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Chapter 48

IRIS

Theon was at my room before the sun rose the next morning.

“What did you need my help with?”

“Sleeping,” I grumbled, sticking a hand out from beneath the sheets to wave him off.

“I doubt you need my assistance with that—you resemble the dead.” His armor clanked across the wooden floor, and suddenly, the cocoon of blankets I was hiding under was yanked away. “You asked for my help. With your magic, I’d guess. And I am not allowed to tell anyone. Color me curious.”

I thanked every Goddess of the Triad that my nightshirt covered both my tattoo and my thighs as I sat up, rubbing away sleep.

His bright, angular eyes watched me expectantly, fingers laced together and placed on his knee. Clad in full armor—more than usual—and with his long, wavy hair pulled back into a knot, he looked ready to lead an army into battle.

“Do you expect me to ask you to start a war?” I gestured toward his uniform.

“I’ve learned not to limit my expectations with you, Red.”

“That’s actually what I need to speak with you about.” I shifted on the bed, flexing my hands to rid the slight tremble.

“War? That’s ex?—”

“My magic, Theon.” His playful expression calmed the climbing rate of my heartbeat. I pushed from the bed, grabbing a set of clothes I could move freely in for the day. “Do you know where we could find godsilk?”

He did not move, only sat there, foot tapping, waiting for me to elaborate.

“My magic is unstable.” It was the simplest explanation, the easiest one to give at this point. “That’s why I’m so exhausted all the time. My essence builds up, and it becomes too much to carry if I don’t burn it off.”

“I won’t enable you to dampen your magic.” His tone sharpened. “It’ll only make the problem worse.”

“I’m only asking as a last resort.” I sighed. “I need to burn it off, and I don’t have the kind of control you and Aspen do. I’ve started already, but I need a safeguard. Douse me with water first, shake me—I don’t care. But you must promise me that if it becomes a threat to anyone else, you’ll negate it.”

“Fine.” He stood. “But you’re training it, not burning it off.”

“I don’t?—”

“It will continue to be an issue until you figure out how to use it.” Theon strode to the door, pausing in the entryway. “Your magic is like any other muscle. Underuse it, and it atrophies. Overuse it, and it fatigues. Don’t push it enough, and it’ll never grow. You don’t need to control it. You need to make it understand you.”

“You aren’t a Threader, Theon. You won’t know how to train it,” I argued. “I want to burn it off instead.”

“I don’t care.” There was no malice in his words, no emotion at all, really—just firm resolution. “That’s the deal if you want my help.”

I picked at the edges of my nails, turning his offer over.

“This is just between you and me.” I exhaled.

“At dawn, tomorrow. If you’re not at the west gate by sunrise, I will take it as disinterest in furthering your own skill. It is your choice to become stronger, Threader.”

Divine, above. This was not Theon—my friend who danced in old, seedy taverns. This was Captain Theon Winthrall, second-in-command of the Kacidon Royal Guard. And it was painfully clear the respect he commanded as such.

“See you at the Theatre, Iris.” He nodded, and then he was gone.

* * *

A maze of dark hallways led to a private box in the Arcton Theatre, reserved for the Gavalon family.

I stared at the back of Theon’s head, half his dark curls now loosely pulled back, and ran through every failed experiment with the Blight Lotus. Another failed combination this afternoon raised the total to eight. I only had two reagents left before I would need to reformulate completely.

Based on my calculations, every other ingredient should be perfect synchronicity. It just needed the right reagent to create the final reaction—to keep the Lotus’s properties from disintegrating under the more dominant elements. Or I was painfully wrong. I wondered if I could start another batch when we got back to the palace after the show.

Theon pulled the heavy curtain to the side, revealing six empty velvet chairs—except for one, occupied by a man I didn’t recognize.

He stiffened beside me as the male turned, amber eyes latching onto mine.

He was handsome. Well dressed with soft brown hair that curled around what could only be described as pleasant features. But something about him was unsettling.

“It seems we are the first to arrive,” his smooth voice carried across the balcony. He made no move to stand, only cocked his head to the side as he addressed us. “Theon, I didn’t realize you would be joining us. And this must be the new healer girl, I presume?”

“Apothecary, actually.” I smiled sardonically.

“What a distinction,” he grinned back. My skin prickled under his gaze.

“Iris,” Theon said coolly. “This is Draveth Leoven.”

“Ah,” I immediately noted the similarities to his father and sister. I also noted Theon’s distaste—the tight set of his jaw an unfamiliar sight. “How lucky we are that you could step away from the demands of your position to accompany us.”

The way his eyes roved my body turned my stomach, the feeling oily and unwelcome.

“On the contrary, I should count myself lucky. I’ve heard so many things about you, Iris Virlana.”

