Chapter 2
Chapter
Two
Izabel had just started drifting toward sleep when the banging started.
She forced her gritty eyes to open, regretting the long hours of straining in the lamplight. She should never have stayed up so late working. She swallowed against the raw ache in her throat—it hadn’t recovered from the acrid fumes—and forced herself to sit up.
What time was it?
After midnight. The bells rang a little while ago. And the celebrations are still going strong.
The banging at her door started again, and she rubbed her temples. Her head pounded from concentrating for hours without a break. Grinding, dissolving, distilling, trying different acids, examining the results again and again. And she hadn’t learned anything helpful.
She still didn’t know what the strange gray powder—Firebreather—could possibly be. What could give such a rush of fiery arousal and unbridled passion, fierce energy and intense focus, and then dump the user into such a bleak spiraling crash that many simply never recovered?
Something horrible. Something fundamentally wrong, her beast muttered, just as the banging started again. It turned over and closed its eyes. We’re too tired. Tell them to go away.
She was exhausted, that was true, and part of her wished she could ignore whoever was down there. But she swung her legs off the side of her narrow cot and threw a heavy wool robe over her nightdress, nonetheless. Pounding on her door late at night only ever meant one thing: someone needed help.
Or they’ve come for the Firebreather.
Izzy glanced at her stained and slightly scorched desk.
The copper and glass vessels and tubes of the distiller occupied most of it.
Various lidded pots and ceramic dishes took up the rest of the space, and she’d left her notes out beside a now completely dried-out inkpot.
But the small steel lockbox was safely away.
Good. She only had a tiny sample—bought in the back of the coldest, darkest, dingiest tavern she’d ever imagined—but it cost a lot more than anything else in her store.
She grabbed her sheathed dagger and stuck it in her pocket.
When she’d first moved in, there had been some unsettling visitors to her shop.
They were strangely reticent about their ailments and made vague, offhand comments, as if she knew what they meant.
Her beast disliked them on sight. Thankfully, as she became better known, that type of patron had become rare.
But she was still cautious. Especially with a lockbox of Firebreather shoved to the back of her drawer.
Izzy stumbled through her garret and down the narrow stairs to the shop front. She lit a lamp and opened the small eye-level shutter in the door, leaving the heavy bar in place as she peered out.
A soldier with bright blue eyes, ginger hair, and a sprinkling of amber scales along the small amount of skin showing above his richly embroidered tunic stood waiting.
All her tension dissolved into joy. This was a soldier she knew well.
One who was almost a brother to her. She lifted the bar and hauled the door open. “Aiden! You’re here!”
Aiden gave her a tired smile. His gaze was clear and direct as always, but fine lines creased the corners of his eyes. “Hello, Izzy.”
She reached out, delighted to see him, and he pulled her into a rough hug. She’d missed all her friends so much. Aiden, Kai, and Cori had all left the castle guard, joined the Crown Legions, and had been living on the border for the last few years.
But why is he here? Why now?
She pulled back and looked up at Aiden. It was too late for a social call.
He’d clearly come straight from the feast up at the castle, and the tension in his tone raised her hackles.
Her beast twisted with remembered grief.
The last time one of her friends came urgently looking for her, everything changed.
Her earlier wariness returned. “What’s wrong? Is everyone okay? Is….” She swallowed the rest. She desperately wanted to ask about Luka, but she’d made herself vulnerable enough.
Aiden squeezed her arm reassuringly. “They’re all fine, but something’s happened. Can you come?”
“What happened?” she asked, pulling her robe closer as she shivered.
“We can’t talk here,” Aiden said, glancing at the throngs of people wending through the streets. “And we need to be quick. Can you come?”
She swallowed her questions, reclaiming her usual decisiveness.
“Yes, of course. Come in.” She left him looking around the shop and dashed upstairs.
The dress she’d worn earlier was wrinkled and ink-stained, so she flung open her wardrobe and rifled through it to find something suitable for the castle.
Maybe we should have gone to the dinner after all, her beast rumbled.
