Page 59

Chapter 56

IRIS

The bed beneath me was unfamiliar.

“What in the Divine were you doing to–”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry?—”

I tried to place the voices in the harsh whispers, but my head throbbed with each attempt.

“She could have?—”

“I know, I should have?—”

“Why would you hide this from?—”

“It was what she?—”

“I thought we were brothers?—”

I tried to force something, anything, from my ragged throat.

All I managed was, “Thank you, Theon,” before oblivion took me again.

Falling snow.

They’re building a castle together. I wanted to join them.

Would that be all right? Could I?

They looked up. They’ve found my hiding spot—my secret.

The white-haired girl smiled softly, her light eyes mirroring her dress.

The brunette looked upset. Her amber eyes…

The sound of whispered pleading pulled me from the dream. Pain seared through my limbs at the slightest movement.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry…”

My eyelids felt glued at the seams, impossible to pry open.

“Please… Goddess above, Red, please wake up…”

Theon.

I fought against the weight holding me down, struggling to reach him. My bones screamed in protest as I shifted.

“Iris?” His voice sharpened my surroundings, bringing the swimming room into focus. I sucked in air, blinking against the light above.

“Red, don’t move yet, I need to?—”

“Theon,” I croaked, anchoring myself in his dark eyes. He leaned over the bed, dark purple circles accentuating the sharp edges of his cheekbones. I reached for him, slipping my arm under his shoulder to pull him close.

“Thank you, Theon,” I whispered into his dark waves. They escaped the knot at his crown, falling between us. A sob escaped his chest, and I sat up as much as my battered body allowed.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t listen—” The words tumbled out as he pulled away.

“Theon, stop.” I gripped his forearm firmly. “Thank you,” I repeated, the words coming easier this time.

I rolled my shoulders, adjusting to sit properly. The stone walls and linen partitions were familiar—I’d spent nearly every waking moment in a small room down the corridor. The infirmary was close to my makeshift apothecary, and I often popped in to check on patients more than was probably allowed.

“For what?” He looked bewildered, scrubbing his face with one hand before handing me a glass of water.

“For not listening to me.”

“But I should have,” he protested. “I should’ve used the godsilk. You begged me to, and I thought… I thought I was helping you.”

“You were. You did.” I set the cup down, placing my palms over his clasped hands. His knuckles were pale with pressure, stark against his warm skin.

“You almost reached burnout.”

“No, stop.” I tugged at his hands, forcing him to meet my eyes again. I didn’t know how long I’d been unconscious, but he had to have been deprived of sleep for the same amount of time.

My friend looked so tired.

“Thank you, Theon. For believing I could face it. No one has ever afforded me that kind of trust.”

I could never forget my fear of my own magic, never erase the destruction it had caused—the people it had hurt. That shame had become a part of me, festering for so long I didn’t know how to unravel it.

But Theon had broken through one of those walls.

By not being afraid. By not relenting.

“I was supposed to protect you,” he said softly. “That was our deal.”

“I needed your confidence in my ability far more. I just didn’t realize it until now. I apologize for fighting you on that.”

His cheeks were wet. I swelled with affection for my friend—the one who hadn’t let me yield to my own fear.

“I am honored to have you as my friend, Theon Winthrall.”

“The honor is mine, Iris Virlana.”

The partitions around my bed glowed with the lit sunflare, illuminating the dim space. Another chair beside Theon sat empty. I scanned for signs of anyone else.

“He’s been forced to attend another meeting,” Theon explained, immediately catching my stream of consciousness.

“Was it…” I hesitated. Had Aspen told Theon who, exactly, had been at the meeting his father forced him to attend?

“I don’t know if it’s with Calum or not.”

Answer enough. And Theon, for one, seemed to be teetering with barely restrained fury.

Aspen had barely spoken about it, too shaken from seeing Theon’s brother again. The past few weeks had been a blur of restarting my work with the Lotus Tonic and his growing duties. More often than not, we only saw each other in passing—either in the apothecary or collapsing into bed in a tangle of limbs before exhaustion claimed us.

But the meeting with Calum, what he had proposed—it disturbed Aspen.

His...society, as he called it, was exactly the kind of thing everyone in Altaerra expected Aspen to indulge in— the prodigal son of Anduin Gavalon.

Depravity masked by the illusion of camaraderie. A group of like-minded pricks reveling in the ideals that had once founded an entire war and meetings to reminisce on what they though society should be, since they couldn’t do so in public anymore. “Any idea what prompted today’s meeting?”

The last one hadn’t revealed much more than that this society existed, headed by Calum.

Yet another mystery we were trying to unravel, with little answer.

