Ballad of Whispers (The Sunchosen Chronicles #1)

73. The Part

Chapter 73

IRIS

There were no signs of life in the Raven’s Grove Apothecary.

Bottles and ingredients lay strewn across the space, slices of moonlight spreading over the gnarled walls. An open book rested on the counter, beside the remains of a candle flickering out, its last dregs of wax hardening into a shallow pool. It was as if the space had been full of inhabitants—milling about, tending to their menial tasks—only to vanish. Plucked from existence mid-motion.

It was unlike my mother to be gone at this hour. The door to her room on the bottom floor stood flung open, deserted.

In the dead of night, a baying howl shattered the silence, spurring me into action once more.

It was an odd thing—to experience so many moments of catastrophe that you became numb to them. What was one more complete upheaval of your life? One more deep breath before you left behind everything you’d ingrained into your very soul, and became something else?

I had tried, every time, to remain detached. To not fall in love with people and places and objects. To not have a favorite book, or a secluded spot in the woods, or a befriended animal. It wasn’t permanent. None of it was. But I couldn’t stop. I couldn’t stop falling in love with the things that shaped me.

This was supposed to be the last time.

This was supposed to be our rest.

This was supposed to be home.

It would never end.

Every emotion imaginable boiled inside my chest. But if years of running had taught me anything, it was that the time for them would come. They would spill forth, erupting from the cracked depths of my spirit, wracking my body until there was nothing left to give.

But not now.

Now was the time to act. Now was the time to take every lesson I’d been taught and become a wisp of smoke in the night.

Forever destined to be a whisper on the wind, a murmur behind a cupped hand.

Do you remember that girl?

My heart was a shredded, ravaged thing anyway. There was no saving it.

But I could save us. I could keep my mother and myself alive, despite it all.

I had to.

There wasn’t much left in my room between what I’d gathered while here and what Sarek had brought me, so I grabbed whatever trinkets would fit in my bag—two tattered books, my favorite oil, a stash of tea. My steps splintered the silence as I bounded down the stairs, hastily filling another satchel with as many premade tinctures and potions as I could carry. If we were to start over, we would need everything. I had no idea how long we would be on the run, but if we had any chance of surviving, we would have to revert to our old ways—traveling sales, bartering what we had to make ends meet.

Moving to the counter, I pried open the enchanted chest, emptying our savings into my bag.

No note.

Mother hadn’t been expecting me home anytime soon. I’d been gone so long, I didn’t even know what she did with her days anymore. That thought burrowed deep, a sharp reminder of the distance between us now.

But the apothecary was her life’s work. She wouldn’t leave permanently without sending word—not unless something had gone terribly wrong. The state of our home wasn’t that of someone who had fled.

She would be home soon. If I packed quickly, we could leave the moment she arrived.

Unless they’d already found her.

Unless they’d already?—

The bell above the door rang, shrill and clear, splitting the night.

I spun, my chest loosening in relief—until I met a stare that did not belong to my mother.

“Draveth?” I forced a pleasant tone.

Each thump of his heavy footfall sent ice up my spine— my entire body aware of how he prowled into the space. A predator sizing up its prey.

Draveth Leoven’s presence at the theatre had unsettled me, but now—now, he felt like an omen. A foreboding. With his father tied to the Incarnates, it wasn’t surprising to see him here. Disappointing, but not surprising.

I would be a fool to believe he shared his sister’s sentiments. Both sets of their shared amber eyes held a sharp gleam, but his hid no warmth. No forgiving.

Only hatred.

“I apologize, but we do not take visitors at such an hour.” I forced a laugh, shifting behind the counter to block the view of my lower half. Slowly, I reached beneath my skirts, palming the dagger sheathed at my thigh.

Play the part, Iris.

“Although,” I added, voice light, “I’m sure we could assist you in the morning?”

I slid the blade up my sleeve, reaching for a vial with my other hand. Dipping the toe of my boot into a sack beneath the counter, I gathered as much dark powder as I could.

Draveth watched me, amusement shining behind his stare.

“My, my,” he crooned. “What a treat you’ve become.”

“Pardon?” I asked, shifting the powder to my other boot so both were fully coated.

“It’s such a shame I have to turn you in.”

