CHAPTER NINE #2
“No, that’s fine.” My relief rushed out too quickly. “I have somewhere to be.” The lie came easily. I sheathed the dagger with deliberate care, my voice faltering over the only truth I could manage. “Thank you, Wells. It’s…” My fingers lingered on the jewel, alive beneath my touch. “It’s perfect.”
It was proof, is what it was.
Of his survival. That he still had his mind, his craft.
Wells almost smiled as he dragged his mask from the table, the edge catching with a hollow cling before it slipped free into his grip. His hands were steady enough to pass, but I caught the slight tremor anyway, saw it for what it was.
Red bloomed above his lip, a trick from the fire or...
He brushed his nose quickly with his free hand, trying to wipe it away, to disguise the dizziness that tilted his balance for half a heartbeat.
I took a step toward him on instinct. “Wells—”
“No.” The shake of his head was barely noticeable. “Don’t.”
The words struck harder than they should have.
He tore a small bottle free from his pocket and drank it down in one swallow, not even wincing. The glass flashed familiar in his palm. When he straightened again, he only chuckled, a quick, hasty lie, before turning back to his work.
I knew that glass, knew exactly where it came from.
I couldn’t leave fast enough.
The door clicked shut behind me, crisp air replacing the swelter. I was grateful for it as it dried the sweat still clinging to my neck. My back pressed against the steeled door, head falling against it, eyes closing as the breeze filled my lungs.
Callum’s note.
I reached into my pocket, fingers fumbling until the parchment crumpled beneath my touch.
Something is planned in four days. Something big.
Obrann has his own schemes, but we will rain fire.
My spine snapped straight. That we didn’t include me.
For six years, Callum and I had led the Awakened Order together. Every maneuver. Every strike. Ours. Equal.
But this…this had been planned without me.
A fissure cracked through my chest. Was his trust thinning more with each moment the veins beneath my skin were tainted?
I tucked the note away, my gut screaming to be wary, and I forced myself to walk, to move back into the noise of Csolenia. To take a breath.
Because dread never saved anyone. But readiness just might.
The morning had drained me dry from socializing.
I should’ve gone home, collapsed into the sleep I’d been yearning for since dawn. But one more stop beckoned. A mutter of obligation.
A longing for comfort.
Unfortunately, trouble got there first.
Apparently flipping a dagger in the air while strolling through town was mischievous. Who knew? I thought it was soothing.
A mortal on his way to morning prayers disagreed. Loudly. He fetched a guard. Though, it didn’t end the way either thought it would. It appears I’ve been underestimating my ability to persuade…given the right leverage.
Now I crept through the weathered oak door that had welcomed me time after time. An entrance directly into repose.
I winced at the small creak it made, remembering how it made it nearly impossible to sneak away at night all those years.
Cinnamon and clove rushed at me, warmth and welcome in a single breath. There was no one in sight, just the burble of liquid simmering on the stove, light pooling over the worn counters where a chipped mug sat. The one she always kept waiting.
I closed the door behind me. “Gemma?” Nothing. “Hello!” My voice carried into the cozy quiet. “I’m intruding. I didn’t even knock!” I stepped further in, mud streaking the runner leading into the kitchen. “Didn’t wipe my shoes either…”
Still no answer.
I swiped an apple from the counter, biting into it as I slipped into an ancient rocking chair. It groaned beneath me like it had every year since I was small.
And I waited—
Until the shuffle came, then a hum, just beyond the door. It pushed open as Gemma strolled in, basket tucked in her arm, fresh bread and herbs spilling from its center.
I broke the silence first, holding up my hand. “You know these are bad, right?”
“Gods’ fates, Verena!” She clutched her chest with the same hand that had held me through fevers, through grief. Through every shattered piece of me. “What have I told you about breaking into my home?”
Her voice was stern, but it fooled no one. Especially me.
She kicked off her boots, cracked leather softened by years of wear. Two satchels hung heavy at her waist, stuffed with tinctures and salves that kept half this town alive.
