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Chapter 40

IRIS

My dagger flew through the air, whizzing past Aspen’s ear and striking the creature directly between the eyes.

It fell with a dull thud.

Aspen whirled, eyes widening at the horror sprawled before us. I stepped beside him, crouching down to inspect our attacker. The wolf’s eyes were empty, soulless, its fur streaked with dark purple. I yanked my dagger free, wiping the blade clean in the snow before rising to my feet.

“I thought you didn’t harm animals,” Aspen breathed.

“I don’t harm animals without a damn good reason,” I slid Aconite back into its sheath. “But like with people, there is true evil in this world. Whatever that was had absolutely zero good intentions.”

I reached out toward the creature’s limp body but hesitated short of touching it. Instead, I reached toward its mind—and nearly keeled over at what barreled into me.

Darkness. Agony. So much of both.

“And it was no animal,” I rasped. “At least, not anymore.”

A hiss filled the air. Before our eyes, the creature began to dissolve, limbs curling into tendrils of smoke, thick with the same fear, rage, and death I’d just felt.

We shuddered as we watched a fully grown wolf disappear into nothing but dark smoke on the wind.

“What in the name of the Divine is going on here?” Aspen hissed.

“I have a feeling that if we find the answer to one problem, the others will follow.”

The rest of the afternoon passed in silence. Aspen ignored every attempt I made at conversation, sealing up every crack I had made in his walls. I could see him reforging the barriers, stronger than before.

His disdain. His irritation. His coldness.

One by one, they returned in full force.

Each time he dismissed my words, each time he ignored my unspoken offer to move past our argument, my frustration climbed. I reached my breaking point as we set up camp, composure slipping through my fingers like sand.

“I can’t do this anymore.” I dropped my bag onto the ground. “I try and try and try with you. I think I finally see a glimpse of humanity, a sign that you might actually give a damn, and then the second something doesn’t go your way—we’re back to this.”

He said nothing.

“We’re putting everything we’ve worked for at risk if this bullshit doesn’t stop.”

Silence.

“Say something, damn you!”

Not even a glance in my direction.

The last of my patience snapped. I threw my hands up, shouting, “Why are you shutting me out?”

“Because I will not lose another woman I care about to these woods!”

I blinked, every angry retort climbing my throat swallowed by the weight of his words. “You…”

His arm dropped to his side, shoulders sagging. “How preposterous is that.”

Defeat lined his features as he turned on his heel and stalked into the trees.

* * *

Aspen returned with the darkening sky, posture drooping with exhaustion. A deep, tattered piece of me cracked at the numbness in his eyes.

I chased after him, losing sight of his white hair far too quickly to keep up. Mochi had to reassure me multiple times that he would return before I agreed to go back to the clearing and wait.

He’ll come back, Blossom. He always comes back.

Mochi’s emotions radiated sorrow and understanding. Mine mirrored them.

I’d gone too far. Pushed too hard. And the loss he’d experienced here...

I tried setting up camp to distract myself, but worry gnawed at my bones. So, I resorted to pacing, unable to shake the anxiety clawing at my stomach.

Then, a faint wind, tinged with eucalyptus, drifted into the clearing.

I halted mid-step, watching as Aspen walked through the open section of the ward I’d left unfinished. He brushed past without so much as a glance, moving to prepare the rest of our camp.

I tried to break the silence.

“Aspen, I’m sorry.”

“You’re pouting again, Prince.”

“Talk to me. Please.”

He only continued our nightly routine, his eyes fixed but unseeing.

After we finished dinner, I tried one last time. I wasn’t sure I had the right to ask, and part of me feared that bringing up his pain would only make him withdraw further. But I was desperate to reach him, to bring even the smallest fragment of light back to his eyes.

“Who was she?” I asked softly, turning toward him.

Aspen gave no indication he had heard me.

