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Chapter 37

ASPEN

She was going to kill me. This woman was going to kill me.

She was offering to fulfill a future demand of mine—no matter what it may be—in exchange for this. In exchange for my silence.

Iris Virlana was so terrified of me sharing this secret that she was willing to offer me an unnamed debt, something I could collect on at any time, to ensure I stayed quiet.

“That is unnecessary.” Thank the Goddesses she was no longer shivering. Her body had been so, so cold. I shoved those thoughts down, forcing myself to remain neutral. Without the cold. Not now.

“Just explain to me what in the five fucking realms is going on, Iris.”

“No.” She grabbed my fingers, pressing them against her wrist, wrapping each one around it with forceful intent. “Not until you swear by it.”

“Swear by what, exactly?”

“Swear that you will never share this information with anyone.” Her breathing was heavy, but she did not falter. She did not balk or back down from offering this pact. One that would end in death should either of us fail to keep our word.

It was an outdated practice, one I did not share my parents’ fondness for.

How many more hidden pieces did she have?

“Swear on it.” The pads of her fingers dug into the muscle of my forearm. “Allow a life debt to be solidified, and I will tell you everything.”

Tell me all your secrets. I’ll keep them anyway.

“You do not need to complete a life debt for me to promise you that.” What did she think I was planning on doing? Throwing her over my shoulder and marching straight to Solyndra? Turning her in for a bounty that had remained active for so many years?

It was a shock, but I hadn’t even considered what came next. Not until I understood what had happened, and how she’d ended up here.

Who had made her believe that damned tattoo was more important than any of that?

“No.” She shook her head. “We aren’t moving until you do this.”

I knew she meant it. She would sit there, sopping wet, and refuse to do anything else. As much as I liked when she challenged me, I liked the golden flecks in her eyes so much more.

They were gone now. Replaced with fear-filled pupils.

I’d long stopped caring what others saw when they looked at me, but that terror… I couldn’t take it. Not from her. Never from her.

I pried her fingers from my hand, pulling free. Defeat swam behind her gaze, buried beneath her tenacity.

“On two conditions.” Swiping my thumb across her palm, I spread her bleeding fingers wide and placed her hand flat against mine. They were sliced in several places, the cuts not even beginning to close. “One, you learn how to perform a life debt correctly. It does not involve separating my hand from my forearm by grip alone.”

She didn’t smile. Not even a twitch. Damn.

“Two, we are not binding our magic.” Her brows rose slightly. “This will be a traditional life debt. I have no interest in taking that which is not mine.”

Not that I planned on calling in the debt anyway.

Our gazes locked. A battle of wills. Testing. Waiting. Who would back down first?

We sat on the bank of the river I’d pulled her from, ice crystals beginning to form in her wet hair. She couldn’t have run back into the hot springs. No. The lake she’d plunged into had been full of floating chunks of ice.

Floating. Chunks. Of. Ice.

I searched again, ensuring the blue that had tinged her lips was truly gone.

My legs still caged her in from where I’d held her to my bare chest. Medikai magic had been so slow to take effect, and the shivers that had wracked her body still haunted me. Skin-to-skin contact had helped tremendously, but I hadn’t truly relaxed until her body was warm and pink again.

“I accept,” she said finally.

The magic snapped into place immediately, the skin of our hands practically melding together as the terms of the debt solidified.

“What do you want to know?” she asked, pulling her hand away to wipe at her face. Wet strands of crimson hair stuck to her skin, and she attempted to swipe them away, wincing when her ravaged fingertips made contact.

Still not healing.

I wanted to siphon away the pain, but my reserves were too low to do more than close a few smaller cuts. Shallow was not a word I’d use to describe my essence, but I’d gone overboard trying to raise her body temperature—funneling Medikai magic while extracting that bone-chilling cold with Frostmancer temperature regulation.

It had been worth it.

The frost that encased her, the flickering of that warm, blinding essence...

She swiped at her hair again, her face twisting in pain as she tried to pull it away from her body.

“Divine, I need it off?—”

Wrapping my hands around her ribcage, I spun her in my lap so her back rested against my chest. I combed my fingers through the thick strands and used a small amount of wind to wring out the moisture while I gathered it up into my hand.