No, thanks. The last thing she’d wanted to do was sit in an opulent banquet hall and watch Luka seduce the visiting nobles. He was the only man her beast had ever chosen—as the slow fizzling out of her most recent relationship attested—but he didn’t want her.
Her beast snorted. Recent. Huh.
Fine. The relationship ended well over a year ago. It was still the most recent. And her beast had always thought Luka would change his mind eventually. Usually they agreed on everything, but on this… Izzy didn’t have the same hope.
She grabbed a fine-spun blue bodice with gold embroidery to wear over a short chemise and a pair of leather breeches, then quickly dressed.
They were hardly the gem-encrusted, brocaded silk gowns of the court, but they were clean and good quality.
And she could move as she needed to. She pulled on her boots, flung her cloak over her shoulders, and stuck her dagger in her belt.
Then she grabbed the leather satchel she kept packed with bandages, an assortment of sharp blades, and a selection of remedies in glass vials.
At the very bottom, in a small pouch, was the token that was once her brother’s and was now hers. A small iron coin stamped with the endless fang: the spiral of two dragons biting each other’s tails. The ancient symbol of balance. A castle guard’s identity tag.
Izzy jogged back down to Aiden, noticing that his expression looked even more grim after the short wait.
She locked up, and they made their way together along the street.
Her boot heels clicked on the cobbles, joining the distant sounds of revelry that echoed against the shop fronts and the narrow, leaning houses.
The dim lamplight muted the usually vibrant blues, pinks, and golden-daisy yellows of the walls, and the hanging vines and potted plants on the small balconies were only just visible.
The colored ribbons of wool that hung from rooftop to rooftop—added to every feast day until they formed huge lacy canopies—created darker shadows and strange tunnels as they hurried between small groups, larger parties, and the occasional couple sneaking away from it all.
Izzy’s shop was near the middle of the market.
Midway round the mountain, where, during the day, sunlight often fell, the scent of hot food and spice rose from the food stalls, and the cries of seagulls sounded more friendly than haunting.
It was not too far from the castle gardens and the surrounding wealthy homesteads, but still in reach of the poorer areas too.
Accessible to everyone. It was a bustling, vibrant area full of traders and their families.
Her beast was happy there, and so was she, for the most part.
At this time of the night, the shops were all closed, but she and Aiden soon reached the north of the market where taverns and food stalls overflowed with people celebrating the return of their soldiers, the signing of the treaty, and the promise of a royal wedding.
People laughed and shouted. Whistles and fiddles played jigs while merry patrons danced the reel, and in one open square, a troop of strong young men had stripped off their shirts to leap and roar through the warrior’s dance as the drums reverberated around them.
Their merriment was a stark contrast to Aiden’s deep frown and swiftly efficient pace. “Is it something to do with Shane?” Izabel asked quietly as they dashed through the bustling city, taking the shortest route to the castle.
She’d been good friends with Prince Shane before everything changed.
She still was, although she hadn’t seen him much lately.
After her brother died, Shane himself kept her up to date on the investigation.
But as the reports slowed, so did his visits.
In the end, no one could ever explain what happened to Rayan.
And she had wanted to concentrate on her new life, not her old sorrows—her loss of Rayan and, in his way, Luka—so she hadn’t forced it. Maybe she should have.
Aiden grimaced. “Sort of. You’ll see when we get there.”
A wave of sapphire scales rippled up her forearms as her beast stirred. That’s not very reassuring.
“Is there a reason the castle physiks couldn’t help?”
Aiden glanced at her under his brows. “We want to keep this between ourselves for now.”
Izzy frowned. There shouldn’t be any reason to hide something from the physiks, all of whom were sworn to discretion.
She’d once been a member of the elite group of healers working with the royal family and the senior council.
She’d even spent a fair amount of time at the border as a lieutenant in the medical corps, training military healers, working with more complex patients, traveling back and forth as needed. It seemed a long time ago now.
Over three years.
Gods, somehow it felt both longer and just yesterday since she’d said her last goodbye to her brother, left the castle, and made a new home in the city.