Page 47

Chapter 44

IRIS

It took us another week to make our way back out of the Tundra, our pace quickened by the discovery of several more patches of forest that had fallen victim to the spreading disease.

The realization was sobering.

We’d been biding our time on the return journey, so enraptured by the secrets we could hide between the pines that we’d begun to lose sight of the perils facing our people beyond the tree line. Caught up in the false security the forest’s barrier had provided, we’d let our focus wane. But the sight of the withering trees snapped our attention back to our duties—to the mission that deserved our undivided commitment.

The revelation, coupled with several not-so-friendly reminders that the forest was, at its core, treacherous, hastened the journey we’d been unconsciously delaying. Although Kacidon’s climate remained consistent most of the year, knowing that an entire season had passed during my time at the palace only deepened my sense of urgency. The autumn equinox lingered only a few weeks away.

The line we’d crossed beside a crackling fire had done nothing to quell the bickering. No, we continued to verbally spar, rattling on about inconsequential topics, neither willing to cede the upper hand.

“There is absolutely no way you can argue that tea is better than hot chocolate, Iris. No drink in Altaerra surpasses Kacidon hot chocolate.”

“Believe it or not, Prince, the world does not revolve around you and your precious eternal winter. Vaelithe spiced tea will always be the superior warm beverage.”

“Ah, yes, because Iris Virlana could never be wrong about warm beverages when she lives in perpetual daylight—I’m sure your boiling atmosphere really lends itself to connoisseurship in such topics.”

Aspen Gavalon was an absolutely infuriating pain in my ass, but by the Goddesses, had I come to relish the ache. And he was right—though I’d never admit it—I liked the challenge. Craved it, even.

The delicate thread of trust between us had allowed for vulnerability, had enabled us to break through the facade that irritation was the only thing we felt for one another. Nothing like that first night had transpired again, but there was a newfound ease in how we approached each other. Gone was the hesitation to touch, the wariness that one of us might flee—or bite—like a frightened animal if the other moved too quickly.

We lingered in moments of closeness. Gentle, chaste kisses—merely brushes of lips on a cheek as the sun set. A featherlight caress to move a stray hair off a frost-covered cheek. The inadvertent interlocking of pinkies while walking. A hand resting on a knee while we ate. There were very few moments in which our bodies weren’t somehow connected, as though we were merely extensions of each other. During the day, his touch was soft, modest even. But every night, his grip on my body tightened—a cage of safety that kept the nightmares at bay.

We could be different people here.

No walls. Not even the glimpse of one.

That last morning, before crossing the barrier again, we lingered. I studied Aspen as the sun bounced off the planes of his angular form, our limbs intertwined, his hair mussed with sleep.

The sounds of the forest outside our shelter were subdued, only the soft caress of the wind against our tent mingling with a serene birdsong. As if the forest had gifted us one last moment of stillness before the world tumbled back into sharp focus. I took my time tracing the lines of Aspen’s sharp jaw, his broad chest, the dips and grooves along each muscular arm. The way his lips came to meet mine was so at odds with the sure but tactful moments we had shared since obtaining the Blight Lotus—a brief glimpse of the hunger from the night I’d explained my past.

We stood at the shimmering barrier that would force us back to reality. I was grateful that my abilities were not necessary to pass through.

Even after a week, my magic still pulsed with the aftereffects of untangling such a complex ward. It groaned softly when I attempted to coax it—like stiff muscles after a grueling hike. Aspen laced his fingers in mine, stepping through with ease, just as he had when we arrived.

I halted immediately.

My magic spread and frayed inside me—thin strands jutting out and attaching themselves to the layers of the ward.

Prey in a spider’s web.

I thrashed against the unrelenting barrier, my grip on Aspen’s fingers bruising as his eyes widened. It wasn’t trying to keep me in place. No. It was trying to pull me back—to seize my body and spit it out right back into the Tundra.

Aspen’s gaze clouded with frantic determination as he stepped back into the ward, enclosing my body with his and dragging us into the powdery snow of the other side.

Sprawled and panting on the ground, my hands shook from the sudden intrusion. His embrace must have deceived the ward with his lineage, convincing it that he was the only one passing. He had covered my presence, allowing me to slip through whatever force had been attempting to prevent my departure.

We didn’t need to say it aloud to acknowledge the truth: something of malice now dwelled in the Tundra.

And then, he tucked me into his side, the world disappearing as we moved. We stood at the edge of a different forest—one I knew better than myself at times.

I closed my eyes, savoring the warmth of the sun peeking through the trees and breathing in the heady scent of sandalwood and neroli.

Home.