Page 5

Chapter 2

IRIS

“Hair down, Iris. How many times must I tell you?”

I ignored my mother’s chiding as I exited the backroom of the Raven’s Grove Apothecary, careful not to disturb the vials weighing down my arms. Thankfully, the circular space was empty, most of the day’s clientele having already filed out.

“Sorry, Mother.”

I shook my hair from the loose braid I’d used to keep it off my neck while working near the open flames, replenishing our stock of revitalizing tonic. The weight of it immediately pulled on the strained muscles at the base of my skull.

As with much of the architecture in Vaelithe, our home was carved from nature. Nestled into the base of a massive redwood, bookshelves stretched to the ceiling, overflowing with tomes and jars of rare ingredients on the main floor, which served as the Raven’s Grove. Our living quarters spanned the second. The spacious cellar below was reserved for storage, and things we wished to remain hidden; a handful of rooms at the back remained locked in disarray.

Though all three of the outer realms had been created by Haven, Goddess of the Wild, Vaelithe was truly built into the earth. The Sylvan Bloom feeding our realm’s magic allowed the lush landscape to flourish, flowers perpetually in bloom as they crawled across land and buildings alike. Dirt paths, carved out from constant foot and hoof traffic, wove between babbling brooks and mossy hills, the grass ever plush beneath one’s feet. As we gave to the land, it adapted for us —molding around our needs for architecture and society.

“You have such lovely hair, my dearest.” Zinnia stepped from behind the gnarled wood counter, reaching out to run her nails through the wavy strands. “I don’t understand why it is so difficult for you to keep it down.”

The similarities between our hair had certainly aided our mother-daughter ruse over the years. My crimson strands ran deeper than her copper, and the spiraling curls atop her crown were much tighter than my waves—but to the untrained eye, we looked every bit the part.

“And if you insist on tying it up while away from customers,” she continued, draping the strands over my back and tapping the space between my shoulder blades, “you must remember to fix it before you return. I cannot be the only one who looks after your safety.”

My stomach twisted with guilt, but a ring from the bell at the front of the shop cut off any ruminating.

Heavy boots thudded across the floor following the click of the lock as a tall, dark-haired man ducked beneath the ivy-draped archway.

“Gideon!”

I darted forward, bare feet creaking against the wooden planks as I flung myself into his broad arms.

“Hello, Wildling.”

The healer chuckled, plopping me back onto the ground before sauntering over to where Zinnia stood, propped against the counter. His green robes carried several days’ worth of grime. I doubted he’d left the infirmary in that time.

“That nickname is so juvenile, Gideon,” Zinnia tsked, though I caught the corner of her mouth lifting.

“For our cunning, untamed girl? I couldn’t think of anything more befitting.”

Something in me settled at his words. Gideon was as much my father as Zinnia was my mother. Nothing by blood, but everything by choice.

Which, like most of our life, was complicated.

Even more so seeing as Zinnia and Gideon never exchanged outwardly romantic gestures in my presence, though no one could deny the way they looked at each other. He also lived in his own home, clear across the Marshire Wild. But he’d treated me as his own since the day we met.

As a daughter.

And perhaps I knew little of what families should look like, but Zinnia and Gideon were mine.

Zinnia brushed at Gideon’s tunic before grabbing the crate of inventory I’d finished preparing earlier in the day, setting it on the counter.

Gideon Boden was Vaelithe’s most skilled healer—using both a combination of formal training and Medikai magic in his practice. Not all healers possessed the goddess-blessing to manipulate physical structures within the body, supplementing instead with rigorous years of training at the healer academies. Though, in all my time at the infirmary, I had never seen anyone with quite the same finesse as Gideon. He could sew deep gashes in skin and set shattered bones with barely a breath, both skills working in seamless tandem.

His sharp gaze flicked across the jars and tins, counting. “I think we may need more. We have four new patients with the same illness.”

I cursed, then promptly avoided my mother’s reproachful look.

For over a year, hordes of Ethera had come to the infirmary with aggressive chills, skin cold to the touch, unable to eat. Many had worsened, succumbing to hallucinations—and, in growing numbers these days, death. The illness didn’t seem to spread through contact or proximity, so we had yet to determine how people were becoming infected.

No one had answers.

