Page 28 of Malicent (Seven Devils #1)

Iris hums in response, jotting down notes as she speaks.

“And what was your role?” She glances up.

“I was one of the best Necromancers, so I was utilized for creation. To shape things that should never exist.” She exhales, shaking her head.

“Things that defy nature. Things made from power-hungry ambition.” Iris seems genuinely interested in me.

It’s…nice. Talking to another witch, someone who understands without needing constant explanation.

It eases a weight I hadn’t realized I was carrying.

The pressure in my chest—the one that always lingers—lifts ever so slightly.

It reminds me of late nights spent talking Arcadia’s ear off.

“I am considered rare, both in my coven and by power standards,” I say, studying the grain of the wooden table.

“I hold two types of magic—blood and dark magic.” I pause. “To wield two forms is—”

“Exceedingly rare,” Iris cuts in. “So rare I’ve never seen it documented.

You may very well be the first.” Her certainty sends an odd sense of validation through my chest. “Yes. Because of my rarity, I was a target from the start,” I continue, propping my elbow on the table and resting my chin on top of my hand.

“As I grew, I became something else—a source of destruction. My magic requires constant training and discipline. My elders made sure that I had both.”

My breath slows. “Power comes at a price. Part of mine is freedom. The freedom to go where I wish, with whom I wish.” My gaze drifts to Iris. “When this is over, I will return to my coven. I am here now, under Elder orders.”

Iris takes a moment to respond. She dips the quill into the ink pot, hovering over the page as if collecting her thoughts.

“I’ve learned that power can come from different places—your physical form, your blood, or the control you possess.

To lack control over your own life and your own choices?

” She shakes her head. “That is the greatest loss of power.”

Iris’s gaze meets mine. “I would give anything for freedom—to wake in a place where the sun warms my skin, where I decide where I go, who I speak to, who I share my life with. I have already paid the price for power.” Her voice softens.

“And now, I have paid for my freedom. I only hope that, wherever your path takes you, Millicent, you can find both.”

She has no idea what I have paid. No idea of what pieces of myself I have given away, never to be reclaimed.

Her ideals are different from mine, but I knew this from our first exchange.

If I chose her path—if I abandoned the coven—I would not simply be free.

I would be unbound. Untethered. Without discipline, without structure, without Nora’s control, my power would consume me. I would not exist as I am now.

Iris is sweet, and I am not.

There is a world of difference between what runs in our veins and what we must do to keep it from destroying us.

“It is different for me, Iris.” My voice is steady, but my fingers betray me, idly spinning the ring on my thumb.

“My elders are here to help me.” A pause.

Then, quieter, almost hesitant, “You can call me Millie.”

“Millie is cute. I like it! I like your full name too.” She rolls her eyes but gives the biggest grin.

The sorrow lingering in her features is finally fading away.

“The nickname around here for me is ‘Rainbow,’ but you’ll notice it’s rarely used—unless it is Kalix.

” She rolls her eyes at the mention of his name, but there is a smile behind them.

I grin mischievously. “Soo…Kalix?”

Iris groans, “Please don’t even ask. He’s a really good friend, that’s it.”

I arch a brow, believing otherwise. “So do all your good friends smack your ass often?”

Her face flushes. “Okay! Tell me about your night, gods above!” She squeaks, flipping open her journal in a dramatic attempt to change the subject.

I laugh but let her escape, settling into my recount of the evening.

I start from the beginning, from the moment the horses were acting strangely.

Iris writes furiously as I speak, keeping pace with surprising ease.

Occasionally, she interrupts with questions to clarify details, ensuring she is recording everything in the proper order.

She absorbs every word like a sponge, her fascination with the Crep evident in the way she leans forward, intrigued by its abilities.

Somewhere between recounting the battle and describing the creature’s mutations, my stomach lets out a low grumble in protest. Exhaustion presses heavily on me now—the weight of the hunt, the fight, and restless nights settle deep in my bones.

We had barely returned before heading straight here.

I stifle a yawn as Iris finishes her final notes.

“Alright,” she says, finally setting down her quill.

“I’ll get to work and let you know what I find.

In the meantime, get some rest—you all need it.

” She leaves her journal open as she slips off the bench, flipping through her notes before turning back to her experiments.

Music hums softly from the record player as she resets it.

