Chapter 22
Evan
The warring scents in Genevieve’s shop were a dizzying assault. Away from the chaos happening in the back, I stood before a long, rectangular planter of dark stone that seemed to swallow the light. Inside, pale, waxy buds sat shut tight atop glossy green leaves in a single row.
I brushed my fingertips against the surface of the unfamiliar bloom. Closing my eyes, I inhaled their delicate, sweet aroma. The scent was a familiar echo, one that stayed on my skin and tugged at my chest.
Warmth brushed my neck, and the world faded to gray. Gregory’s rage filled my mind—his intense, destructive magic that had been ready to burn everything to embers. The image of self-hatred followed, fed by a pain that had carved new lines onto his face from being seen as a monster.
Cold helplessness clenched my stomach. I pressed a hand to my chest, wringing the soft fabric of my blouse until my knuckles throbbed with guilt that wasn’t truly mine. How could I feel that?
“Aren’t they beautiful?” Genevieve’s question snapped me out of the pain.
I blinked, and the vibrant colors of the shop jolted back into clarity. My lips curved into a brief smile. “They are.”
“You don’t know what they are, do you?”
I looked back at the pot and reached toward it again, brushing a fingertip against one of the resting flowers. “No,” I hesitated. “But their aroma… It’s—”
“Your scent,” she finished for me.
“Yeah,” I breathed out. “Night-blooming jasmine. Lyra mentioned it.” I examined the pale buds again. “I just… I didn’t think people could smell like flowers. Not naturally, anyway.”
She let out a warm chuckle and took my arm.
When she leaned her head on my shoulder, dried lavender and sweet herbs filled the air, just like her shop.
It wasn’t the same as Anita’s clean linen and soap smell, but it still evoked the same comfort—the scent of safety, scraped knees being cleaned, and worries fading away.
“Oh, honey,” she murmured against my shoulder. “There is so much you have to learn, but that’s alright. We have time for that.”
A painful knot formed in my throat. “So, you know,” I started, stumbling over the words. “You know that I’m not—”
“Him?” she cut in. “Yes. Adam told me what happened.” She lifted her head and studied me for a long moment. “I sense it too. You’re a different person, but you have the same lost expression that he did. A helpless soul, wandering and looking for a safe place to land.”
I shook my head. “No. I’m not.”
I despised helplessness. My entire life had been a fight against it, building routines and plans so that nothing was left to chance.
Control remained the only thing I truly owned.
Here, chaos reigned—even inside my own chest—taking over my feelings.
Why did I want to hold on to a man who could burn the world?
People were screaming, children were crying, but he was all I could focus on.
Genevieve hummed and patted my arm before stepping away.
She reached out, her fingers grazing the very same bud I had caressed.
Fine, golden dust, like tiny glitter, began to dance around her fingertips.
My breath caught as the flower shivered.
The pale, waxy petals peeled open, unfurling to the dim light of the shop and releasing a wave of jasmine that permeated everything around us.
She held the new bloom toward me. “Some flowers are stubborn, Evan. They stay closed up tight, thinking their petals are armor against the world. But armor is heavy, and no flower can grow if it’s afraid of the sun. It only blooms when it knows its roots are safe.”
“But how does it know when it’s safe? The sun can burn just as well as it can warm you. And this land… It’s a strange one.”
Genevieve’s expression was calm and understanding. “It knows.” She turned and placed her fingertip on my chest. Beneath the fabric of my blouse, a strange, cool clarity emanated from a single point of warmth that pulsed within my chest. “You already know too. You just need to embrace it.”
I blinked and took a slow breath, my eyes drifting to the floor. Genevieve cradled my hands in hers. When I raised my head, her expression showed effortless contentment.
“I’m angry with that dragon of yours. He is still a boy who got caught in the middle of a terrible war.
He is one of many who paid the price for the Empire’s acts,” she said, her grip tightening for a moment.
“But the Mother Goddess never makes mistakes. Everyone has a path to fulfill and a fate to meet. Come back when you’re ready. I’ll teach you more about the flowers.”
She released my hands. Just as she was about to move away, she paused and reached into the wide sleeve of her dress. She produced a small, folded piece of parchment, worn soft at the creases.
“This was the most important thing Evan owned.” Her fingers gently folded mine over the parchment. “The rest of his things are still upstairs in his room. Tell that dragon of yours to collect them before you leave.”