I banished the other thoughts creeping in. Fucking Divine, how many times had I dreamt of this?

She sighed heavily, relaxing into my grip.

As the golden sun tattoo stared back at me, it all fit.

Iris always tugging at her tops. The mindless way she held the back of her neck. The insistence on keeping her cloak on, even as sweat trickled down her temple.

You never wear your hair like that.

I bit down on the wet cloth of my discarded shirt, tearing off a strip to keep her hair in place.

Iris ran the backs of her hands down the ponytail, stiffening as they passed over the tattoo.

“You missed some.” Her breath puffed in the cool air with a short laugh. She craned her neck, pointing to a small unbound section behind her ear.

“That’s for you to make those braids.”

The look she gave me stole the air from my lungs—like she was trying to peer directly into my soul, the gold flecks in her eyes flashing in the afternoon sun.

“The Sunchosen,” I began when she still didn’t speak. “They are the Divine who walk among us. They—you?—”

“Gods among men,” she laughed bitterly, shaking her head. The Sunchosen were revered in Altaerra. The children of the sun, bearers of its power, its will… They were considered the closest thing to the Divine that walked our world. Somewhere between Ethera and Gods.

“Does it seem like I live up to that expectation?” she asked sardonically.

Yes. A million times, yes.

“Don’t answer that. Please.”

“Tell me everything,” I said, not looking away. I’d never run from her. Not from any piece of herself she chose to show me.

She shut her eyes, inhaling deeply before she opened them again. Then, she began.

“I lied about my age. I’m a year younger than you.” Her fingers moved, twisting the loose strands of hair together. She used only the very tips, her palms still ravaged. The cuts had been deep, but by now, they should have shown even the slightest signs of healing. “Zinnia and I changed my age to throw off suspicion.”

I leaned back on one hand as she spoke, twirling a crimson wave of her hair around a finger.

“Obviously, you know about the Sunchosen. The Trials.”

Everyone did—at least, the basics.

The Sunchosen were the elites of our society. Lux’s hand-selected Altaerran Council. You couldn’t buy your way to that kind of power. Not with wealth, not with connections. They were untouchable. Lux was said to choose only those with the will, strength, and intelligence to rule the five realms, unheard-of power running through their veins to match.

Their golden sun tattoo—fuck. Her golden sun tattoo—was the mark that branded them as Lux’s golden children. The Trials of the Sun, the tournament that determined each Sunchosen’s place on the council, cemented their fate as rulers of our continent for the next century. Whether they were born for this purpose or chosen as their gifts were bestowed through some Divine understanding, no one knew.

“I was born during a Golden Year. I don’t know if it was planned or not,” she said, filling the silence.

Many Altaerrans deliberately conceived in time with a Golden Year. My parents had. Once a century, twenty new Sunchosen were born. Throughout that year, parents feverishly checked their newborns for Lux’s symbol—a golden tattoo, its shimmering ink never fading, marked somewhere on their body. It was impossible to replicate. Not that any artist would dare try.

The Sol Cycle for each group began on the first day of their Golden Year. From birth to their Trials at twenty-eight, every moment was dictated by fate. Two years after the Trials, they were sworn into their positions on the council. Seventy years into their reign, a new group of twenty was born. While they aged, the current council continued to rule and plan for the next Trials, mentoring the Ethera who would replace them. And after ruling for a full century, the cycle repeated.

All Ethera, even those who had never stepped foot in formal schooling, memorized the Sol Cycle. It was our deepest history—as old as Altaerra itself.

“I lived in the palace with the other Sunchosen until I was nine.” Iris brushed her fingers through the braid, separating it before beginning again. She blew out a disbelieving laugh, shaking her head. “Everyone thinks they’re so enlightened, so awe-inspiring… They hold more power than anyone in Altaerra, and somehow, they are still the hungriest for it. I was never enough—never would be enough for them. The Sovereign King most of all. Our ideas, our training, our dedication as children was used for his ideas. His policies. Every memory I have…”

“I thought you didn’t remember your childhood?” I asked, wanting nothing more than to understand.

