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CHAPTER SIXTEEN

IRENE

T he sky bled. In shades of bruised violet and deep red-orange, spilling its agony onto the slums as Irene shoved open the heavy guild door with enough force to make it scream on its hinges. Behind her, the streets roared with shouts and chants that clawed at her skin like they wanted to rip her apart. The door slammed against the wall, the sound echoing loud and violent.

Every pair of eyes turned to her. Her chest heaved, her cheeks flushed and slick with sweat. She felt that familiar, crawling sensation up her spine, the slow suffocation as panic crept in, threatening to choke her. She hated it.

Blade staggered in behind her, Zahra’s limp, bloodied body cradled in his arms. Every step he took left a scarlet trail across the floor. “Move!” Irene snarled, her voice sharp and ragged as the twins scrambled to pull the table to the center of the room. She rushed forward, sweeping everything on its surface to the ground with one violent motion.

“Put her down,” she barked.

Blade gently laid Zahra’s body on the table. Around them, children whispered, eyes wide with confusion.

For a moment, Irene froze. Her eyes locked onto Zahra’s pale, torn body. So much blood. Too much blood. Her hands trembled as the sight burned itself into her mind.

You’re going to lose her, the voices hissed. You’re going to lose everything. Again.

“No,” Irene whispered, barely audible. Her throat burned, her chest tightening as the world seemed to spin out of her control.

“I need thread, water, a needle!” Lan shouted, rummaging frantically through his satchel. His voice barely pierced the cacophony in her head. Irene couldn’t hear him. She couldn’t hear anything except the shrieking voices, wailing and clawing at the edges of her mind.

He’s winning, they sneered. He’s winning while you’re here drowning in failure.

Her mind spiraled back to what she had seen on the streets, to the chants that haunted her even now: Dax. Dax. Dax.

She had seen the slum rats who cursed her name only days ago, spitting at her and hurling stones as if she was nothing. But now, they chanted his name.

Her hands flew to her head, clutching her temples. Why is everything going right for him while everything falls apart for her? Why is he the hero while they call you the traitor? Why can’t I ? —

A door slammed open again, and Jessalyn’s presence filled the room. She crossed the room. “What in the hell is going on here?” she snapped, her voice cold and commanding. “Everyone upstairs, now!”

The children scattered immediately. The room spun. Irene felt herself falling, spiraling into the void as panic overtook her. Her breath came shallow and sharp, her pulse hammering in her ears.

You will lose your only advantage, the voices taunted.

Jessalyn’s voice was distant, like it was coming through water. “Explain what happened,” she barked, pointing to Zahra’s bloodied form.

But Irene was unraveling, slipping further into delirium. In the distance, she saw Blade and Lan hovering over Zahra.

Irene ignored Jessalyn’s sharp voice again. Her lips quivered as she whispered, almost to herself, “Why are they chanting his name?”

“I told you already,” Jessalyn snapped. “Dax is working with the king. He’s been named Pirate Lord. He brought food, gold, and spoils enough to fatten those filthy rats out there. And now they worship him. They cheer him like he’s their savior!”

Jessalyn’s words cut Irene to the bone. Tears spilled freely down her face. They called him a hero.

Her voice cracked, “He dragged my name through the mud. He made them hate me. And now… they cheer for him?” Her chest heaved, her breaths coming short. “It’s unfair… It’s unfair! He ruined me, and yet he?—”

The slap came without warning.

Jessalyn’s palm cracked across Irene’s face, sharp and stinging, snapping her back into the present. Irene’s head whipped to the side, her eyes wide with shock as silence fell over the room.

It was the second time Jessalyn had struck her.

Jessalyn leaned in, her voice low and deadly. “Get a grip on yourself.” Her words were ice, cutting deep. “Someone who feels the need to drag your name through the mud has already lost their own. He’s drowning in envy, Irene, and this is his way of clawing for air.”

Jessalyn took a step closer. “Men think they’re heroes, born to fight like knights for honor—that the world owes them glory. Women, on the other hand, bear the weight of unseen battles, condemned to be the villain in a story not of their making, their fury silenced by a world that fears their power,” Jessalyn spat, not pausing for a single breath.

Her words hit Irene like a punch to the gut. Jessalyn’s lips twisted. “The sooner you realize that, the sooner you’ll stop giving a damn about their cheers. The world doesn’t give you power, Irene. You take it.”

Irene exhaled sharply, her chest rising and falling as the storm within her began to calm. “Now,” Jessalyn snapped, pointing at Zahra’s bloodied body, “explain why my floor is covered in blood!”

Irene stepped back, her voice colder now, steadier. “Complications,” she said simply, glancing at Lan, who was working on Zahra’s wounds.

“Complications? I sent you for a translator, and you bring me a corpse!” Jessalyn growled. “Get rid of the girl. She’ll die anyway.”

“No,” Irene snarled, her voice rising with fury. “The girl will live. Every second we waste, the king and Dax gain. And he will save her.”

Jessalyn’s eyes narrowed. “And who the hell is he?”

“A healer,” Blade interjected, his tone clipped.

Jessalyn’s gaze turned icy. “By whose authority did you?—”

“Mine,” Irene cut her off, yanking the pendant with the ashes from around her neck.

Without another word, Irene scanned the room. Her eyes landed on a flintlock pistol lying on the floor. She grabbed it, loaded it with a quick, practiced motion, and strode toward Lan.

“You said you’d save her,” Irene said, her voice dangerously low. She cocked the pistol and pressed it lightly against the back of his head. “So do it. Faster. As if your life depends on it. Because it does.”

Jessalyn sat down in a nearby chair, her gaze fixed on Lan as he worked in silence.

The tension in the room was suffocating. Irene stood there, the pistol steady in her hand, her breathing shallow and sharp.