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Chapter 47

IRIS

The wood of my workbench groaned under my weight as I leaned across it, staring into the swirling liquid.

One more drop.

The contents hissed as I added the elixir and stirred twice counterclockwise. I didn’t dare breathe as I watched the concoction turn purple and then… clear.

“Fuck!” I slammed a hand onto the table.

Six days. Six different reagents. Six failed tonics.

I’d barely slept since we returned to Kacidon, and that didn’t seem likely to change anytime soon. The fully translated book had, of course, been maddeningly vague on exactly how I was meant to use the Blight Lotus. The only concrete direction? That the properties of the Lotus would be potent and stabilized only if the tonic remained the same color as the petals after the addition of the concentrated reagent. Which of the five types of reagents it needed was, of course, not indicated.

I had four stabilizing reagents left before I’d have to start from scratch.

And I hadn’t even touched the journal that haunted what little sleep I managed to steal—the worn book, the decoder, and the possibility of answers still stashed away in the broken drawer of my workbench.

“These look vile, Threader,” Theon remarked as he entered the apothecary, tossing an oat cluster toward me. “But they aren’t half bad.”

“Where did you find that?” I glanced at the piece that had fallen to the floor before returning to my notes.

“The kitchens started carrying them.” He shrugged.

Where in the Divine had they gotten that recipe?

Theon blew out a breath, surveying the disaster around him—broken bottles, spilled solutions, scattered notes. I knew I didn’t look much better.

“When was the last time you left here?”

“When did we get back?” I asked, mostly sure it had only been six days.

“Divine.” He set several of the clusters in front of me. “I won’t bother trying to convince you to leave but at least eat something.”

I considered refusing, but a deep growl from my stomach made the decision for me. I grabbed one, biting into it as Theon flipped through my notes, scanning pages filled with failed combinations and calculations.

“Nothing yet,” I admitted, unable to meet his gaze.

Normally, I would have asked my mother for advice, but we hadn’t spoken since I left Vaelithe. I’d sent two letters—both unanswered. I knew the betrayal had cut deep.

Our lives had been shackled to Vaelithe, as much as we loved it, because of her life debt. Her choices had led her there, but it had been thoughtless of me to remind her so starkly. That didn’t mean I wasn’t angry with her—for her inability to see Aspen as anything but his mother’s son. For the things she’d said.

“The Nightshade was here while you were gone,” Theon’s rumbling voice pulled me back to the present.

“Did she have anything new to report?”

Nadya had been using every resource—legal and otherwise—to investigate the attack we’d faced on our way to Marikaim. It was something we’d all agreed to keep between ourselves and Ferrin until we understood more about who, and what, they were.

“Only whispers. Some underground rumblings, but nothing concrete. No word yet on their motives.” Theon had taken a particular interest in their identities, unable to shake the way they had practically sacrificed their energy to the sky.

“Is that where he is?” I asked, not needing to elaborate.

Aspen had left the morning after he showed me to my new rooms. Alone. No explanation—just a note in his precise scrawl, promising he’d return soon.

“It wasn’t his choice.” Apology lined Theon’s features. “That’s all I know.”

Theon being as in the dark as the rest of us didn’t sit well. I was used to being shut out here—but Theon?

I pushed up from my workbench to fetch another scroll, but my knees buckled. Theon caught me before I hit the floor, one arm bracing me upright. A wave of exhaustion slammed into me, the lack of sleep and the strain on my essence reserves almost at capacity again all catching up at once.

“I’m not explaining why you’re halfway to your deathbed when he gets back,” he grumbled, shifting my weight against him. “I’ve survived his dramatics for too long to be taken out by your stubbornness, Iris Virlana.”

I regained my footing as we crossed into the hallway but let myself lean on him for support.

“Theon, I can?—”

“I’m still your guardian, Virlana.” His voice was firm. “And you’re not getting far in your state.”

I sighed, too tired to argue.

“What do you even do with your magic to exhaust yourself like this? Not sleeping is one thing, but even a guard can spot overload.”

I hesitated, dancing on the precipice of a decision I hadn’t quite made yet.

Since returning home, my magic had roared back into my veins with a force I didn’t understand. And Theon… Theon was the only person I’d considered asking for help.

“About that…” I began, glancing at him to gauge his reaction. “I need your help with something.”

His brow arched. “Is it illegal? Because I quite enjoy those sorts of things.”

I barked a laugh, some of the heaviness lifting. “Maybe? It’s not something that can be shared with anyone else, if that counts.”

“Anyone?” His expression made it clear exactly who he was asking about.

“Yes,” I confirmed. “I…”

Shadows flickered against the wall behind him. I spun, searching for the source.

Through an open doorway, candlelight flickered over an aged mantle lined with dried flowers, illuminating a gleaming silver harp.

Beside it, wrapped in darkness, stood the silhouette of a woman and a small fox.

Mochi turned his mismatched blue and amber eyes toward me, cocking his head. Bringing a finger to my lips, I reached out with my mind, assuring him I had no intention of disturbing whoever he was with.

The woman’s features were obscured by shadow, but her hands skimmed the harp with aching familiarity—like an old friend, or a wayward lover.

Theon’s grip on my elbow urged me forward, past the room. But as she turned in the candlelight, I caught the briefest flash of slate blue.

The moment felt intimate. Something not meant for our eyes.

“What—” Theon cut me off with a sharp shake of his head.

“Your presence is requested at the theatre tomorrow night,” he said instead, deliberately skirting around what we had just seen. “And by requested, I mean expected.”

I huffed. “Yes, well, I don’t believe anyone in this palace has ever been accustomed to the denial of a request.”

“You’d be mostly correct.”

The door to my chamber creaked open, and Theon planted his feet. He didn’t budge—arms crossed—until I was firmly in bed, dirty clothes and all.

“Who is requesting?” I asked.

He exhaled through his nose.

“Everyone.”