Page 44

Chapter 41

IRIS

The sun was barely peeking through the trees when I pried my eyes open the next morning.

Aspen had risen early, packing up most of camp before I woke. He hadn’t been awake, though, when I’d stirred in the middle of the night and found his pinky interlocked with mine. I tried to ignore the quiet comfort it brought as I drifted back to sleep.

“I’m going to scout ahead,” he announced, voice cutting through the crisp morning air. “See if I can find a new path since the lake diverted our original plan. Eat something—I’ll be right back.”

I pushed up onto my elbows, rubbing the sleep from my eyes as I squinted toward the tent entrance. “You shouldn’t go alone,” I managed through a yawn. “There could be another one of those evil shadow demons. And I’m a bit tired for life-saving heroics this early.”

He ran a hand down his face, glancing down at where I still lay sprawled in the tent.

“There isn’t a single person in Altaerra who knows the Tundra like I do. It’ll be quicker if you eat and pack up while I scout,” he called over his shoulder as he stepped away. “No heroics necessary.”

He turned back once more at the edge of the clearing, leveling me with a look. “And for the love of the Divine Iris, please stay here.”

I rolled my eyes, waving a hand to create an opening in the barrier as he disappeared into the trees.

For the love of the Divine. Like he hadn’t gotten us into just as many questionable situations as I had on this trip.

The Winter Princeling: adept at all, second to none, master of the Tundra.

Goddesses spare me.

It was the first time he’d ever said please, though.

Still, who did he think he was?

I rummaged through my bag, pulling out a handful of nuts and dried apricots, frowning at how low our supplies were running. Tossing the food back, I decided now was as good a time as any to restock. One of us had to be responsible and keep us from starving.

Please stay here.

Aspen’s voice echoed in my head as I glanced around camp, then set off in the opposite direction, backtracking to the bushes I’d seen yesterday. The tala berries weren’t far—just enough for a decent breakfast with some bread.

“Stay put, little one,” I murmured, scratching behind Mochi’s ears before slipping south through the trees.

It didn’t take long to spot one of the fruit bushes off to the right. Triumphant, I moved to step over a gnarled cedar root?—

Something rigid coiled around my ankle and yanked tight.

My breath stopped.

It was happening again.

I was nine years old.

Trapped.

My throat constricted. My vision blurred. I was trapped.

My chest tightened to the point of pain—I couldn’t breathe. I was trapped.

My hands trembled uncontrollably. I had to get out. I was trapped.

Panic clawed its way up my throat as I gasped for air, nails digging desperately at the snare, tearing flesh, shredding my pants, blood pooling beneath my fingers?—

Scratch. Pull. Rip.

I was trapped. I was trapped. I was trapped . I was trapped ? —

“Iris.”

A voice, distant. Muffled. Inconsequential against the roaring in my skull.

I couldn’t think. I couldn’t breathe.

Warm hands seized mine, stopping me from tearing at my own skin. I thrashed against them. I had to keep moving—I had to get out.

The hands didn’t let go.

They gripped my face, forcing my gaze up.

Two blue-grey eyes.

“Iris, I’m here. I’m right here.”

I tried to pull away, to rip myself free?—

Free. Free. Free…

“IRIS. LOOK AT ME.”

I inhaled sharply, my lungs finally catching air.

Panting, I stared at him, vision swimming, as tears brimmed at the edges of my eyes. My trembling hands rose, grasping the two that encompassed my face. Clutching to them like they were the only thing keeping me tethered to the world.

“Iris, it’s all right. You’re all right. You’re safe.”

I still couldn’t speak. I could only focus on breathing, on staying upright.

“I’m going to get you out of this. I’m going to take care of you. Just breathe for me, Sunbeam. Please, just breathe.”

His voice pulled me back, strand by strand, until the tight coil in my chest snapped. The tears spilled freely now, hot and unchecked. I didn’t bother to wipe them away. I just held his gaze and brought our joined hands closer to my chest, clinging to him like an anchor in a storm.

He lowered us both to the sodden, snow-packed ground, never breaking eye contact. Silently, he shifted my hands together, enclosing them in his left hand, ignoring the angry half-moon indentions peppering his skin.

“I’m going to need you to stay still, Sunbeam,” he murmured. “It’ll be over soon.”

His free hand brushed over the snare, carefully pushing back the tattered remains of my trousers. My ankle was in ribbons. Even the tops of my boots were split open.

Aspen exhaled sharply. “It’s just a rope snare. No barbs. It should come off without any more pain.”

The pain of the snare is nothing compared to the vice grip inside my chest.

I wanted to say it. Scream it. The words died somewhere along the way.

He squeezed my hands gently before reaching down, fingers working at the knot. With a careful pull, the snare loosened, slipping from my ankle. He tossed it far into the brush, then cupped my face, tilting my chin away from the blood-streaked ground.

His eyes flickered with something raw. Not just concern. Not just fear.

Rage.

Not at me. For me.

He must have seen the rest of the scars, marring the bottom half of my leg.

I couldn’t bear the look on his face—the quiet, unwavering understanding.

It was too much. The trap, the fear, Aspen...

But he hadn’t flinched. Hadn’t questioned, hadn’t hesitated.

Aspen never looked away.

His thumb traced the edge of my jaw, forehead pressed against mine, voice barely above a whisper.

“You’re safe.”

The horror bled from my body. I let it seep into the frozen ground, filling the cracks of ice across the Tundra that matched the ones in my soul. Allowed my frantic, caged heart to push one iron bar aside, collapsing against his chest. His arms wrapped around me instinctively, and a ravaged cry broke through.

One after another—cries of anguish, and despair, and outrage—I wept.