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Chapter 5

IRIS

A sharp jab at my ribs yanked me from my wandering thoughts.

“Our famed forest whisperer, already adrift during her royal outing,” the man chuckled.

“For Divine’s fucking sake, Sarek.” I swatted the healer’s arm away, readjusting in my seat as reality settled back in. I rubbed at my temples to ease the throbbing in my skull. “I didn’t sleep last night.”

“Wait.” I spun, catching the pointed look my mother shot me from her chair. “What are you doing here?”

Sarek Finch was the last person I expected to see in the antechamber of Kacidon’s royal council hall.

“Same as you, I suppose, Sparrow,” he shrugged.

“That’s vastly unlikely.”

I highly doubted Sarek was here to fulfill a bonded life debt—even given how little we’d spoken recently.

Judging by his green Vaelithe healer’s robes, he was likely in Kacidon on behalf of the infirmary. Seeing him outside of Vaelithe, in such an unfamiliar environment, made me realize just how much we’d grown together. Far gone were the days when we’d first met, Sarek an eager Medikai fresh from training at Vaelithe’s healer’s academy. Before me was not the apprentice who’d first visited the apothecary with Gideon and made a habit of chatting as I stocked the shelves. Now, Sarek Finch was a full-fledged healer rivaling Gideon’s skill. His sandy brown hair was longer, curling just past his ears, and less eagerness lit his hazel eyes.

He flashed a familiar grin, leaning back in his chair.

Even with the plague, conflicting schedules, and months between speaking, somehow the ease between us remained. Through the rough patches, the times I wasn’t sure we’d ever be in the same room again, it had come back.

Never all the way—pieces of it were lost to those times of silence, on both ends. But it had never disintegrated completely.

Despite what Zinnia said, I’d expected the palace to be unwelcoming—cold, sterile even.

Instead, the towering marble manor was draped in cascading swaths of shimmering blue, with details resembling freshly fallen snow. The halls carried the scent of baked sweets and decadent chocolate, while the grounds smelled of crisp pine and winter citrus. Intricate silver gilding lined the frames of some of the most breathtaking paintings I had ever seen. Elegant yet inviting armchairs sat before crackling hearths in nearly every corridor.

Pretty, indeed. Yet I suspected it was all smoke and mirrors.

The sour taste in my mouth had only worsened since our arrival. I was both apprehensive to learn what the royal family wanted from us and dreading the company of those who had imposed this hell upon my mother.

To seek to control another’s magic was detestable.

Not to mention, their ideals had, in part, led to the greatest war in written Altaerran history. Ideals they still upheld, if rumors were to be believed. The entire situation was made worse by the thought of interacting with the heir to Kacidon’s throne—Prince Aspen Gavalon.

I hadn’t met the prince, but his reputation alone was enough to ensure I never wanted to. Nadya and Ferrin were rabid gossips, and both had encountered him more times than either would have liked.

Every story implied the same thing: a cold, insolent, snide prince who cared little for the politics of the realms and spent most of his time drowning in excess—drinking, gambling, and bedding anyone eager to fall over his title. By all accounts, he was arrogant, pompous, and utterly indifferent.

I wasn’t sure he had ever even seen Vaelithe, much less any other realm. Apparently, he hardly left his tower, content to remain above his people, too good for the rest of Altaerra. If nothing else, he was the perfect progeny to uphold his parents’ vile values.

I despised him on principle. And I was dreading even a single meeting in his presence.

The sharp click of heeled shoes on marble snapped me back to the present.

I stood quickly as the King and Queen of Kacidon entered.

Queen Genevieve Gavalon’s stark white hair was swept into an elegant updo, her grey eyes bright with a sharp intelligence. Beside her, King Anduin Gavalon was a vision of calculated precision—not a strand of his raven-black hair out of place, his strong jaw set with practiced poise. Twin crowns adorned their heads, the shimmering crystals glinting like frozen raindrops.

“This should be thrilling,” Sarek muttered in my ear. “A meeting with a heap of icicles.”

