a breaking point when he grabbed for my bedroll.

“Aspen.” I caught his shoulder before he could stuff it into my pack. “I need you to do something for me.”

Concern flickered across his face. “Yes, of course,” he replied, fingers stilling. “Anything.”

His worry did nothing to quell my frustration.

“Stop treating me like I’m wounded,” I snapped. I clenched and unclenched my fists, forcing myself to release the tension before I lashed out. “I can’t take it. Not from you.”

Aspen considered this, his expression unreadable. Then, finally, he gave a short nod.

“All right.” He dropped the bedroll at my feet and straightened. “All right.”

I threw him a withering stare, still unconvinced. “Promise?”

His lips twitched, and he extended his pinky in response. “As you wish.”

I hooked my pinky with his, then gathered as much disdain as I could muster and crossed my arms over my chest. “Now say something mean—make a snide remark, anything really.” I stuck my chin out, eyes silently pleading. “Just please go back to being the only person who doesn’t treat me like I’m about to break.”

“Well…” His gaze roved up and down before gesturing at my head. “You need to brush your hair. It resembles a nest.”

A true, genuine laugh burst from my throat, punctuated by a loud snort. Aspen broke immediately, his eyes watering as he choked out, “Someone had to tell you. Small animals were bound to take refuge.”

We collapsed into a fit of laughter, clinging to each other to stay upright. Suddenly, we were back in that tower, tentative hope lacing the air between us.

After composing himself, Aspen wiped his eyes and said, “I never meant to be intentionally cruel to you, Iris.” He tucked a strand of hair behind my ear, his throat bobbing as he continued, “I know I haven’t given you the… warmest of welcomes. I’ve let too many things cloud my… judgment. I apologize.”

He looked nearly in pain.

“Have you ever tasted those words before?”

“I’m sorry?”

“Yes, those. Wonderful job.”

“They’re sickening.”

I pushed his shoulder.

He grabbed it dramatically, wearing an expression of outrage. Finally, the look of pity he had worn all morning seemed to completely disappear.

He tilted his head, features softening. “I have them too, you know,” he said, brushing a knuckle across my shoulder. The graze reminded me of how tightly he’d held on to me this morning, trying to pull me from the terror. “The nightmares. Not as much anymore, but…” He shifted, lifting his hand as if to reach for me, only to let it drop back to his side. “I understand.”

I hadn’t realized—hadn’t even considered—that he also experienced horrors that haunted him while he slept. Had been wrong to assume I really knew anything about the life he’d lived.

I brushed the thought of Aspen’s past aside, trying to snuff out the spark of anger that ignited in my chest at the idea that something had hurt him so deeply.

“So, what do you say?” I declared, offering a hand. “You go back to being an insufferable prick, and I’ll go back to being the winning personality.”

He eyed my outstretched hand with a raised brow. “You make a hell of a bargain,” he laughed, completing the handshake.

“Play your cards right, Prince, and we might not want to rip each other’s throats out after this is over.” I gasped mockingly, clutching my chest. “We may even come out of this, dare I say it… friends .”

Aspen forced a smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “I’m not sure I’m cut out for friends.”

My grin faltered. Had I misread this entire situation?

He seemed to notice, immediately adding, “But I’d like to try.”

“Wonderful.” I slung my now-full satchel over my shoulder, smiling as I walked past him to the path ahead. “Because I only throw cheese cubes at my friends’ heads. Out of principle.”

“You know,” he called out, forcing me to turn around, “I have never wanted to rip your throat out, Virlana.”

I scrunched my nose at him. “Sorry, can’t say the same.”

He sighed, walking to meet me at the edge of the clearing. “Tragically, that doesn’t surprise me at all.”

* * *

Most of the afternoon was spent discussing trivial matters while we traveled—our favorite colors, which realm had the best fashion. My case had been for Reilune, though a strong argument could be made for Marikaim. Aspen, in all his self-importance, insisted it was Kacidon, of course .

Our conversations were interspersed with comfortable pockets of silence, our steps falling in rhythm as Mochi bounded ahead. I had a habit of filling the quiet—humming, chatting with animals, anything to ward off the suffocating weight of stillness. But with Aspen, the silence felt peaceful. No need to fill the space.

As the sun set, we entered a shaded glade. It looked as if it had been plucked from the souls of the stars themselves. The limbs of the trees leaned toward each other in an intimate embrace, their branches forming a woven tapestry overhead. Long, delicate icicles dangled from their boughs, catching the fractured moonlight and setting the clearing aglow. It was as though thousands of tiny sunflares sparkled in the night.