I clasped the parchment with my fingers. When I unfolded it, a colorful painting emerged in my hand—a woman with soft features and bright ginger hair, her arm encircling a younger version of the boy whose face I now wore.
A choked sob escaped me. The world narrowed to the two faces on the page. I lifted the drawing and pressed a kiss to the faded image of the woman, then brought the parchment to my forehead.
Mom, I’ve missed you so much.
Genevieve reached out, her thumb brushing away a tear on my cheek. She gave me a sad, knowing smile, then took her cane from the corner and walked away.
I didn’t know why I was here or what happened to the man whose face I now wore. Whatever brought me to this place took his life and gave me another. My first life was empty, a promise kept for someone who was no longer there. If this second chance meant anything at all, I couldn’t waste it.
A hand landed on my waist, sliding with slow, deliberate pressure before locking in place.
Gregory pulled me back against him. I turned in his arms and buried my face in his chest, inhaling the sandalwood and smoke he offered as comfort.
He hugged me back and leaned down to press his nose to my cheek, scenting me.
Pain colored his voice as he asked, “Are you scared of me?”
I fisted the front of his tunic. “If I were scared of you, I would be gone by now,” I said into the fabric. “But I’m still here. I’m staying with you.” I leaned away. “It was my fault, what happened out there. I shouldn’t have reacted like that.”
Gregory brought his hands up to frame my face, holding me so I couldn’t glance away. “Then what was it? What about the healer made you so scared?”
I trembled at the memory of Alaric’s presence. “I don’t know.” I released a quivering breath. “Something about him made me feel as if I was dying again.”
Gregory frowned. “What do you mean?”
“His presence… His scent reminded me of when I woke up at the lake.” I sighed, unable to elaborate further. “I’ll explain another time. I want to go… home.”
Gregory’s lips curled into a smirk, his thumbs stroking my jaw. “Of course. Let’s go upstairs to grab Evan’s stuff, and you can change while we’re up there. Then we’ll go.”
I glanced down at the torn fabric at my knees and the dirt smeared across the pale linen—Lyra’s papa’s clothes. “Adam is going to kill me,” I mumbled.
He let out a raspy chuckle. “No, he won’t.”
I tilted my chin up. “Just promise me no more swords will come out of your hands if the price is too high.”
The playfulness vanished, and Gregory’s jaw tightened. “That’s a promise I can’t make, Evan. If anyone threatens you, there will be more than swords. But I promise to protect you. Always.”
The sky bled red. Hot ash fell, sizzling on my skin. A woman’s tight grip on my hand ached as we hurried through the winding, rain-soaked streets, dragging me further into a collapsing world.
Her fiery ginger hair whipped across her face as she glanced back. It was the face I’d memorized on our old linoleum floor, but older now, with new lines shaped by fear. Mom.
Each breath was a gasp of smoke and the metallic smell of blood. Screams ricocheted off the high walls, mixing with the clash of steel as knights in dark armor attacked merchants and mothers in the street. Their magic burst into violent colors, ripping through people and buildings alike.
“Mama, the jump!” I stumbled, my boot catching on a loose stone, but she kept me upright. “The restraints are gone! We must do it now!”
“Not here!” She sobbed, the sound catching in her throat as she yanked me around a corner, our worn boots slipping on the cobblestones.
We scrambled down a narrow alley, a valley of shadows between flame-wreathed tenements.
“We need the church! Her shadow won’t reach us there.
We can’t waste what the jester did for us. There’s no second chance.”
Stabbing pain flared in my side, and my lungs ached. Behind us, a woman’s triumphant scream cut through the chaos. Her cry rose above the others, aimed right at us.
“Stella? Evan!” The taunting call echoed from the shadows.
Mom flinched, squeezing my hand tighter as she slowed. She whirled toward me, terror written across every line of her face.
A cold dread crept into my spine. Was this a dream? No, it was a memory merging into my dream. Was it really mine?
“But Mama—”
“We can’t!” she hissed. “Don’t you understand the risk? They can’t know your true power. If they find out, we’ll never see the light again. We were lucky to escape! The capital is burning. This is our only chance!”
I bit my lip until I tasted blood, then nodded.
We ran, plunging into the darkness at the edge of the firelight.
The alley opened up into the square, and there was the church, a stone sanctuary at the top of wide stairs.
Statues of the goddess Celeste lined the way, their hands lifting holy crystals toward the sky that reflected the fire above.