Zinnia inhaled sharply, but I barely stifled a laugh as the royals strode into the room, ever the picture of grace and regality.

The three of us stepped forward, bending in deference before following them into the meeting hall. Silver and blue banners lined the walls, each emblazoned with the Rimehorn sigil of Kacidon—the ram-like face and lethal fangs of the mythical beast grimacing from the tapestries.

The royals did not approach the long oak table positioned at one side of the chamber. Instead, they moved toward two ornate thrones at the back, carved from ice. Deep, runic etchings swirled up the sides, the high backs forming three jagged peaks.

Not the true thrones of Kacidon—we had passed those in the great hall this morning. These, it seemed, were reserved for more intimate political dealings.

Kacidon’s royal emissary—Dante, as Zinnia had informed me—stood beside them. Behind the monarchs, a small guard of six formed a semi-circle, their presence stiff and silent.

The king and queen were as frigid as the air around them.

Nothing sparked behind their eyes. No warmth, no joy. Their arrival brought with it an almost tangible drop in temperature, amplifying the eerie stillness of the room.

“Thank you for coming,” Queen Genevieve’s voice echoed through the empty chamber.

As if we had a choice.

Zinnia nodded curtly, her lips a thin line against her pale skin.

“I am sure you are wondering why we have summoned you here.” The queen’s words were precise, authoritative—though gentler than I expected. “We do not often invite visitors onto the royal grounds.”

For centuries, travel between realms had been commonplace. Ethera lived in one realm and vacationed in another; many had professions keeping them from ever truly settling.

But Kacidon was, above all, the most secluded kingdom. Its people guarded their secrets as if it were a requirement for citizenship. While visitors could travel to the outskirts, access to the inner city was nearly impossible without a concession by the royal family.

Even Nadya’s methods yielded less intel here.

Many believed the realm’s isolation stemmed from arrogance. Kacidon had, after all, been on the losing side of the Tenebris War. And they did little to dissuade the notion that they still upheld the ideals that fueled it.

“We were surprised when we received the summons,” Zinnia replied coolly. “Your Majesty.”

“Yes, well, it seems we have exhausted our other efforts.” The queen sighed, a faint crease marring her otherwise flawless forehead. The king remained distant, his piercing blue gaze fixed somewhere beyond us.

Zinnia, Sarek, and I exchanged a look.

“Our people have begun to exhibit… troubling symptoms.”

My stomach twisted as the pieces clicked into place.

“Severe loss of appetite,” she continued as my mind reeled, frantically recalculating the implications. Another realm afflicted. More data to sift through. “Chills. And then the hallucinations.”

She cleared her throat, eyes sweeping over us. A flicker of emotion passed through her gaze before she schooled her features back into their frozen state. “There is a plague ravaging our people. We have a skilled team of Medikai?—”

“Have you discovered anything?” The words escaped before I could think better of interrupting nobility.

Queen Genevieve’s eyes narrowed. “No. We have made no significant progress in understanding this disease. Our lead healing researcher relocated to Solyndra an entire Sol cycle ago, and our resources are not what they used to be. We have requested aid from the Altaerran Council, but Solyndra couldn’t be bothered, what with the Trials of the Sun being merely a year away.”

I staved off the panic crawling across my skin at the mention of the ceremony I had been destined to compete in since birth.

Unnoticeable, Iris.

I forced a slow breath through my nostrils, counting each inhale and exhale. Willed my heartbeat to steady—to not betray me in a room full of Ethera who were not only known for their manipulation but now, their desperation.

I wasn’t sure which was more dangerous.

“Now, word has traveled to us that Vaelithe has also encountered this specific set of symptoms. I take your interjection as confirmation of such.”

Don’t draw attention, Iris.

“My apologies, Your Majesty.” I swallowed. “That is correct.”

Sarek’s presence now made sense. He and Gideon were Vaelithe’s primary healers outside of those stationed with the realm’s royalty. But Gideon’s absence troubled me. Sarek was past the age of ascending into his full essence—the transformation solidifying our Etheran healing and strengthening our essence once Ethera reached twenty-five. But Gideon had years of expertise.