The things we didn’t understand piled higher each day.

“I can’t imagine it’s in good faith,” Theon scoffed. “Not if his father is involved.”

“Aspen sounded angry with you.”

“Of course you heard that,” Theon grumbled, scratching his chin. “I can’t blame him.”

“He has no right to be,” I countered. “I asked you to keep it between us.”

“Why did you?” He tilted his head. “I don’t mind either way, but I assumed you would tell him.”

“I don’t entirely know,” I admitted. “Partially because he’s a… distraction.”

Theon raised an eyebrow—the most him expression I’d seen since waking.

“And he fights me on dispelling my magic.”

“As do I?”

“Yes, well, Theon, our fighting doesn’t quite end in the same manner, does it?” I laughed.

“Shall I make amendments, then, Red?” He winked.

My chest nearly split in two at that grin, at the assurance that we were all right —and the guilt from training hadn’t tarnished our friendship. I pushed his shoulder, and he chuckled.

“And at first, I needed to trust that whoever was there would stop me if it got out of control.”

“Which I didn’t,” he murmured guilty, looking down at the sheets.

“I’m glad you didn’t. But I also… I needed to do it myself,” I added. “I find myself leaning on him…for far more than I realized. I will include him on this, I want to. But I needed to realize I could do it for myself, not because he wanted me to. I was siphoning it off for my own sanity, the training was because of you. I hadn’t even dared to think I could train it again. That I could push past that barrier. For that I needed my friend.”

His head bobbed in understanding. “It’s all right to want things that he wants for you as well, you know. It doesn’t mean you’re doing it simply to appease him.”

“Yes, but his ego becomes insufferable,” I groaned. Theon’s booming laugh instantly brightened the space, making everything feel more alive. More joyous.

“He should be back soon. It’s been three days?—”

“Three days?” I blurted, hands slamming into the sheets.

The brew I’d been working on would be useless now. I’d have to start from scratch. Again.

“Three days, and he’s only left that chair because of the summons,” Theon said, stretching. “Well, and to go curse the goddesses.”

“That is rather dramatic,” I laughed.

“It is the ‘Frost Prince of Kacidon’ we’re talking about,” Theon said, adopting a false haughty tone that was, suspiciously similar to Deyanira’s. “If I didn’t know better, I’d swear that was his middle name.”

“Is it not?”

“Oh no,” he poked at my shoulder. “I will not be cajoled into revealing that information. Ask him yourself.” He studied me for a moment, a knowing glint in his eyes. “You’ve gone and given him a proper chance, haven’t you?”

“Oh no,” I crooned, thinking back to the kiss Aspen and I had shared in front of Theon. “Whatever could have clued you in?”

“Oh, I knew about that,” he smirked. “I just didn’t know if it was merely a result of your bickering all the time.”

“As opposed to?”

“Divine, you two are brilliant—but dense when it comes to each other.”

“That’s—”

“He agonized for weeks when you arrived.” Theon held up a finger, cutting off any interruptions. “He thought he was ill, for Divine’s sake. It was insufferable.”

“Yes, well, he was rather disdainful?—”

“He was insufferable because he was not disdainful of your presence, when he desperately wanted to be. He needed to be, to live with himself. And he was going mad trying to figure out why.”

“He stormed out of every room I was in!”

“Because he is an idiot, Red. Brilliant, but an idiot. He stomped around like a petulant child, trying to get you to look at him.”

“I’m not sure?—”

“I am,” he corrected. “For all his theatrics, he deserves a taste of happiness. It’s not something he’s been afforded much of.”

“I’d do anything to give him that,” I admitted quietly.

“I know.” His certainty was unshakable. “And I’m glad he has someone to look out for him in this Goddess-forsaken palace. Divine knows he won’t be the one to do it.”

That much was certain. Aspen Gavalon cared far more than he let anyone believe.

He just never extended that care to himself.

“He also has you, Theon. And this is speculation on my part, but I would assume Deyanira as well.”

“In her own way, yes. Deya does what she can.” He breathed deeply, leaning back into his chair. “I should have done more.”

My eyes grew increasingly heavier, and I fought to keep my attention on Theon’s words.

The last thing I heard, distorted as if from a place between sleep and wake, was his quiet admission.

“I could have done more for them.”

* * *

No dreams came as I tossed in the sweaty sheets, and eventually, I gave up on any semblance of rest, despite my exhaustion. The still silence of night hung heavily in the infirmary as I swung my legs over the side of the bed, noticing that both chairs beside me were now empty. Grabbing the sunflare lamp from the bedside table, I crept out, relishing the cool stone against my bare feet.