Before I could wonder what exactly he’d learned, an icy wind swept across my exposed collarbones, climbing up my neck and leaving gooseflesh in its wake.

I turned, already knowing exactly who I’d find there.

Behind the King and Queen of Kacidon, a silver crown atop his perfectly groomed white hair, stood Aspen.

He lowered his chin, watching me from beneath his brows as another pocket of wind swirled around my arm. Theon and I bowed to the king and queen, but when we rose, Aspen had not moved—still leaning against the wall of the balcony.

A slow, crooked grin spread across that insufferably beautiful face.

Dread I hadn’t realized I’d been carrying vanished as I looked him over, searching for something that would tell me he was entirely the same as when he’d left. Relief flooded in when I found no new scars.

“Worried about me, Virlana?” he said lowly, closing the distance between us, circling so that I had to turn to face him. His back was to the chairs on the balcony and the audience beyond.

“Should I be?” I mused in a whisper. “Are you in that much danger traveling without me there to save your ass?”

“Undoubtedly.” The edge of his lip quirked up. “But by Divine blessing, no saving was necessary. I return to you in one piece.”

Aspen’s spine straightened as the last two occupants of the balcony strode in behind me.

Dimming sunflares flickered off Deyanira’s slate-blue chignon as she paused, eyeing the lack of space between us. Her gaze flicked over the silver gown I wore—more formal than the dress she’d chosen for me to wear to the Gavalon family dinner.

I’d found it hidden among the heap of gowns that seemed to grow in my closet. Though, with its craftsmanship, it could have been plucked from a forest.

Elongated pleats fanned down a skirt like the gills of an oyster mushroom, silk rippling with each step. Billowing sleeves transformed into a meshwork of long tendrils at the shoulders, fastening around the neck. And while thick fabric buttoned up the spine, hiding golden ink, the front of the bodice was nearly bare.

Thousands of embroidered silver roots climbed across my torso, an entwined web weaving over exposed skin.

An ecosystem.

Deyanira’s eyes narrowed imperceptibly as a long, manicured nail tapped against the rim of her wine glass. She surveyed the dress again—once, twice—before finally pronouncing, in a clipped tone, “Palatable.” Then, she walked away.

It was the closest thing to a compliment I’d ever heard from her.

I shared a look with Aspen. His expression shifted into the icy, indifferent glaze he wore in any interaction concerning his family or his role as prince. Though I was desperate to know where his travels had taken him—and whether they had anything to do with the attackers in Marikaim—I didn’t dare risk asking here.

I stepped sideways, and as I passed, his hand brushed the bare skin at the slit of my thigh.

Two raised chairs in the middle of the balcony were occupied by the king and queen, with three empty seats on either side. The chair closest to the royals, I assumed, would be for the crown prince. However, where I’d expected all three Leovens to sit together, Deyanira had taken the place between Theon and the empty chair next to the thrones.

Unsure of where to sit, I approached the open chair next to Draveth, but Aspen’s hand pressed lightly against my back, his long fingers splaying across my lower ribs. He shook his head once, guiding me instead to the vacancy between Deyanira and Queen Genevieve. Surely, the seat was meant for the prince, but he made no move to claim it.

To her credit, Deyanira seemed to relax—marginally—when I settled beside her.

“You have lost all sense of decorum, Prince Aspen,” Dante hissed, leaning over the back of his seat. “You cannot stand during the performance. Show some respect.”

“Certainly,” Aspen droned, summoning a block of ice and seating himself between Queen Genevieve and me.

I caught the queen watching the exchange out of the corner of her eye. I could have sworn the ghost of a smile touched her lips before the lights fully dimmed. The king, on the other hand, seemed wholly uninterested in the theatre at all. To my left, Theon’s grin shone bright in the darkness.

The sunflares around us faded as the heavy curtains rose, leaving only the actors illuminated.

As the performance unfolded, I leaned forward, unable to take my eyes off the story. It was a retelling of an old mortal tale—one frequently revisited in literature—about a woman cursed to become a bird.

I was at the edge of my seat when more Ethera entered the stage, their movements fluid, weightless, as if they hovered above the ground. They spun in unison, light as mist, their feet clad in hard satin shoes that let them rise even higher onto their toes.

I had never seen live dancing before, not like this.

It made me think of Nadya—of her training, of her love for something that had once been used against her.

I brought a hand to my mouth as one of the dancers lifted a woman in a flowing skirt high above their head. A cool, gentle wind wrapped around my wrist. Turning my head a fraction, I tried to catch Aspen’s attention, but he was wholly absorbed in the show.

Then another gust brushed past—this one snaking up my ankle. And it was so inherently him that I had to swallow a gasp.

I stole a glance at the others on the balcony. Deyanira showed no sign of noticing the drop in temperature. The queen remained unbothered.