I push off the stool with a deep stretch to soothe my aching muscles. The walk back to my room feels longer than usual. My feet drag with each step, the exhaustion weighing me down like lead. Finally, the noise from the halls blur into a quiet stillness. My room isn’t far now.

Golden curls round the corner, catching the dim light as Tyran steps into view.

Even with the hood of his dark sage cloak pulled up, a few loose strands escape to frame his face.

He lets out a low whistle, eyes flicking over my bloodstained clothes and the dirt covering my skin. “Whoa there. You look exhausted.”

I cross my arms. “Yeah. That’s kind of what killing does.” My gaze sweeps over his cloak. “No gold? Didn’t know your vanity would allow for other colors.”

His usual grin doesn’t falter. “I’m being inconspicuous, Millicent.” He sighs dramatically, rolling his eyes. “I like to not feel my crown sometimes. Sue me; I’m a man who likes to have fun.”

“Uh huh.” I step forward, intent on leaving, but he moves too—awkwardly—blocking my path. His hand reaches to grab my arm, but he quickly retracts it, realizing it is unwise.

His stance shifts, just slightly hesitant, if not a bit timid. I pause, arching my brow.

“You look hungry.” Tyran’s voice is low; he is careful not to let it echo down the hall.

“At least let me have food sent to you. I’d offer to eat with you, but you don’t look like you want company.

” His lips twitch into a small smirk. He’s being playful, but there’s sincerity beneath it.

“I’m grateful for your help, and I’d prefer if one of my most valuable assets didn’t pass out from lack of sustenance. ”

I scoff, crossing my arms. “Valuable? Can you drop the act? I am a bloody witch.” My patience wears thin, and the thought of my bed nearly convinces me to shove past the smiling fool.

For once, his grin falters. He almost looks offended.

“Yes, valuable,” he says with a firmer tone.

“Why would I strike a deal with a coven if I secretly hated witches? Also, hello, I practically made a deal with the devil to get your people involved because I needed you here. You’re of immense value. ”

The soft edges of his face harden slightly. “For the record, your elder is terrifying. I’m beyond relieved it’s our beautiful, vibrant Millicent here and not her.” His chest puffs up slightly, like he’s so pleased with himself.

I tilt my head and raise a brow. “So you don’t hate witches—you just need me pampered and at my best because I’m the one who’s going to kill the North for you, yes?” My voice drips with sarcasm. I shift on my feet, longing to get to my damn bed.

“Do I like witches? Depends on the witch, just like I don’t like all humans.

” Tyran shrugs. “I love Iris. I’ve met some pleasant ones on the road.

Historically? Sure, they can be a problem, but that’s the past. I’m much more interested in the future.

” His grin turns mischievous. “Do you require pampering? I can arrange it. Perhaps it would bring a smile to your face if Cage was ordered by the king to rub your feet.” He tugs his hood down as a servant passes, pulling his cloak tightly around himself.

I snort, clapping a hand over my mouth to muffle the laugh. Tyran’s grin stretches widely and triumphantly. “I will inform him of his new duty first thing tomorrow!” He raises a pointed finger, his voice full of mock authority.

“Gods above, no Tyran.” I shake my head vigorously.

“Please, it’s Felix.” He presses a hand to his chest as if wounded. “Tell you what, if you agree to eat, I’ll resist the urge to assign Cage his new role as foot masseuse. Deal?” He extends hand.

“Fine, Tyran—”

He cut me off with a sharp shake of his head, “Felix.”

I roll my eyes, huffing as I start over. “Fine, Felix . You can send food to my room. Happy?” I give him an exaggerated, fake smile of annoyance as I shake his hand.

His face mirrors mine perfectly, making my lips twitch with another chuckle. “Brilliant. I know your weakness now,” he teases, dropping my hand and stepping aside. “Off to your room now, chop chop!” He claps his hands.

I arch a brow at him but don’t argue, waving him off as I move past, resuming my walk.

Behind me, Felix slips into an archway leading outside. I briefly wonder where he’s heading, shrouded in secrecy, but exhaustion keeps me on my path. I’m too tired to care.

The climb to the private floor feels endless, each step heavier than the last. When I finally reach my door, my hand pauses on the handle. I glance down the moonlit hall; Cage’s door looms just ahead.

Does what I saw in his memories haunt him in his dreams, too? I have too many questions whirling in my mind about what I saw and the purpose behind it.