Her long, silvered hair had half fallen from its braid, honeyed eyes tracking the mud trailing all the way to where I sat.
“Technically,” I said, taking another bite, its bitter juice running down the curve of my chin, “I didn’t break in.” My lips rounded slyly. “You left the door unlocked.”
In a flash, she snatched it from my hand. “These,” she shook it in my face, “are for baking. Not eating.”
Oh. That made sense.
She tossed it into the simmering pot without hesitation.
I grimaced, pointing at the bubbling stew. “Ew. I bit that like three times.”
She ignored me, dragging a wooden spoon through the liquid before unloading her market basket across the counter.
“What kept you, anyway?” My smile deepened, wicked with false innocence. “Did the king finally croak, and you so sweetly eased his last breath?”
Gemma only scoffed. “Obrann is alive and well...enough.”
Well, that was disappointing.
I leaned back in the chair, biting into the edge of my grin. “Shame. For a moment I thought you might’ve traded your herbs for poison.” My gaze narrowed, playful but cutting. “Or maybe exchanged for another royal secret.”
Her eyes flicked toward me, tough beneath the weight of years, the kind of hush that said she carried too many truths.
“But you,” she jabbed a finger at me, “you should know better.” Bread slammed against a cutting board, her fingers gripping it hard enough to crush the crust. The knife followed, slicing through the loaf with more force than grace.
“Two people, Verena. Just this morning.” The pot hissed as she swiftly moved back to it, stirring, her movements brisk, furious.
The scent of clove thickened, wrapped in disappointment.
“You threatened two people. One of them, a palace guard in the center of town, for everyone to see. For everyone to whisper about.” The spoon slammed against the rim of the pot.
A sharp, ringing sound. “You are stupid, stupid girl.”
She snatched a piece of fruit next, thumb digging into its skin until juice ran down her wrist.
“Oops?” I grinned, too wide, shrugging like a child caught with blood on her hands. “He had one eye. I wasn’t threatening him, or the pathetic mortal crying beside him. I just…” My hand arced vaguely, dramatically. “Pointed at the socket with my dagger and asked what happened.”
Gemma stared at me like she was praying for divine intervention.
Her lips parted, then pressed thin again.
“You are foolish.” The words were quiet.
Condemning. “To throw away everything we’ve built for you.
” She gathered the torn bread, the fruit, then tore off a wedge of cheese as if the act itself might delude her anger.
She dropped them all onto a plate and sighed.
“I admire your fire, Verena, I always have. Ever since Callum found you in those woods, you’ve made it known you would never find peace in staying quiet.
Even young I could feel that loudness in you.
That wildfire.” Her voice had softened for a moment, before it sharpened.
“But fire left unchecked doesn’t warm. It burns.
And it will burn you, and everyone you claim to love, if you do not learn control. ”
The sting landed hard enough to crack through my skin. I huffed, trying to deflect. “That’s super insulting, actually.”
She didn’t laugh. She marched forward and my heart quickened, the same way it always did around her when she was like this. She had that power. Even aging, her presence could be terrifying.
Her fingers yanked the collar of my tunic down, exposing the serpent ink at my shoulder.
“That,” she hissed, “is what people will see. Not the girl raised in this cottage. They’ll see the serpent. The curse. And fear, Verena—” her eyes locked on mine, “fear always strikes first.”
The words went deeper than poison. And for once, I had none to throw back. I knew the shape of my fate. It hadn’t fully claimed me yet, was almost polite about it, letting me get acquainted before it slipped the leash tight around my throat.
Sometimes, on the darker days, I wanted it to. Sometimes I wanted the end to come fast and clean, instead of this slow drowning.
“Did you ever wonder,” I wasn’t sure why the question emerged now of all times, but it came still, “why I was just...there. Why Callum even found me in those woods that day?”
She gave a small laugh. “Oh, I wondered. Of course I did. But sometimes the reasoning comes later. Sometimes we’re meant to do something first and understand it after.”
Irritation dripped off my tongue. “That seems awfully convenient.”