“It’s complicated.” She split the hair into three sections again, braiding each separately. “It’s… Have you ever tried to remember a dream? How it’s so clear at first, but before you even realize you’re awake, it slips through the cracks in your mind—only bits and pieces remaining?”

I nodded.

“Some are like that. Some are like I’m watching them from underwater. Others have blank spots or missing faces, or mumbled voices. But it’s not as if I remember nothing. I remember the Bronze Palace clear as day. There are many things I recall from that time.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “Most, I’d like to forget.”

“How much?”

“Not everything. Maybe that’s for the better.” She braided the three separate twists together. “I talked to Gideon’s mind healer once. Not in detail, of course—I couldn’t go through treatment in case she saw anything—but she said sometimes the mind blocks things out, a subconscious protection. Some periods of my life are worse than others. It’s gotten better as I’ve grown older.”

She shuddered, dipping her head slightly. “But the years before I left… waking nightmares. Punishment, brutal and unyielding, for failures in combat practice. At six . Rulers to our hands if we misquoted history. Isolation, for days , if we were caught with bad posture more than twice in a week. We were always training, always practicing. Always having to be better.”

Sadistic bastards.

I hated that she knew what that felt like, too.

“The Sunchosen are to be nothing short of perfect ,” she said softly. “No bonds outside of those chosen for us. If we formed relationships, it was because they allowed it. We had our parents, our tutors, our advisors, and the Council. From birth, we were taught to be skeptical of each other. To see one another as competition. That kindness—Goddess forbid friendship —made us weak. No distractions. No leaving the palace.

“They framed it as a safety measure. To protect us from those who wished to eliminate us. And maybe that was part of it. But more than anything, it was about control.”

She slammed the back of one hand against her raw palm with each punctuated word.

“Politics.” Slap.

“Propriety.” Slap.

“Power.” Slap.

“As children .” Her hands squeezed together so tightly her knuckles blanched. “At six.”

“And I know you’re picturing us locked away in rooms, deprived of interaction and free will. That’s the sick part, isn’t it? We went to lessons. Ate meals together. Trained in the same room. We were even allowed to roam freely sometimes. I had… a friend. But we knew who held the control. They fucked with our minds so completely, we followed their every whim. Terrified to step out of line. Terrified to be anything but perfect.”

She slumped back, her weight falling into me as crimson waves swept over the crook of my shoulder. I sank into the luxurious feeling of her against my chest, savoring the miracle of the press of each inhale. No matter how fleeting, holding her like this was an unfathomable gift.

“What about your parents?” I choked out. “Did they not accompany you?”

“From what I remember, they didn’t care.”

Mochi appeared from behind a tree, probably tired of waiting for us to return to camp. He climbed into her lap, and she shifted to drop her hands to his fur, moving out of my grip. “They got to live a life of luxury in the Bronze Palace.”

The sins of our parents, forever haunting us without our consent.

“I don’t even remember their faces.” She rolled her head side to side, her neck cracking as she continued. “My magic… it’s unstable. The Threading, at least.”

“You have an immense amount of it.” I’d felt it, hammering under the surface of her skin every time I healed her.

Normally, I could only get a glimpse of someone's essence reserves. When I used my Medikai magic, it searched for the insult in the body, giving me an essential understanding of what was causing injury or harm so I could mend it. Sometimes, I could sense if someone was close to burnout, but rarely was I able to determine how much power they held. It was as if her magic was screaming at me. Begging me to release it.

Living like that had to be akin to torture.

“I can’t keep it under control. Sometimes, I think it’s a viper—luring me in so that it may escape, only to strike when given the chance. At first, Zinnia and I hid it due to the implications, but after… after a while, it was safer to get rid of it.”

“Get rid of it?” Who rid themselves of their magic? How did one rid themselves of their magic?

“It’s inconsequential.”

“You have what others could only dream of, and you rid yourself of it ?”

“Anyhow.” She contemplated me over her shoulder, eyes narrowing. “I could control it better when I was younger. It wasn’t as bad then. But I was wild and reckless with it.” She turned back to Mochi, cradling him in her arms. “The one thing they care about, above all else, is how their council looks to the rest of Altaerra. Anything less was unacceptable.” Her voice trembled slightly. “And I’d finally started to see them, for who they were. Asking questions, pushing back... That coupled with my errant magic was unacceptable. I had become unacceptable. They wanted me gone. So, I left.”

