Page 64

Chapter 61

ASPEN

“It’s futile to try and rile Nadya up,” Iris laughed as she gathered handfuls of vials from Kacidon’s makeshift apothecary. “There’s only one person I’ve ever met who can, and it’s not you.”

Mochi sat nestled in a miniscule snowbank by the fireplace, pushing slush around with his nose in Iris’s direction.

“Is it the obnoxiously loud one with the unruly hair?”

I toyed with the glass bottle that normally sat by her workstation, giving it a shake and watching as the colorful particles swirled, mixing with the liquid inside before drifting back to the bottom. According to Iris, the formula had no medicinal properties, but she often disturbed the contents just to watch them dance.

She refused to let me help gather supplies, because apparently, I was an ‘ overgrown, bumbling snowman who doesn’t know the difference between milkweed and foxglove ,’ whatever that meant. So, the moment we entered, she pointed a stern finger at the wooden chair by her desk and gestured for me to plant my ass there. I was more than happy to oblige—lest I suffer the same wrath as when I’d accidentally spilled her vial of moon water last week.

She rolled her eyes. “Memory loss? I hadn’t realized you suffered from such an affliction.”

Clever girl.

“She likes to argue that he’s simply a pain in the ass and that’s why she gets so incensed every time he’s around,” Iris said breathlessly as she flitted about the room. I held my arms out so she could deposit the bottles she carried and gather more. “I disagree,” she added sternly.

And? I know you see the best in people, but he’s incessantly irritating. I think I feel the same way as the Nightshade.

Sensing my confusion, she turned an exasperated look on me and continued. “He gets under her skin, but she does the same for him.” Climbing onto a stool, she reached for another ingredient from the top shelf. I sent a burst of wind to cushion the floor just in case. “And despite all of that, at the end of the day, they would lay down their lives for one another.”

Never mind. I most certainly do not share the sentiment. Interesting development.

“What do you think?” I asked, placing each item she handed me into her satchel. The furrow of her brow told me she had an unyielding, carefully crafted opinion on the tip of her tongue.

“I think they’re both stubborn idiots who refuse to see what’s right in front of them.”

Touché, love.

“I’ll deny it if you ever repeat this, but she’s not nearly as unbearable,” I admitted. “The Nightshade, I mean. If you look past the meddling and propensity for violence. Portalboy remains insufferable.”

I reached out to cup her jaw, swiping my thumb across her cheek. Smug satisfaction curled through me as blood rushed to her face. So beautiful.

“Plus,” I continued while she cleared her throat, “I am quite fond of that smile you’ve had all afternoon, so if that’s her doing, I can’t begrudge her presence—for that reason, at least.”

The Sygen-rider had crashed into the tree line behind our home again, alone this time, with little news except rumors of another attack from the group calling themselves the Incarnates.

A bit dramatic of a name, if you asked me.

Iris gaped at me. “Careful, Prince. Your facade of despising this entire continent is fading.”

“I don’t despise you,” I grumbled.

Why did I need to like anyone else anyway?

“And you don’t despise Nadya either.”

“That is still yet to be seen,” I sighed, leaning back and propping my ankle on the opposite knee. Of all the people in Altaerra Iris could have befriended, I supposed Nadya Rhevan at least had good taste in weaponry books.

“Oh, this is perfect! Maybe we could visit Kel and Lenys again in Marikaim?—”

I smirked as she hurried around the room, hands gesturing wildly, her excitement to see the world beyond Vaelithe brimming at the edges. Babbling again. And damn if it didn’t make something clench inside my chest.

“And I can convince Ferrin to pop in with Nadya next time—well, she could probably convince him at least?—”

“Triad’s tits, no, please,” I groaned. The idea of interacting civilly with Ferrin Evreonis outside of formal realm affairs left an acrid taste on my tongue.

She spun on her heel, fixing me with unnervingly piercing gaze. “What is your deal with him, anyway?”

“He’s just so… uncouth .”

“Would your civility extend if I bribed you with an embarrassing story about the future King of Reilune, too many shots of etherspirits, and a lost wager?” Her brown eyes glinted conspiratorially.

Tell me your secrets, Sunbeam. I’ll keep them all.

I matched her furtive tone, leaning forward into her space, elbows resting on my knees, one brow arched. “Do tell.”

She extended her pinky with an expression of utmost severity. “You have to promise to be nice and not taunt him with it.”

Anything for you.

I let out a dramatic breath, rolling my head to the side. “Asking rather a lot here.”

“Please?” she drew the word out, pushing her pinky closer.

