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Chapter 55

IRIS

I read the familiar handwriting a second time. And then a third. And then a fourth.

The note was short—only a few sentences. Nothing of consequence, mostly updates about the Raven’s Grove and the goings-on of our frequent customers, with an update about Fauna’s wound.

But there, at the bottom, was something I rarely heard from her.

I’m sorry, Dove.

“She would’ve done anything to be here herself.” Sarek’s smooth timbre sent the tears pricking at my eyes dangerously close to spilling over.

I turned my mother’s note over in my hands, tracing the etching of her letters with the pads of my fingers.

Zinnia was not one to often admit her wrongdoings. Gideon was usually the mediator between us. We didn’t sit and discuss our transgressions, but we always came back together—tear-filled hugs and quiet acknowledgments that we loved each other had always been our way of saying sorry.

Seeing the words, in her handwriting, on parchment that smelled like home, broke the dam of longing. Longing for family.

It had been selfish of me to bring him there, even though every part of me had wanted him to know those pieces of my life. I couldn’t visit again, not with him. Not yet.

But when this was all over—when she could travel freely again, when the Malum was no longer a looming threat, when the Trials were in the past—we would begin to mend those fences. We’d build a new life, but this time, we would actually live .

I’d figure out how to make it so.

“I miss her,” I sniffed, digging for a spare bit of parchment to write her back. I’d been gone for nearly half a year now, but the past two months since our argument in Vaelithe had been the longest we’d ever gone without correspondence. The letters we’d exchanged before had been heavily monitored, but they were still a line of communication.

“I know you had to bring him there,” Sarek said solemnly. “It isn’t your fault.”

I barely registered his words, scribbling furiously. When I’d said all I could safely, I wiped the wetness from the corners of my eyes and folded the letter.

“What isn’t?” I asked.

“I know you’re only able to travel when accompanied by that prick. She was hurt, but she doesn’t blame you.”

“Stop.” My voice had much more edge than I anticipated.

“Come off it—” His laugh sounded shrill in the cool air.

I stopped, hand outstretched toward him. “Look, Sarek, he is different than everyone perceives him to be.”

Sarek scanned my face, searching for something I couldn’t place.

“No, he’s not, Sparrow.” Something like pity flickered across his features.

“Sarek.” I hesitated, trying to make him understand.

Aspen was not a man who could be explained easily.

Kacidon itself couldn’t be explained easily.

But if Sarek couldn’t trust him, I needed him to trust me . “My mother is harsh when it comes to vengeance against those who have wronged her or her family. I understand where she’s coming from. But just as I am not to blame for her past mistakes, he shouldn’t bear consequences for actions he had no part in. She is hurting, and I hate that. But what she said wasn’t acceptable. What she did wasn’t acceptable. I am not a child to be coddled.”

Sarek huffed in disbelief. “He has done enough on his own.”

“Based on what? Stories you’ve heard?”

“You don’t know him, Sparrow.”

“Neither do you!” I snapped.

“Shit, she was right.” He exhaled deeply, running a hand through his sand-colored curls. “Zinnia warned me they might be trying to manipulate you.”

What?

“Excuse me?”

“We don’t blame you, Sparrow. You rarely leave the Wilds. The politics of the royal families of Altaerra are full of mind games to begin with, but Kacidon’s? Nobody is angry with you for falling for their schemes. You’re just… not accustomed to such tactics.”

I stared at the wall behind him, replaying his words over and over.

“You think me a fool?” My voice was calm. Detached.

“No, Sparrow, of course not. Naivety is nothing to be ashamed?—”

“Leave.” I shoved the letter against his chest, snarling the word.

“Come on?—”

“Leave.”

“Sparrow…”

“I am not your fucking bird, Sarek!”

I’d hated the nickname since the first time he used it. I knew he meant it endearingly, but it had always come off as condescending—the way someone spoke to a child making a poor decision. But, like everything with Sarek, I’d swallowed my distaste. Refused to voice anything that might be perceived as hostile. Our friendship was too important to ruin over a petty grievance.

Except… our friendship hadn’t seemed to carry the same weight for him when he broke off our tryst with one sentence—a note left on my vanity while I waited for him by the pond one afternoon. He disappeared, returning a year later as if nothing had ever happened.

And yet, despite his insistence that things return to how they had been before, I couldn’t go back. Couldn’t do anything more than be his friend.

Sarek had not been the love of my life. I knew that. I was mostly sure I’d never even considered loving him that way. But he had been my friend—the only one I was permitted to see regularly.

And he left.

Without a word, without an explanation—just a hastily scribbled I can’t do this anymore .

Hadn’t I deserved more?

Hadn’t I deserved at least the kindness of a real goodbye?

The one time I brought it up, he’d become distraught, asking me if I knew what I was doing to him by making him relive it.

It was always the same. My emotions were always too much.

Just like after the incident with my magic.

Divine, he’d avoided me for months that time.

And when he finally accepted my apologies, I felt like I had my friend back. But time and time again, I was the one at fault. Every time. So I apologized, swallowed my emotions and pushed them down until I could no longer see the darkness. I remembered the version of myself I needed to be for Sarek Finch.

There was so much I’d never shared with him, and every day, I was more grateful for it.

Grateful I was always the one underneath him.

Grateful he never cared to explore my body.

He’d made hiding the tattoo—hiding who I was—so damn easy.

“Get the fuck out of this realm, Sarek.” I yanked my hand from his chest. The letter floated to the ground, but I was gone before it hit the marble.

My ears rang as I stormed through the corridors of Arcton Palace with no direction, allowing my body to choose the path for me, unthinking. It wasn’t long before I found myself at the massive double doors to the library.

I paused with my hand on the latch.