He stepped closer, and I crept along the wall, my fingers groping for the last item I needed. The game was set—the two of us circling, waiting to see who would pounce first.

“I have fulfilled my duties to Kacidon,” I feigned confusion. There was no way Aspen had lied about my debt being fulfilled. Even with everything, I had to believe in his honesty.

Unless I was wrong about the Incarnates.

I wanted—desperately—to be wrong. If Deyanira had been mistaken, and her father hadn’t been talking about the same brand. If Calum was simply vile and had nothing to do with the curse. If Draveth was only here out of a twisted sense of duty. A royal guard, determined to force me back into service. If we were wrong, this could end differently. If we were wrong, we hadn’t spent months blind to the monsters surrounding us.

But I had no space left for hope.

“Trust that your people are taken care of,” I offered. “There is no need for this.”

The laugh that escaped him scraped against my skin. Cruel. Mocking.

“Do not play the fool, girl. It does not become you.”

My fingers found their target, and I slid three vials into my sleeve, uncorking one as I did so. I was still too far from the storage door to reach it without giving him the chance to strike.

“I am not your trophy to collect for them,” I spat.

Time. I needed time.

“Oh,” his grin wolfish. “You do still have teeth, then.” He stalked closer. “I must say, your pageantry at the palace was a magnificent performance.” I slid the dagger down, feeling the cool hilt press against my palm. Only a few more steps.

“But I know what you are.” A deep, guttural sound rumbled from his chest, reverberating against the walls as he reached for my chin.

Another step.

“ Vermin .”

I froze.

The way he said it—the way his tongue curled around the syllables?—

Oh look, we caught vermin.

A memory splintered through my mind.

I hesitated, no more than a half gasp stuck in my throat.

And in that moment, he struck.

The crack of bone was deafening.

Pain exploded as his fist slammed down onto my forearm, knocking the handle from my grasp. He wrenched my shoulder back, slamming me against the wall, my forehead snapping forward into the wood. Blood dripped into my eye, his putrid stench burning my nostrils as I thrashed against where he pinned me.

I swung back, three slashes until the blade sunk deep into his thigh.

“Dirty bitch,” he hissed. His fingers scraped against the nape of my neck, tangling in my plait. Crimson strands ripped as he threw me to the floor, but I held on to the dagger.

I tightened my grip as I hit the floor, vision spotting in the spinning room. When he stumbled, blood gushing from his leg, I didn’t hesitate. I sliced at him as he fell to his knees, aiming for the artery at the side of his neck. Aconite barely missed its mark, leaving behind a gash that would drain him far too slowly.

He’d kill me before the blood loss would have a chance to set in.

Then, he caged me. One thigh on either side of my hips, forearm pressed against my throat.

“Will you squeal again, then? Like you did in the woods?” His breath was hot against my face. “I bet your screams are even prettier in your human form.”

I struggled, fighting to speak, but no air made it past his grip. My breath came out in muffled gasps. I needed to get out from beneath him if I had any chance of this working.

“Or maybe you’ve gone mad, my pet. All that time in the dark. They hid you well. And for so long. But I wouldn't forget you.” He grinned, relishing in my struggle. “I knew the second I saw you at the theatre.”

I fought the urge to vomit. His glee, the satisfaction in his voice, was pungent.

For nearly a year, we’d spread ourselves thin, following cords of unrest, chasing down answers.

For a plague. For a consortium built on corruption. For an underground faction attacking without mercy.

Examining the bodies had connected two of the Threads. Aspen and Deyanira bringing another gossamer strand to affix to the middle.

Now, another strand of the web stitched into place.

The same nightmare, haunting me through realms and lives I desperately tried to outrun.

There was no way to know how, or why. No understanding surfacing through the pounding in my head of just how it all connected.

After all this time, it had always been them.

“I was chosen specifically for that task, you know,” he said with sick pride. “Trap the beast. They needed you alive. But you and I still had our fun, didn't we?”

Persist, I told myself. Survive.

Teeth bared. Fists clenched.

The irony of our position was suffocating. The same knife—now pressed to my throat—had once carved the deep grooves along my knee. He looked different as a man. Time had twisted his features into something almost unrecognizable.

But the cruelty had always been there. In his eyes.