I wove between the frozen pendants, brushing my fingers along each one. The sounds of the forest swelled around me, the branches almost swaying with the tempo.

No, not almost. The trees were moving. Curling and unfurling in slow, measured breaths.

“This glade is safe for us to sleep here tonight,” Aspen gestured to an icicle hanging near his face. “If you’d like to stay.”

My focus didn’t leave the display around us, transfixed as I said, “I’d like nothing more.”

I started on the barrier, keeping it more compact. The birds chirped along with the notes from the Threads filling the air, and I unconsciously hummed along.

Something about being in the forest—the sounds, the scents, the sheer comfort—stirred an urge to create. A sense of belonging that was irreplaceable, filled with an incessant need to pour something back into nature, repayment for all it gave.

Dancing had only ever been movement alongside the songs my Threads created. I didn’t possess the discipline or precise grace that came with the intense training Nadya had received, and I’d never seized the opportunity to join her for a formal class. But the bond I felt so deeply with this unknown place washed away any lingering inhibition My body swayed instinctively, the melody of the forest mixing with the vibrations of cords from my Threads. My muscles glided into motion, feet carrying me between the trees, laughter bubbling in my chest. I threw my head back, relishing the frosty air on my face as I spun once, twice, three times?—

Mid-twirl, I opened my eyes.

Aspen leaned against a tree trunk, arms crossed, a crooked grin tugging at his lips. He looked so uncannily similar to the first time I’d seen him at the edge of these woods.

I hesitated, realizing I’d been so lost in the magic of this place I’d forgotten he was even here. A true smile lit up his face—the first I’d ever seen reach his eyes—anddamnif it wasn’t one of the most beautiful sights I had ever beheld.

“Sunbeam indeed,” he breathed.

The momentary embarrassment melted away. I spun one last time, grinning at the sky, laughter spilling over before I finally let the barrier knit into place.

As I entered the tent, I noticed the tattered remains of my blanket—shredded in the wake of my nightmare. “Aspen, we only have one blanket left.”

He looked up from his preparations, recognition lighting. “Oh.” He shrugged and resumed unpacking. “I’ll sleep without one again. It’s of no consequence.”

“It is ,” I countered, an edge creeping into my voice. “In fact, of consequence. I won’t allow you to sleep completely exposed again.”

He ran a hand over his face, exhaling in exasperation, though I caught the small smile he tried to hide. “You won’t allow me?”

“Precisely. There's no way I’m letting you spend another night like that.”

He tilted his head, one brow arching. “I’m trembling.”

“I won’t have you dying of frostbite on the second night of our mission and abandoning me here. Your corpse would be a nightmare to drag back to the barrier.”

He stepped closer to where I stood on my bedroll, mirroring my stance. “Objectively, I can handle this environment better than you can. We can’t magically summon another blanket, and portalboy isn’t here—so, what do you propose?”

“I propose we share.” I shoved his blanket forward.

He remained impassive, staring at the fabric in my hands. A long breath escaped him before he said, “You’re not going to let this go, are you?”

“Not in your wildest dreams.”

When he still didn’t move, I dropped the blanket, snatched the edge of his bedroll, and dragged it next to mine. His body went rigid, and for a brief moment, I wondered if I had crossed some unspoken boundary.

No, this was about survival. That was all.

My doubts faded when he moved, spreading the blanket over our now-combined sleeping arrangements.

“Let’s go to bed, Virlana,” he said, nodding toward my side of the bedroll.

“Just know,” Aspen murmured as I settled into a comfortable position, shoulder to shoulder with him. “I wouldn’t hold it against you if you decide to use me for warmth.” His voice was deceptively serious. “I know I can be rather tantalizing.”

My head snapped toward him, momentarily stunned—until I saw his face. He was lying there, arms propped behind his head, smirking. Thoroughly enjoying my reaction.

I elbowed him in the ribs and rolled onto my stomach as he chuckled.

“Goodnight, Aspen,” I grumbled, attempting not to smile.

“Goodnight, Iris.”

Aspen drifted off to sleep, but his words echoed in my mind. A gnawing sensation that I couldn’t quite place bloomed in my chest. It spread, wrapping around my ribs and setting down roots.

I chastised myself for the ideas beginning to take shape, for the way my pulse quickened unbidden.

I had a bad habit of jumping. Of diving headfirst, eyes closed—heedless of the consequences the fall would have in the aftermath.

But this time...

I wouldn’t.

I couldn’t .

Because this fall… this fall could very well be all-consuming.