I waited, hoping he would answer if I gave him time. He continued to stare at the fire, unblinking. I waited again. One more moment. When the silence stretched, I exhaled and rose to head toward our tent. I reached for the canvas flap?—

“Did you know I’m not an only child?”

His voice was so low I barely registered it. But I could have sworn I heard it crack.

I turned slowly, careful not to startle him into silence.

“I have a brother,” he continued, still staring at the fire. “And a sister.”

You brought my children into this. , The queen’s words echoed in my mind. I had thought nothing of it at the time…

I lowered myself beside him, folding my legs in front of me.

“Well, I…had a sister.”

I sucked in a breath. “Aspen, you don’t have to?—”

“I know,” he interrupted, finally looking at me.

“Was it because…”

“No.” The force of his answer made my stomach unclench marginally. I had been so afraid of the truth. That somehow, it had been Zinnia and me.

I waited, giving him space.

“You know, I never wanted to be heir,” he said, eyes returning to the fire. “To take my parents’ throne. I know what that looks like, what it feels like.”

I inhaled deeply, watching the smoke coil into the night.

Unlike the other realms, Kacidon continued to follow the aged practice of only choosing their heirs from the old family bloodlines, instead of through the magic of the land. Reilune had appointed Ferrin through an ancient ritual after his Sacrament, and Marikaim chose their ruler in a ceremony governed by the elements where it was rumored fire and water converged in their sacred lands.

From Nadya’s reports, a small council appointed Kacidon’s heir if they deemed them fit to rule once they reached twenty. If they wanted the title to pass to a younger sibling, they waited until that child reached the same age. Absurd, considering the years between selection and ascension.

“Luckily,” he continued, “I got to live twenty-two blissful years before the title fell into my lap—as the last choice.” A humorless huff escaped. “My sister, Aurora, was slated from a young age to be the future Queen of Kacidon. She was a force to be reckoned with—independent, stubborn, brave, strong-willed.” His gaze flicked toward me. “You two were on the way to being thick as thieves, until…”

Two girls, playing in the snow. One brunette. The other…

“Aspen, did your sister have the same hair as you?”

He nodded, silver lining his eyes.

“I remember,” I murmured. “Not more than a glimpse, but…I remember her.”

He nodded again, lowering his gaze to the snow beneath his boots.

I shifted closer, unsure how to offer comfort without overstepping. In Marikaim, we had touched so often. Now, so much more hung in the air between us. Revelations and shouted words and things I couldn’t remember, and he wished to forget.

Even more than before, he pulled away.

I wanted to pull him to me and never let go.

Instead, I settled for sitting close enough that our legs pressed together.

“As you’ve noticed,” he murmured, the smallest twitch of his lips almost forming a smile, “I’m not the easiest person to get along with.” He shook his head. “But Aurora was my best friend. We went everywhere together, and when she adopted Mochi, he came too. Spent our days either sledding down the hills outside of the palace, eating our weight in chocolate, or,” the last word caught in his throat. “Here—in the Tundra.”

What had this place been for him? What had it become now?

“My father is a wretched man. I know it. You know it. Altaerra knows it. He only kept his title because he was too cowardly to actually do anything in the war that they could use against him. Hid behind those with a penchant for violence and let them be the figureheads of The Stratum, so that he could feign innocence if the time came.”

And be hated by both sides. Those who knew the King of Kacidon’s ideals were either repulsed by his participation or disgusted by denial of it.

“We were born into this world already painted with his choices,” Aspen seethed. “My brother—my twin, actually—was my solace in that. They both were. Mother was so busy, she stepped in when she was there... I still don’t understand her. Her scheming to win back favor took up all of her time. And until we learned who Father really was, what he’d done...we worshipped him.”

He spat on the ground, hanging his head. “It stopped for me and Aurora, but never Adrik. I hate everything that man represents, but Adrik made excuses. Consolations. Still, the three of us clung together in the face of his rules. His games. It didn’t matter what he did as long as we had each other. Adrik's hunger for power grew as we aged. His ambition. He started to thrive on sparring, it was written off as sibling rivalry, but he always took it too far. When we turned twenty, he truly believed our parents would tell him that he was to be the next king...”