I chuckled roughly, linking her pinky with mine before snaking an arm around her waist, pulling her onto my lap. She smiled broadly, curling into my side, knees tucked up. A brief kiss brushed my cheek, and every single nerve in my body lit up as she wriggled to find a comfortable position.

“So,” she began, throwing an elbow onto my shoulder. “A few years ago, Nadya, Ferrin, and I were lamenting over aging and duty and whatnot, drinking our weight in moonwine at one of Reilune’s shadier taverns…”

She trailed off, staring hazily into the distance. I stayed silent, letting her work through the memory. Then, shaking herself free of it, she continued.

“It started with the two of them flirting shamelessly, disguised as insults. Well, they were disguising it as insults to themselves, but I’ve spent enough time with the two of them to know the difference. Anyways, Ferrin said “Rhev?—”

“Rhev?”

She startled, pulled from her train of thought. “Yes, Nadya—Rhev.” She flipped her palms up like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Keep up, Prince. Ferrin would give the entire world a nickname if allowed. He felt that it was unfair that Nadya called me Ris and nobody else got a nickname. Thought we should all match. Ris, Rhev, and Rin,”

“Rin?”

“Fer rin , obviously.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

Genuinely, with the severed hand story Iris told the week prior, I was horrified at what went on in that man’s mind.

“Profusely,” she shrugged. “Now stop interrupting or you won’t get to the best part.”

I smothered a laugh at her feigned indignation.

“They got into another one of their arguments, which led to a bet. Nadya was riling him up, saying he’d lost his edge since leaving the Volant camps and taking on duties more worthy of his station. She taunted that he didn’t even know how to have fun anymore, that all he did was fret over paperwork and political strategy. And, of course, Ferrin, filled with male pride, puffed up his chest and declared he had always been the most fun.”

I snorted. “Big words.”

“Right? So, naturally, Nadya wagered him to prove it. We debated what would be enough to demonstrate that he was still the Reilune Heir of Revelry…”

“And?”

Iris grinned wickedly. “Ferrin Evreonis walked out of a tattoo parlor that night, head held high, the proud owner of a pink Pegasus tattoo. Permanently inked onto his royal ass.”

I threw my head back, laughter tearing from my chest. “Divine, that’s brilliant. I will absolutely be using that.”

She gasped, slapping my chest. “No, you can’t! You promised. Though, now that I think about it—he would likely be overjoyed to show you.”

She placed another kiss on my jaw before pushing to her feet, grabbing my hand to pull me up with her.

“Now, we can’t just laze around in here laughing at Ferrin’s expense all day. We have work to do.”

Her shoulders sagged slightly—a flicker of exhaustion she quickly hid. Frustration etched itself into her features as she grabbed her satchel in one hand and squeezed mine with the other before releasing it.

Normally, our time together here consisted of trial and error with new potions, tinctures, and salves. Iris and High Healer Nora had managed to convince a few patients to try the new tonic, but there had been no change since they started the regimen. The healers monitored it closely, and in the meantime, Iris worked on her field guide and scoured for anything that could speed up the process—or, at the very least, abate some of the symptoms.

I combed through medicinal texts, searching for links between our cases and recorded illnesses throughout history. Occasionally, I’d find a passage describing a symptom we’d encountered and the treatment that had been used. Each time, Iris added the ingredient to her ever-growing list of options for her concoctions. We played to our strengths, cycling through our routine day in and day out.

I knew little when it came to botany. My expertise wasn’t in the ingredients themselves. Over the past year, I’d uncovered some knowledge about the intricacies of the Malum , having trudged through our library’s entire collection on healing magic. But Iris’s arrival, and the shift toward botanical curatives, had introduced an entirely new pile of texts to work through. My time spent on research freed her up to focus on experimenting with new ingredients and combinations.

But since I hadn’t been patient enough to wait until dinnertime to see her today, this was one of the rare times I got to witness her with patients.

Iris Virlana was a force to be reckoned with.

Completely in her element as she explained what each patient needed, instructing the healers on how best to administer her tinctures. At first, I’d worried they might take offense to her presence, but for the most part, they had embraced her, grateful for the knowledge she provided—knowledge that stretched beyond their own training. A compassionate but determined force, holding each patient’s hand and listening to their stories, while also being firm in her methods and unwavering in her needs.

Divine, I fucking ached for her.

Iris tasked me with administering a fever-reducing draught, and as I made my rounds through the twelve occupied beds, I couldn’t help stealing glances at her.

Today, something was different.

Fatigue still lingered in her gaze, but the droop in her posture was gone. A tight smile, one that didn’t quite reach her eyes, was contradicted by the rigidness in her body.