There was no way I’d be able to stop and focus enough to read. Even the escape of a book wouldn’t be enough to quell the burning in my chest.

I turned instead, following the path Theon and I had taken the time I ran from this very spot. But just before reaching the door that would lead outside, I took a sharp left, traveling down the long passageway toward a different exit.

The sound of clanging metal hit my ears the moment I burst into the open space, my feet carrying me across the snow to the circle of dirt enchanted to remain untouched by the elements.

The courtyard was empty, except for them.

The ringing of steel against steel died as I stepped onto the dirt, two pairs of wide eyes snapping toward me. I didn’t stop. I fisted my hand into white hair and yanked Aspen’s face down.

The moment his cool lips met mine, I could breathe again.

He didn’t hesitate, arms winding around me, fingertips pressing into my flesh as he pulled me closer. One hand wove into my hair, tightening as though he could keep me there. A faint clapping sounded somewhere in the distance, but I tuned out everything except him. Except the way he felt .

I felt his smile against my lips—teasing, taunting—as I dragged in a breath, grounding myself in his scent.

“Hello, Sunbeam,” he breathed, his fingers still knotted in my hair.

I pressed my mouth against his in one more bruising kiss before pushing back with a hand on his chest. Mochi squeaked from the corner of the ring, pride mixed with excitement flooding through the bridge of our mind.

I barely registered the bruises, scrapes, and slow-healing cuts across the expanse of his bare torso. Theon and Aspen were brutal when they trained, and though it had once unsettled me to see fresh marks marring his skin, I had grown accustomed to it.

To the lack of tension in his shoulders here.

To the ease in his eyes.

To that glimpse of my boy from the woods.

To the way it set my skin on fire .

But I didn’t let myself think about any of that. Instead, I pushed past him and headed for the tree line, calling into the freezing air, “Theon. Training. Now. ”

A low chuckle sounded behind me, but I didn’t turn. I zeroed in on the clearing we used to practice my magic.

I felt Aspen draw near, even though he said nothing.

I spun, pointing directly at him.

“You. Stay.”

Every emotion I had been taught to bury bristled to the surface.

Instead of protesting, he crossed his arms, the corner of his mouth edging into a crooked grin. “As you wish.”

I turned back, resuming my path.

Golden power seeped from my fingers, errant Threads flicking off like sparks from a flame.

Keep it contained, Iris.

Do what you must, Iris.

You know your role, Iris.

Don’t become them, Iris.

Tarnished.

Wrong.

Volatile.

Destructive.

The words flitted through my mind, biting and cruel, but I ignored their sting.

I charged ahead, a scorching blaze left with every step.

No more.

A surge of light released into the clearing ahead. It soared, flowing freely as the dam broke.

A guttural noise ripped from me as I released another.

The first two moments felt like a release.

The third was pure power.

Gilded light poured forward—so fast I could see the moment it twisted into Threads, becoming tangible. The onslaught didn’t stop. The strands escaped with abandon, breaking free in all directions.

I reached for them, grasping desperately , but they slipped through my fingers like sand.

Wood splintered as one struck a tree, a scorched gouge left in its wake.

“Theon!” I shouted over the rising crescendo of sound. The Threads sang , but this was not a lullaby. Not a melody. Not a ballad.

This was an uproar .

The notes clashed, crashing against each other in a deafening storm.

No, no.

A mistake.

This was a mistake.

“Theon, make it stop! ” I yelled again.

“Find it, Iris.” His voice was raised, but steady.

He didn’t understand. He needed to understand.

“Theon, please! ”

“You are fighting yourself. Do not focus on reining it in—keep pushing outward. But make it follow your bidding. It is yours .”

“Make it stop,” I choked. My face was wet, and I could barely make out shapes through the light and tears.

The golden strands writhed, angry.

Full of rage. Of vengeance. Of fear .

I tried to cut the source, but it burned through my veins with abandon.

“Command it.”

His words barely registered over the roar in my skull.

I gasped for air, squeezing my eyes shut against the blinding glow, and began to count.

In . One .

Out . One .

In . Two .

Out . Two .

I reached for the Threads again, but they lashed against my hold, slashing fresh burns across my palms.

In . Three .

Out . Three .

In . Four .

Out . Four .

I grappled for control, but they taunted me, slipping away again.

“Theon!”

“Command it.”

In . Five .

Out . Five .

In . Six .

Out . Six .

No.

I was vengeance.

And this—this was me .

Perhaps it was tarnished.

Perhaps it was wrong .

Or volatile. Or destructive .

But it was mine .

Like every other shattered piece of myself I had gathered and fit back into place, time and time again.

It could be light. Life. Creation.

Or it could be wrath. Scorch. Divine reckoning.

But above all else, it was mine .

I was Iris Virlana. Commander of both creation and destruction. I was the convergence of light and wrath—born with the vengeance of the Sun.

And I would not forsake it again.

I loosened my fingers.

I thought back to the harp in Arcton palace—surrounded by candles in a dark room. Instead of grasping for the Threads as they whipped past me, I pushed them forward, weaving them into an arrangement in front of me.

Golden light continued to pour outward, but as the strands escaped, I guided them into the design. Braiding them within each other.

I will not forsake myself.

The clashing dimmed.

I opened my eyes.

Before me, suspended in the cold air, forty-seven braided strings hummed with power.

Waiting.

“Blessed be the Goddesses,” Theon breathed.

I plucked the first, sending it to wrap around a high branch. The second skittered across a patch of frozen ground, shattering the surface as it passed. The third through tenth wove together to block a nearby stream.

Thread after Thread followed my command.

Like the harp—silent until called upon. Waiting to create.

As the last note died and silence filled the air, I collapsed.