“At nine?” Divine. The absolute indomitability.

She nodded, huffing in indignation. “They were right, as it is. I was too weak for it, too much of a coward to face the life destined for me. Zinnia found me withering away in a forest in Solyndra. It’s why she’s so protective, so strict. She saw me in that state… starving, dying. She took me in and never looked back. Everything she has done since has been to protect me.”

And now, I would join her in that. For this. For her.

The alternative never crossed my mind.

“Choosing to walk away from that which tried to break you is not weakness.”

“It did break me, Aspen.” Her head tipped back, eyes closed—like a flower reaching for the sun. “Don’t you see that?”

“I see someone who had more bravery at nine than most do in millennia.”

I brushed her hair away from her neck, and she shivered. My fingers traced the points of the tattoo visible—the top half of the sun rising from beneath her blouse like the horizon at dawn.

“You don’t have to hide this. You don’t need to hide anything. Not while we’re here, and never from me.”

So many things swam through her eyes when she turned fully, her chest a breath away from mine. I tried to pick each one, save them for later to study. To dive into her. To understand her.

What she settled on was relief.

How long had it been since she could just… be?

“Wear your hair however you’d like. Use your magic however you’d like. Go stark naked if you please.”

The image flashed across my mind, and I banished it immediately. This was not the time to expose exactly how much she consumed me. In every way.

She could, though, if she wanted. As soon as my reserves replenished, I’d keep her temperature regulated—if forgoing the coat was what she decided on.

She quirked an eyebrow.

And then, there she was. The faintest of smiles hitching at the corner of her mouth. I wanted to brush my thumb over it. To keep it for myself.

My Sunbeam.

“Oh? If I please?”

“Of course.” I matched her expression. “I am but a gentleman.”

“I think I’d like to change, then.”

I’d never gotten off the ground faster. Somehow, I’d taken her with me.

She was laughing, and the sound was so melodic I knew poets would write sonnets on it should they ever witness it.

“To put on different clothes,” she pushed at my chest. It would take us longer to return to camp than it had taken her to run here. We were not going anywhere near that river again. She raised her hands to the tangled gathering of her hair, the skin on her palms finally showing some small semblance of recovery. I expected her to pull it back down. Instead, she wrapped the small braid she’d been toying with around the base, tucking it in at the end.

“What happened next?” I asked, wanting to know everything.

“Zinnia was already traveling as an apothecary before we met, but having another mouth to feed stretched her already thin pockets even further.”

Some of my essence had replenished, and I used it to dry her clothes, sending what was left to mend the rest of the cuts and scrapes on her arms. I wanted to ask about her scars. I’d caught glimpses of them in Marikaim. The sight of those deep lines clawed at my chest. I knew what scars like that meant—what hells one had to survive to earn them.

“We sold what we could,” Iris shrugged as she stepped over a smooth rock, Mochi trailing behind her. “Borrowed what was offered. Stole what we had to.” She righted herself as the ground evened out, one hand shooting to her back. It hovered there for a moment, fingers twitching midair before she lowered it with a deep breath.

“There wasn’t a rule we wouldn’t break or a law we wouldn’t ignore. Sometimes we could convince a merchant to let us use their facilities,” she continued. “Other times, we snuck in. The Virlanas became very good at becoming whoever we needed to—who everyone we met wanted us to be. I learned how to disappear at a moment's notice. To lie, cheat, and steal. But also to survive. We were tired and hungry, but we were alive.” She glanced at me sidelong. “Vaelithe became our home after the life debt. We traveled the realm for a few years before opening the Raven’s Grove.”

It was part of the terms, I assumed, my mother had set—that they remain nearby.

“And you’ve remained there ever since?”

“It’s my home.” Something flickered behind her eyes, gone as quickly as it had come. I’d seen that look before, the first time we discussed her home. “You know the rest.”

I wanted to know everything.

“How have you never been recognized?” I asked.

“Why would I?”