She flipped through the large ream of parchment hanging at the end of a frail woman’s bed. The patient looked several hundred years older than us—though, after Ascension, it was difficult to tell. Iris turned her attention to the woman, her voice gentle as she explained her intentions and began her examination.

Then, I saw it. The shift.

The tension in her shoulders coiled tighter. Something was amiss.

Iris called a nearby healer to her side, then disappeared behind a white partition a few feet away. Hushed, angry whispers carried through the infirmary. I caught fragments?—

“Why would she refuse ? —”

“You’re letting her give ? —”

It didn’t take much to piece together the catalyst of her anger.

Iris emerged as I moved to the next bed, her jaw set in steeled determination. She squeezed her hands into fists, took a deep breath, then unfurled her fingers and rolled her neck. She stormed through the rows of patients, only to come to an abrupt stop at the last cot on the right.

If every muscle in her body hadn’t been taut before, they certainly were now.

She jerked around, and in her brown eyes, I saw it—the unbridled fury. The harrowing sorrow.

“Healer Cedrin,” she said roughly, walking slowly toward the head healer on duty, her hands clenched at her sides.

“Yes?” he asked recoiling almost imperceptibly as he looked over the parchment he was examining.

“Where is Everett Lannish?” Each word was enunciated sharply, as if it took every ounce of her control not to shout them.

“He passed late yesterday evening. Do not fret, we have informed his children,” the man replied with a dismissive wave of his hand.

He waved a hand.

Discussing death .

Discussing the patient Iris had spent the majority of her time with.

Oh, fuck no.

“One of my patients passed,” she gritted through her teeth, her nails pressing deep indents into her palms. “And you didn’t feel the need to inform me?”

“You aren’t a healer, Lady Virlana,” he said simply, tucking the parchment into the pocket of his robes. “They aren’t your patients. Your responsibility is to create draughts and salves and to research. Not to heal.”

The words hit her, the blow seeming to cave her chest in.

I was going to kill him.

I ground my teeth, forcing myself to stay put. I wanted nothing more than to rip his head from his shoulders for his disrespect. But I had promised her—I would not take her battles from her.

Iris Virlana did not need saving.

She had been relentless in her mission to aid every person in this ward, and the two others just as full of the ill. She was here more than anyone—researching, experimenting, consoling, and examining patients without a second thought. She gave everything she had to these people.

“I see,” she replied tightly.

She turned on her heel and stalked toward the empty cot that had belonged to Everett Lannish. She gripped the wooden bedside table with one hand, twisting the white sheets in the other. Her entire body trembled—not with tears, but with rage.

I meant to take a step towards her, but before thinking flew instead to the closed door behind me—slipping into the adjoining office.

High Healer Nora looked up from her paperwork, startled, as I placed my hands on the desk before her.

“Iris will be taking the rest of the day off,” I said sharply. Then, straightening, I added, “She needs to be away from this room.”

“Oh dear,” she said softly. “I’ve been trying to tell her the same for three days. She spends as much time here as I do, and she takes on more burden than any one person could handle.”

Her calm voice cooled the simmering anger in my chest, and I realized my outrage was unfairly aimed at her. I didn’t even know if she’d been aware Iris hadn’t been informed. And I had never seen her be anything but appreciative of what Iris had contributed.

I nodded curtly, turning toward the door. But at the threshold, I glanced back.

“Healer Cedrin needs to be made aware that Iris Virlana has made immeasurable sacrifices for Kacidon—and has been an invaluable resource that we may not have survived the last several months without,” I said coolly. “And if he deigns to treat her without the respect she deserves again, he will be without a position in this infirmary.”

Or a fucking head.

I barely heard her reply, “Yes, Prince Aspen”, before I strode back into the ward.

Iris whipped her head toward me, angry tears pricking at her eyes, her breath coming hard and fast through her nostrils.

Deep gouges marred the wood of the bedside table, where her nails—no, claws —had torn through.

“Come with me,” I said softly, wrapping a hand around her upper arm and steering her toward her office.

The door shut behind us, and she rounded on me.

“Who in the hells do you think you are, Aspen?” she shouted.

She began pacing, her chest heaving, muttering frantically to herself.

No, no, no. Let it out, Sunbeam. I can take it.

Her hands clenched repeatedly, jaw working with each step. Then she stopped. Rolled her shoulders back. Took a slow breath.

And when she faced me again, her anger had been buried. All that remained was resolve and defeat.

She’s retreating, Aspen. Stop her.

I grabbed her cloak from the hook, wrapped it around her shoulders, and whisked us away.