Aspen brought his head back, breathing deeply. “And when they informed him they hadn’t made a decision, it took a turn for the worse. His anger turned... violent. Dangerous.” His entire body tensed, his shoulders barely even moving with his breath. “He started picking fights with me, outside of training too. Siblings brawl, but this was...different.”

“Your scars...” I whispered.

He replied with a tight nod. “I trained extensively in ice manipulation, but my Medikai magic was severely underdeveloped at that time. I’d been so arrogant to think it wasn’t as important. Ironically, it began to improve after the numerous hours I spent trying to fix the damage, but it was rudimentary. Enough that many of the earlier injuries didn't heal properly. I let him take it out on me. I didn’t know what else to do.”

“But, you have healers. Why didn't you?—”

“He was my brother.”

And he had wanted to protect him, even to his own detriment.

“If I could go back and change my silence I would. Father saw a few times. He didn’t seem to care much.” Anger simmered just below the surface.

“They aren’t all from him.”

I fought every instinct I had to ask. To know who had hurt him so I could find them. So I could?—

“I was very vocal that I didn't want the title,” his voice interrupted my thoughts. “I’d been so damn relieved when it wasn’t my name they announced on our birthday,” he scoffed. “He took his anger out on me, but I don't think he saw me as a threat. He knew our sister was his true competitor.”

Aspen was shaking. Without hesitation, I snaked my arm around his, resting my hand on his forearm. He was painfully cold.

“Fuck, Aspen, your skin…”

“Sorry,” he murmured, and the cold lessened. I pressed my fingers gently into the scarred flesh of his arm.

He didn't back away from the gesture, and his shaking dissipated slightly, warming a little more. “We were supposed to go ice skating, the three of us. We spent most of our time here, traipsing around the forest. Back when it was a haven, instead of the intensely warded graveyard of our youth it's become today.”

That's how he knew these lands so well.

“I had forgotten the chocolate, the one request she had of me—never forget the chocolate. She asked me to go back to the palace...I wasn’t gone that long. I’d used my ring, but didn’t have enough essence to use it on the way back and when I appeared on the edge of the lake, Adrik was holding her limp body.”

A single tear rolled down his cheek, falling onto the snow below. “He was frantic, ‘ I tried, I tried, I tried to heal her, but it wouldn't work .’ I pushed every ounce of Medikai magic I had trained into her, begging the goddesses for it to be enough?—”

My thumb drew circles along the scarred skin of his forearm. “But she was gone. Three days before she would’ve turned twenty.” He squeezed his eyes shut, allowing another tear to fall. “I hear her last shuddering breath in my nightmares. I couldn't—” His next words were forced, barely more than a raspy breath. “I couldn't save her.”

I squeezed his arm once, hoping to convey that he didn't have to continue.

“Adrik explained that he had been waiting on the bank for me to return, but she had immediately wanted to be on the ice. When it cracked and she went under, he said he wasn't quick enough to get to her...to keep her from drowning.”

I laced my fingers between his without hesitation.

He paused for a few moments, breathing heavily. When he spoke again it was low, but his voice was clear. “It was only when the Medikai asked about who had tried to heal her that the pieces clicked into place. Adrik and I have the exact same blessings, and they only found traces of one Ethera’s healing magic on her body—not two.”

Aspen's hands clenched so hard his knuckles turned white. “That's when I knew. I have no idea how I missed it. I vividly remember the way the ice looked that day, the hole she had fallen into was unnatural. There were no cracks radiating from it—just a hole. Something that could only be created by magic. By ice manipulation.”

Tears rimmed my own eyes, bile rising in my throat.