“When you went missing, the fliers were everywhere. Entire parties traveled the realms looking for you. There was a massive bounty for any information on the lost Sunchosen.”

She shrugged. “The information was vague enough for me to escape. Red hair and Threading magic. They didn’t want anyone to know too much—lest the world start believing their precious Sunchosen was anything short of perfect. So we hid my power. Colored my hair, skipping meals when necessary to afford the paste. It stopped working eventually, and glamour won’t work on a Sunchosen. Eventually, enough time passed that Mother deemed it safe. It’s not as if I’m the only Ethera with this shade of hair, and the years of dye darkened it permanently anyhow.” She blew out a laugh.

I thanked the goddess for that. I’d been entranced by her at twelve, her waves the same rich shade as her eyes. But the red? That was intimately her . Her fire.

“I was unassuming, quiet, unnoticeable,” she finished.

What a ridiculous statement.

“You could never be unnoticeable.”

“I’m surprised they looked at all. It would’ve been easier to pretend I died too…”

The other Sunchosen. The one who had died. Had she known them? Cared for them? Before I could ask, she continued, with sharpness lacing her tone.

“But no, they could not permit such a choice for me. A life outside of theirs. Their loose thread. To dispose of how they wished.”

“Still, all this time, and no one recognized you?”

“Why do you think Nadya came to kill me?”

The pieces clicked into place. Both of them, running from a life they did not want. Having endured horrors at the hands of fates chosen for them.

“But besides her... handler,” she spat the word, “no one has suspected, as far as I know. The Council’s cage is my greatest asset. I mean, do you know what any of the other Sunchosen look like?”

“No,” I admitted.

No one did. For their safety, the Sunchosen remained in the Bronze Palace until their Trials. Or so we were told. If one was lucky enough to obtain an invitation, the first glimpse of the Sunchosen by the rest of Altaerra occurred during the Trials of the Sun. They entered society only after the tournament—during the Helioath where they received their formal appointments and coronations on the Altaerran Council.

“Of course not. They don’t share their playthings. They hide them away, posing and preening their little golden dolls.”

The outline of our camp came into view, the fire from the night before reduced to cinders. It didn’t take long to fit everything back into my pack. They’d both been enchanted to carry any supplies we needed, but hers remained mostly empty to save space for anything she planned to gather.

“Aspen?”

She turned to face me from across the glade, the sound of my name on her lips setting my body alight. I dug deep into my reserves, cooling myself from the inside out, steeling myself into neutrality.

It was an unconventional way to use my magic, sure—diving into my own essence and drawing just enough power to chill my body, dulling everything around me. Dulling everything within me. Colder and colder. I relied on the numbness too heavily. Eventually, I’d forgotten how not to—how to handle feeling it all.

One day, I’d laid a singular block of ice down. Used it to coat my skin, fill my veins, drop my own temperature enough to build a separation from everything else. Then another. And another. Until a thick layer of ice surrounded me on all sides. A wall that Theon had only ever bothered to break through.

Recently, to my utter horror, there was an apothecary-shaped dent in it. A handprint, melting through each layer one by one. At some point, I’d stopped building them back up. And she was dangerously close to whatever waited on the other side.

Mochi was cradled in one of Iris’s arms, propped against her hip. She now wore only a skirt over her thermal wear. No coat. As long as she remained warm, she could wear the palace towels for all I cared.

I withdrew another slice of cold from her body, faintly recognizing the repetition of my name through her shudder.

“Yes, Sunbeam?”

She shook her head as crossed the clearing, determination lining her beautiful features.

She was fucking ravishing. Always. When she’d danced among the trees yesterday? I thought, at some point, I’d surely died and was hallucinating.

“Thank you.”

Placing a hand on my jaw, she brushed her thumb over the scar she’d left on my cheek. The one I hadn’t healed fully.

The one I decided to keep.

I didn’t understand this incessant need for her to touch me. I plummeted further into the cold, swam into the frozen depths until I no longer ached for her warmth.

“Thank you for giving friends a try.”

She repeated the motion before pulling away.

I nodded.

Yes, of course.

I mean, I’d fucking take a blade through the chest for you.

But of course, Virlana.

Friends.