And it wasn’t as if Gideon’s infirmary was short on patients before. Magic gone wrong and experimental catastrophes lined up at his door. He’d come to the Raven’s Grove covered in blood from a wayward arrow or an enchanted stab wound more days than not.

But Ethera didn’t get sick. Not like this.

He turned to me. “I’ve been thinking—you may be right about the revitalizing tonic. Replenishing essence reserves before attempting other treatments might not be without merit. Do you have enough stock to spare?”

“Actually, I was working on it earlier. And I gathered more Lochweed last night.”

“Will you have time to brew enough before you leave?”

“I can get through at least one more batch later.” I made a mental note to pack some for the journey to Kacidon. Just in case.

Zinnia’s gaze darkened. “Speaking of last night—do you have any idea how it felt hearing you creep up the stairs this morning? My stomach was in knots, mind spinning, wondering where you had been and what could have happened. I know what the forest means to you, but at night? I don’t know where this recklessness has stemmed?—”

“Zinnia, she’s fine,” Gideon interrupted, voice calm and reassuring.

She shot him a glare as she paced, but it was half-hearted. He may have been the only person who could speak to Zinnia in such a way and not incur her wrath.

“She’s safe, she’s here, and she’s in one piece. Albeit a rather dirty piece.” His brow quirked as he eyed the dirt smudging my hem. “Must we remember how you acted at that age, dear?”

Zinnia halted and glanced sideways at him, amusement twitching at her lips. “Yes, Gid, I remember quite clearly. And no, it does not make me feel any better.”

The look my mother gave me was unmistakable. A reminder of things we didn’t speak of in mixed company.

I swallowed the rising guilt, the shame tugging at my ribs like an unraveling thread.

Foolish, Iris. Foolish, na?ve girl.

“There was no one around, and Flora kept me company,” I reassured them, avoiding my mother’s gaze. “I wanted to say goodbye before we left.”

And I had wanted to feel useful. But that was a different conversation entirely.

“Have I not earned a modicum of trust?”

Zinnia looked as if I had struck her, and I fought the urge to shrink from her hurt.

That was exactly why I’d started sneaking out in the first place.

Gideon, sensing the shift, cleared his throat. “Did you at least find anything useful?”

Relieved, I grabbed my sack, rustling through the canvas for the herbs I had collected. “I was searching for Lochweed, but I also found Mycinth and Weeping Daisies.” I handed him the glass jars. “I have an idea for a tonic that might be a stronger fever reducer.”

I wasn’t a healer, but I knew plants. As her apprentice, my mother taught me everything she knew when it came to brewing. When I’d been desperate for more, I spent countless nights hunched over books and cauldrons. From potions of magical detection and power enhancement to truth serums and poisons, I’d experimented with them all. And if our suspicions were correct, it might very well be the key to unraveling this mystery.

Frankly, I was still shocked Zinnia hadn’t fought back on my insistence to help Gideon. The Wilds had always been our sacred corner of Vaelithe, finally allowing a reprieve from running. But leaving the Raven’s Grove, even with her, had become less common the past few years.

As the year of the Trials grew closer, so did her fear.

But she’d relented, and when I wasn’t brewing for our inventory or collecting ingredients, I was restocking Gideon’s. Once a week I accompanied him to the infirmary to administer tonics and collect data for our research while she kept the apothecary running.

It never felt like enough.

Gideon nodded, stuffing the jars into his coat pockets before hoisting the crate of supplies off the counter. “I’ll start investigating the properties while you two are away.”

“Speaking of,” Zinnia clapped her hands, ushering Gideon toward the door, “we have a slew of preparations for the morning, and your chattering will only delay us further.”

He chuckled, tipping his head in farewell as my mother practically pushed him outside. “Goodnight, my fair ladies!”

The door shut behind him with a decisive click. Zinnia’s hands flew over the multitude of locks, not exhaling until the last one slid into place. I could practically feel the fear in every movement.

My guilt deepened.

I knew what pressed in closer each day, threatening everything we’d spent so long building. A gnawing, ever present ache clawed at the pit of my stomach, reminding me how much she’d done for me. That scrape against my ribs that reminded me I owed her every waking moment of the past eighteen years. If she could do that for me, I owed her this. Owed her the ability to treat me like a child, for just a bit longer, if it eased any of the anxiety I had given her in the first place.

Soon we could leave it all.

And yet, I couldn’t be patient. Still defied her wishes. Still craved more.