“I asked him, I asked him over and over—clinging to the hope.‘ Why were there no cracks? Why didn't you get her from the water sooner? Why didn't you heal her?’ He tried to argue that he did help. But once my father came to the same conclusion, Adrik turned to his rage. Aspen's voice shook, raising into a shout. “Bellowing that it was his right, and she had stolen it from him.”

Flames of ire licked up my spine, anger roaring in my chest.

“He vanished before they could tie the godsilk restraints onto his wrists.” Aspen held up his right hand, bringing mine with him. The silver signet there shone against the other onyx rings. “The Gavalon family signet rings allow us to transport ourselves and one other, given our essence isn’t depleted, to anywhere in Kacidon,” he explained, flipping it so I could see the Gavalon family sigil—a sleeping fox nestled into the letter G. “And he’d just said he couldn’t use his to get us home.”

He stropped his hand back to his knee, still intertwined in mine. “The entire guard searched for him for ages, Dante led a small group to search for him. They found his remains several seasons later and buried them in the Tundra.”

I absentmindedly ran my thumb in circles against the back of his hand. “My parents lost one of their children that day and grieved another when they learned what had become of him. They locked down the Tundra immediately. Out of pain or grief... I'm not sure. They had a Threader create barriers strong enough to keep everyone out, the magic so powerful even portaling within the Tundra is no longer possible. I can’t even use my ring. I come here as infrequently as I can manage... We all do.”

He turned towards me, guilt shining in his eyes. “I know it isn't an excuse, but...I wasn't always this…” he paused, searching for the word, “empty.”

A few moments passed, and we just looked at each other.

Really looked.

He continued so softly I had to lean in to make out the words. “Sometimes I fear that the part of me that was joyful—the part that turned its face to the sun and smiled at the warmth—was carved out of my soul that day.”

Pure unbridled rage thrummed through my veins, along with the urge to rip out the throat of this man who had caused him and his family so much pain. Instead, I laid my head on his shoulder, knowing that I would tell him all those things in time, knowing he needed this more. He stiffened slightly, before relaxing and placing his head on top of mine.

We sat like that as darkness fell completely, the sounds of the crackling fire and Mochi softly snoring permeating the air.

“I'm sorry, Iris,” he sniffed, breaking the silence. “I shouldn’t have reacted the way I did. Something in me...snapped.” He lifted his head and stretched out his body. I followed his lead, letting go of his hand as well. “Seeing you on that ice...I haven’t felt fear like that in six years,” he shuddered.

“The sound of the cracking, it—it brought me back there. And all my anger that had built since that day—at this place, at myself—reared its head at you. I wasn't there for Mochi...for you...I was almost too late.” He looked away, the words coming out broken. “I was almost too late.”

I shook my head fervently, “Aspen, really, it's?—”

“No.” His voice softened as he continued, “You didn't deserve that. My inability to forgive this place isn't your burden to carry.”

“It may not be mine to carry,” I said gently, placing my hand on top of his again, “but that doesn't mean I can't help.” Silver lined his eyes again as I spoke, their blue hue so bright it was as if the stars were staring back at me.

“Plus,” I chuckled softly. “My temper is just as fierce. Sometimes our anger, our fear, reaches our lips before our mind has time to react.” I brushed my thumb across the top of his hand. “We both said things we didn't mean. I'm sorry, too.”

He dipped his head, seeming to accept that response.

I wrapped my fingers around his wrist and tugged gently. “Come on, Prince. Let's go to bed.”

He let me pull him towards the tent before we climbed soundlessly onto our bedroll. I laid down on my side of the coverings, rolling my head toward him. Even in the dark, I could make out the soft pleading in his eyes—the question he wouldn't dare ask. I answered by shifting closer to him, until the sides of our bodies were pressed together.

I pulled my hand from beneath the blanket, lifting my pinky. “I need you to make me one more promise.”

For a long moment, he didn’t respond. I wondered if he’d already fallen asleep.

Then, the edge of his pinky brushed mine.

“What is it?” he asked softly.

“Stop leaving.”