Gemma smiled, warm, a little tired, but genuine. “Most things worth keeping are.” She wrapped a hand under my chin, rubbing her thumb along my jaw, looking at me like I was the most valuable thing she never expected to find.
Then that look shifted from nostalgic to unforgiving before she released me, drifting back to the counter. “Have you been taking the elixir I made you every morning?” She set the arranged plate before me with a thud, along with a chipped mug full of a bright green liquid.
My favorite.
“Um…yes?” My smile was weak, transparent.
My eyes betrayed me more, moving toward the hutch where the vials lined up like soldiers. Bitter draughts she pressed into my hand week after week.
Then lower, to the nicks in the doorframe where she had measured me, year after year, marking my survival.
The sigh she gave was the sound of someone who had mended too much of the world. She healed the pieces no one else would touch. The broken, the bleeding, even the damned, when they crawled to her door.
And gods, I was all three.
“You really don’t think things through, do you?”
I dragged a hand over my braid, bringing it forward against my chest. “Even with your profound and unmatched healing ability, I hate how it makes me feel. It’s like trudging through a dream that won’t let go.
Like I’m struggling to exist. And I’ve been on mission after mission, Gem.
I can’t risk getting killed because I’m weak. ”
She clicked her tongue, the sound harsher than the simmer of her pot. “But you can risk getting killed because of your poison?”
I scoffed, because it was easier than admitting she was right. “A fair question. But also a stupid one. Was risking poisoning someone worth saving my own life?” The mug was warm in my palm as I brought it slowly to my lips, leaning back in the chair. “Uh, fuck yeah.”
Her stare burned hotter than the forge flames I’d just left. And for a flutter of a heartbeat, I swore I felt a hiss in agreement against my thoughts.
“I can control it now. I can feel when the rhythm stutters, when it’s rising.” My smile was cockier than it should have been. “It’s fine, I’m basically a professional at it now.”
As if that was something to be proud of.
I reached for the bread on my plate, and she batted my hand away. Not cruel, but firm enough to sting.
“You’re still so na?ve, my darling girl.
” Her voice broke with a sound like mourning.
“Part of me wishes you could stay that way, but the rest of me knows you can’t.
That you need to grow up and quickly.” Her gaze slid past me, out the window, watching the universe sharpen its teeth.
“Otherwise, this world will eat you alive. And won’t even bother to spit out your bones. ”
I gulped. Well, okay then.
“Why can’t you just trust that I have it under control?”
She turned back, eyes molten honey, pinning me to the chair. “Because Callum came to me—” Her hand found her hip. “He asked if you were still taking the elixir."
Oh fuck.
“At first, I didn’t know why he’d even ask.” Her brow arched. “Never mind asking me in public. Then he told me what he saw in your eyes when you were on top of a guard—” My throat clamped. “And he was bleeding.”
Damn. I had left that part out for a reason. I didn’t realize anyone was around, especially Callum.
I wanted to speak. To lie. To say anything that would mute the truth honing between us. But my throat was dust, parched by what it still tasted.
Because his blood hadn’t merely spilled. It had sung.
A note, calling to what lived under my skin—to the venom aching for release, to the hunger I had never confessed aloud. The curse had whispered, but I hadn’t answered. Despite the overwhelming urge.
“That look, Verena.” Gemma said it like a prayer, and I snapped out of whatever hold I had just been dragged back into.
“I would bet all my coins; that’s the look Callum saw.
And if I’m right," her eyes became glassy, lost, like she was scouring memories, seeing where she could have saved me sooner, “then you need to start taking the elixir again immediately. I truly fear for once it’s really got its hold on you.” She turned, the hem of her cloak brushing the floorboards until she disappeared down the hall.
The aroma of the bread broke through the noise in my head. My hand moved on its own, bringing a piece to my mouth. It was sweet and spiced, still warm from the oven.
I chewed slowly, rising, moving toward the stove where steam curled upward from the pot, the surface gurgling as it simmered.
My thoughts drowned in it, noting the crimson hue the water had begun to blossom into. As if my curse itself had stained it red.
And I chewed, unable to look away.