“ Why ?” I garbled, blood thickening the words.

I had long since stopped asking. In the end, it never changed anything. Not his cruelty. Not their choices. Not the attack. Knowing why didn’t undo what had happened.

“You were our ticket in,” he murmured, tracing the dull edge of the blade along my cheek. “Our bargaining chip with Solyndra. What wouldn’t they do to get one of their precious children back?”

He laughed. A wicked, cruel sound. “We picked the wrong one for that goal, didn’t we?”

No matter what—persist.

“The Incarnates?” I asked, inching my leg up with every word.

“That’s what they call themselves now,” he spat. “But they forget that we started all this. Not even ascended, and I had you wrapped around my finger, didn’t I?”

Another fraction. I slid my leg higher.

“We would’ve taken you that night, had they not found us.” He shook his head, eyes glazing over. I shuddered as he stroked a bloodied finger down my face.

Slowly, I twisted my ankle. Each imperceptible movement freed my boot from my foot.

I needed to keep him talking.

“Whatever you want, they won’t give it to you,” I coughed. “Not for me.”

“Oh, we’ve found a much better use for you, Threader.” He twirled a lock of my hair around his finger. The familiarity of the gesture made my stomach curl.

That wasn’t for him.

“We don’t need to negotiate with them any longer,” he continued.

The glazed look returned to his eyes, lost in some twisted memory. I used the moment to slide my boot off entirely, nudging it closer to my outstretched hand.

“One seat on the council was child’s play. But now… now the reign of the Altaerran Council will come to an end soon enough. The Incarnates have plans for them.” He turned back to me, eyes alight. “And you will get us there. You will get us what we need. You’ve done so much already. Those who deserve it shall reign, without the interference of the fucking Triad.”

Done so much already?

“I would feed myself to the wild before I helped you do anything,” I spat.

His hand came down, a sharp slap that sent my vision splintering. The pain in my head reached an alarming pitch, the fissures forming, threatening to crack open entirely. My mind reeled—hazy memories, unidentifiable encounters, a dull pounding beneath it all.

“You were never one to fight back, were you?” he roared. The knife had already met its mark several times tonight, and my mind fuzzed further with every drop of blood lost. The open gashes across my legs and chest seeped freely. My blouse was ripped, half my skirt hanging loose.

“Always running away.” His sneer deepened. “But we found you, in the end. Didn’t we? Selfish bitch kept you away from us all this time.”

I felt the blow twice—once from him, once from myself.

Because that was what I had done tonight.

What I had hidden from Aspen.

Always running away.

But his last words were what had me scrambling to fight through the blinding blur, clinging onto consciousness with clawed fingers.

Kept you away from us all this time.

Think, Iris.

Zinnia.

She’d kept me away from him. Hadn’t turned me in to Solyndra. Hadn’t used me to collect the bounty or barter some wretched bargain.

Every memory. Every shared cup of tea. Every lullaby when I had nightmares.

She’d protected me.

I was her daughter.

We were family.

She would come.

“I know about your curse.”

“Beautiful little thing, isn’t it?” he jeered. “Do you like what we’ve done with it? The new regime. Power in the hands of those who deserve it. We’ve far exceeded any need to negotiate with Solyndra for a seat on the council.”

“Lux chooses the council,” I laughed. The room dimmed, swimming in and out of focus. “You cannot negotiate with the Divine.”

“We will become greater than the Divine,” he roared, spit flying into my face. “We will be Gods.”

“You will be nothing,” I rasped. “And when Zinnia arrives, you will be dead.”

She would come.

Another slap. I let my head roll with it, exaggerating the rebound—using the momentum to uncork the second bottle I'd slipped into my palm.

“She is rather protective of her prize, isn’t she?” he mused. “Didn’t like how much we roughed you up that first night. She didn’t specify you needed to remain pretty. Only alive.”

My mind quieted. Stillness drowned out every shriek.

She didn’t specify you needed to remain pretty.

She .

“And then the bitch backstabbed us all, hiding you away for herself,” he sneered. “Went back on everything she said. Fucking coward.”

Zinnia had…

No.

No, no, no, no, no.