I was too tired to do anything but wander, and by now, I knew the palace well enough to find my way back to the apothecary from almost any hidden corner. I didn’t expect, though, to find myself once more looking into the room that contained the silver harp. Someone sat before the fireplace, the flickering candlelight casting restless shadows against the walls.

“You’re incessantly nosy,” a sharp voice echoed.

I took a hesitant step closer, the shift in angle bringing Deyanira’s slate-blue hair into view.

“You might as well come in if you’re going to continue gawking in the doorway.”

She hadn’t moved, not even a shift in posture. She only continued to stare into the fire as she spoke.

I stepped inside, attempting to make as little noise as possible. Even barefoot, each step felt ear-splitting in the empty palace. Kneeling beside her, I realized she wasn’t alone after all. Mochi lay curled at her feet, fast asleep on a soft woolen rug. Her amber eyes remained unblinking, locked onto a large painted portrait on the mantle.

A portrait of a girl with white hair and blue eyes.

The girl from my dreams. From my memories. A girl whose eyes were the exact same shade of blue as the hair of the woman sitting next to me.

And then—the other girl. The one who also haunted those dreams. Images of her flashed through my mind. The pieces that had slotted together in a haze of dreams. Now a woman, her amber eyes the same I’d seen so many times before.

“It was you with her, when I visited so long ago,” I whispered, looking up at the portrait of Aurora Gavalon. “Wasn’t it?”

“Does it matter?”

Her voice wasn’t cold or sharp anymore—it was resigned. As if there wasn’t an ounce of fight left in her to wring out.

“It does to me.”

The portrait was beautiful. My eyes traced the similarities between Aurora’s and Aspen’s features.

She was older in the painting than when I’d met her, probably by ten or so years. The arc of their brows, the snow-white hair that curled at the ends. The way their noses were the slightest bit crooked. I’d always assumed Aspen’s was from a fight, but the feature was identical between them.

“I apologize for not recognizing it. And I apologize for my actions that day, with the…”

I pushed through my hesitation, forcing my voice to remain even.

“Poisons.”

Shame prickled down my back, but I needed to face it. I had to stop hiding.

From what I wanted. From what I feared. From the choices I’d made, and how they’d hurt the people around me.

I had to face it. Come to terms with it. Atone for it.

“I apologize for ever attempting to harm any of you. I apologize for how it may have affected you both.”

I didn’t tell her that I had no idea whether she’d been there or not. It was likely I’d tried to harm her, too. I didn’t tell her that I didn’t remember.

Because, at the end of the day, that didn’t change anything. It didn’t change what had happened, and it didn’t change how it had hurt them. My inability to remember didn’t make what I did any less reprehensible.

She scoffed but did not respond.

“And I apologize for not apologizing sooner. There is no excuse.”

Deyanira’s gaze flicked to mine briefly, and her chin dipped in the slightest nod. She rolled her shoulders back, sitting even straighter than before—if that was possible. Mochi stirred at her feet, but she whispered to him quickly.

“Back to sleep, little beast.”

The way the words skated over her tongue, the silken quality in which the phrase linked together—it wasn’t the way most people spoke to animals. It tugged at something deep within me, some ancient part of my soul.

“You’re a Scriptor,” I said quietly.

“No.”

“But you can speak to him,” I pressed.

The small ball of white fluff stirred again, and she finally looked at me, amber irises cutting straight through me. “You are not the only one who can.”

A hiss escaped as a snake, no larger than the length of her arm, shot from her sleeve onto the plush rug. The serpent immediately turned, slithering back to wrap around her gloved wrist. She twisted her hand again, and in a blink, it was gone.

“I’ve never seen anything like that,” I breathed.

I’d met true Aniscripts, who could communicate with animals through Scriptor magic, unlike my—and Deyanira’s, it seemed—roundabout ways. I’d even met other Innatus, though another Shifter like myself was rare. Hidden. But I’d never seen anyone summon an animal before. I could sense, through that long-forgotten piece of shifter left, that they were not illusions.

“My serpents teach me many things.”

We sat in silence as the fire crackled, neither of us offering anything but our presence as we looked at the portrait of Aurora Gavalon.

“I would hate me too,” I admitted quietly. “Would despise anyone who tried to harm someone I loved.”

“Frankly, Threader, I don’t much care about you either way,” Deyanira said, pushing to her feet.

She tucked a sleek blue strand that had fallen loose back into her intricate hairstyle.

“But Aspen Gavalon is the only real family I have.”

Her amber eyes flicked over me with scrutiny.

“And that counts for something.”

Then she was gone.