“Our sources tell me that you, specifically, Iris, have had success in partially slowing the progression of the illness.”

My eyes snapped back to hers.

Who had been feeding the royal family this information? And why, of all who were involved, had I become a topic of conversation?

Vaelithe’s relations with Kacidon weren’t nearly as precarious as those of the other realms, but I was surprised this information had been shared freely. Had the king contacted them?

If so, he could send some resources to his own damn people.

Zinnia stepped forward, shielding me slightly. “The team of healers has?—”

“I was speaking to Iris,” Queen Genevieve interjected, her features dipped in ice again.

My mother quieted but did not move, her hands balled into fists at her sides.

“Nothing has had lasting effects,” I explained, stepping around Zinnia to fully face the queen. “But it has given us more time to research. We continue testing new tonics and herbs, hoping to find the correct combination.”

She folded her hands in her lap. “Our realm has always relied heavily on healing magic, as is tradition. Many see the work you two do…” she waved a hand at Zinnia and me, “as a hoax. Nothing more than cheap entertainment or a quick workaround for the heavy-pocketed.”

I schooled my features, locking my disbelief and anger behind a placid mask.

We couldn’t risk losing a modicum of support in fighting this plague.

She dismissed our work—as if anything not rooted in magic was an elaborate ruse. I’d seen it time and time again—with artisans, playwrights, musicians, dancers. Any beauty not born of the Divine was deemed unworthy by those who valued power above all else. Willfully ignorant of the possibility such skills could also be blessings upon us.

If there had been any doubt about whether their views had changed, this was all but confirmation they hadn’t.

“I, however, have seen the skill in your work firsthand, Zinnia.” The tension between the queen and my mother was taut, the hall so silent I dared not even breathe too loudly. “Regardless of my beliefs—or my feelings toward you—I can admit that with the apathy of the inner realms, including your expertise may be our only choice if we are to save our people from this pestilence. The Malum, as we call it.”

The realization struck like a bolt of lightning.

Genevieve had wanted Zinnia’s magic for as long as she could keep it—wanted to manipulate it, defile it. Dreamwalking was exceptionally rare in Altaerra, many remaining in hiding, as I had, to avoid being exploited. That had to be why the queen had bound the life debt.

Greed.

And now, in her desperation, she would wring a different kind of power from my mother instead.

Knowledge.

“And so,” the queen continued, “that is what we will ask for as payment for your life debt—a permanent residence in Kacidon until a cure has been found. I had hoped your unique talents as a Dreamwalker would be of use someday, but I fear the only remedy we have yet to explore aligns perfectly with your other expertise.”

The king remained ever silent beside his wife. His bright blue eyes, shadowed with exhaustion, barely lifted from the floor.

“I am not foolish enough to presume you would help us out of the kindness of your heart. Or am I mistaken?”

The air around me warmed. My mother shook with barely contained rage beside me. “After the thumb you have held me under all these years? You believe?—”

“Mind your tone, Vilemancer, ” Genevieve snapped.

I fought the involuntary recoil at the insult. I hadn’t heard it slung at us since the days when we scraped by, selling questionably legal wares while traveling the continent.

Zinnia didn’t so much as blink.

“Your crimes were punishable by death. It may still be arranged.”

I chanced a glance at Sarek, but his face gave no indication of distress. That steadiness was comforting—he had always been the calm inside a storm.

“My apologies, Your Majesty,” my mother seethed. “But you must understand—it is impossible for me to leave my post. As you have said, our talents are necessary in our realm. The survival of our people depends on our apothecary remaining open and our continued research and aid.”

“It is of no concern how busy you are, Zinnia.”

And then came the demand. The decree. The price of my mother’s life debt.

“It is your apprentice who will be staying.”

Not her.

Me.

A permanent residence in Kacidon. Until a cure was found.

The tension in Zinnia finally snapped.

Heat poured from her body beside me, flames licking at her fingertips.

I prayed to all three Goddesses they remained embers.

“No the fuck she will not.”