“Came crawling back to me later, though. Not Father. Never Father. No, she returned to Kacidon to find me. It was me who got her in with the Incarnates when they formed. Me who fed her the information she wanted. What we were chasing, the curse they were desperate to create. But she insisted we wait to tell you. Insisted you’d become ‘unstable’ .” The word rolled off his tongue with fresh mockery. “Swore we needed you to remain unaware, so that you’d be in perfect condition when we needed you. Then Genevieve ,” he growled, pushing in the tip of his dagger more, “had to complicate everything with her petty revenge. Stupid shrew had no idea what she was sticking her nose in when she altered that bargain. Anything we did then would be seen as tampering with you finding a ‘cure’ . So we waited again, but it was worth it, wasn’t it?”

The last of the roaring ceased. A knowing settled into my bones, wrapping around my spine and sinking into my veins.

I had been nothing more than a piece of fodder. A means to an end for whoever controlled me.

Solyndra, as their golden puppet.

The Incarnates, in their inception, as bait to worm their way into the Capitol.

Kacidon, to find a cure for a plague that had never been a plague at all.

The Incarnates, again, for whatever the hells they were after now.

And my mother.

Zinnia.

My puppet master.

To what end?

“My waiting paid off,” he pressed the knife harder, and I fought to keep my eyes open. Righting myself to my current goal, regardless of everything I’d ever known crashing down around me. “We have you now, my vermin. And I get to play with you before I hand them their weapon .”

“I am no one’s weapon.”

I met his gaze, staring back at the malice and hatred and matched it with every ounce of my own.

“And you know,” I gasped, curling the bottle’s neck between my fingers. “I’ve learned one thing from being vermin.”

I looked one last time into the face of my nightmares, now a grown man, and smiled.

“How to bite.”

I tipped the clear liquid over the white powder covering my boots and held my breath.

Smoke erupted. Noxious gas rising as the shoe began to corrode. As soon as his grip slackened, the muscles in his thighs faltering, I flipped us.

And drove Aconite straight into his chest.

I twisted the blade as he coughed, sputtering for air. My lungs burned with the ache to breathe as I twirled the dagger, carving a cavern in his chest. I leaned down, just enough to rasp in his ear.

“I don’t fear you anymore.”

His fingers clawed at me, weak and desperate. The gas was clogging his lungs now, eating him from the inside out. I only had seconds. I grabbed the other bottle and slammed it into the wound, glass shattering.

His screams were confirmation enough.

Dragging Aconite across the powder still clinging to my boot had picked up just enough to trigger the reaction.

I scrambled back, yanking a sack from beneath the counter. With practiced hands, I scattered chunks of soil over the boot, neutralizing the remnants. Another handful smeared over my skin, just in case. And then—I watched.

I watched as Draveth Leoven’s skin began peeled from his bones.

I watched until his cries died out, and all that remained recognizable were those cruel amber eyes.

I watched, with eighteen years of rage and torment burning in my chest, before spitting on the ashes.

And then, I ran.

I ran to the basement, my breath ragged, but hands steady. The key. I needed the key. It hung on the wall, waiting to unlock the rooms that held concoctions deadlier than what I’d just used. Potions that could ruin, destroy—kill—with a single drop.

I moved from room to room, grabbing everything I might need for a life on the run.

I had only one destination in mind. But could I even trust that? Could I trust anything?

A sunflare cut a jagged shadow along the basement wall, flickering from a cracked door at the end of the hall. We’d never needed it before. Zinnia must have repurposed it while I was gone.

The door creaked as I pushed it open. A soft hum filled the air.

I squinted against the light pouring from every corner of the space. If there was anything left of me—any rage, any despair, any shock—it would’ve spilled over.

But I was empty.

A shell. The pieces of myself I’d glued together time and time again now lay shattered at my feet, hollowed out by secrets and lies. By my own foolish na?veté.

Foolish, foolish girl.

With her foolish, fragile heart.

Everything I’d ever known. Everything I’d ever believed. Everything I’d ever loved.

None of it was real.

And all I could do was stare.

Stare at the rows of shelves.

At the clear glass jars.

At the thousands of golden, glowing lights.

At my magic.

“How many times have I told you, Iris?”

Her voice was one I would recognize anywhere.

“ Keep your hair down. ”