There were two now, one traveling lazily up to my knee, leaving pinpricks in its wake.

The second crawled across my clavicle, its touch intermittent, like two fingers dancing along the hollow above the bone.

Then, his wind was everywhere.

He was everywhere.

And below us, on the stage, the cursed woman began to transform. She tore at her restraints, thrashing with lethal grace, until she was free. She stepped forward, finally herself again, and met the audience’s gaze directly.

Something about it felt like defiance.

As if, beneath all the anger in the world, beneath the thumb of those who wielded power over others—because of their goddess blessings, their vocation, their refusal to accept ideals that kept our land from changing—there was still hope.

The story of the bird reminded me of where I had been raised.

Of those who held propriety and power.

And how I had once deemed the entirety of that palace in Solyndra beyond change.

Because where were they now—those rulers we had begged for aid? While people lay dying in cots in our infirmaries?

It reminded me of the greed, the persecution, the torment of the old war.

How those ideals had never truly died.

They had only gone into hiding.

The way the dancer stared at the audience was steeped in challenge.

As if—despite it all—perhaps creativity was the greatest resistance.

A tear slipped down my cheek as the final scene played out, the music swelling, the actors and dancers taking the stage together.

It was a feeling I knew I wouldn’t be able to describe if asked.

Watching them made me feel... more . More awake. More alive. Surely, beneath it all, one only needed art to nourish their soul, and everything else was merely extra.

I was certain the world was better because art existed in it.

And for the first time, I believed in what it could become.

Perhaps I had spent so long surviving, so long waiting for the day I could stop running, that I’d forgotten to truly live at all.

And that life was worth fighting for.

* * *

The king and queen exited swiftly with their guards after the finale, leaving the rest of us to make our way through the ancient building’s hallways.

Where the atrium had been empty upon our arrival, it now teemed with people.

Theon kept a watchful eye as citizens of Kacidon approached, eager to speak with the prince and the royal court. Aspen was reserved but polite—honestly more so than I’d expected.

I had never thought him one for small talk with strangers, but he was genuinely interested in their stories. I could see flashes of disdain when certain topics arose, but overall, he almost seemed to be enjoying himself.

It reminded me of the party in Marikaim.

It was the first time I had been seen at such an event, and whispers were already spreading, inquiring about my role within the group. Chatter rose to almost uncomfortable levels as we took our leave. It became abundantly clear that the rumors of Aspen and Deyanira’s betrothal—though illegitimate to the two people involved—were a feverish topic of conversation.

Near the exit, Dante stepped beside Deyanira. Though I couldn’t make out what he said, his harsh growl set my teeth on edge.

Deyanira went utterly still.

She met her father’s twin amber gaze for several long moments.

Draveth was nowhere to be seen, but Theon, Aspen, and I paused—waiting.

A feline grin spread across Deyanira’s perfectly pink lips as she broke her father’s stare, storming in our direction. Without warning, she grabbed Theon’s cheeks and yanked him down into a theatrical, impassioned kiss.

Gasps rippled through the atrium.

Dante’s face burned with rage. But she didn’t see it. Deyanira exited the theatre’s atrium, now in stunned silence, with her head high, a victorious smile on her face.

Dante chased after her. I hoped she was long gone.

Aspen propped his elbow on his hand, covering the half-grin forming on his lips. Mild astonishment mixed with respect.

Though, Theon was not the picture of a lover who’d just witnessed a declaration. He merely shrugged, a hint of concern lining his stance.

Fresh snow was falling as we stepped into the alley, and Theon bid us farewell before heading towards the city proper.

“They’re not together, are they?” I asked as Aspen removed his coat to wrap around my shoulders. I was pretty sure I already knew the answer, but it was possible I'd read the encounter wrong.

“No,” he laughed, shaking his head. “Nor do they wish to be.”

“She knows how to make a point, then.” My respect for her grew. The moment had been an outright defiance of her father, just short of spitting in his face.

Whatever her reasoning for opposing the match, her display with the prince’s guard would surely fuel a different rumor than the one Dante had set in motion. Regardless of whether or not people still believed she was arranged to marry into the Gavalon family, the outrage at her behavior would not go over well with the citizens of Kacidon.

If there was one lesson I’d learned in my time here and in Marikaim, it was that perception was everything.

I pushed away my own feelings at the idea of the partnership—of any arranged partnership involving him—knowing I had no right to even entertain such sensitivities. I was here for one purpose: to find a cure and free my mother from the bond that chained her to Vaelithe.

My focus could not stray.

We couldn’t afford it.

Dante obviously wanted his daughter to be a part of the royal family, but the realm’s reception of her would depend heavily on how fit they believed her to be a consort or queen.

Deyanira had planted a seed of doubt in their minds with one swift act of defiance.

And it had been a marvel to watch.