Page 42 of Anomalies

My hands fist at my sides as I focus on breathing, but the air is hot in my lungs. A certain bloodlust ignites in my veins. I haven’t felt it this potent since I killed my first Rogue at sixteen. It’s a blistering fire that takes over my entire body, and it never truly goes away; it just lies dormant until it’s triggered.

It’s nights like these that make me skeptical of the gods. Cruel. It’s all so fucking cruel.

Pirn has emptied; most everyone has been ushered to their cabins by Devon, Phoenix, and Easton. A few Floras remain huddled near the Infirmary—close friends of the Vaughns who were allowed to stay. I walk past them, Hunter close behind, but I whip around faster than a bullet when a hand grips my shoulder.

“Chiaros, Cal—” Pax.

My shoulders fall, my defenses falling with them. “Sorry.”

“The white and black hair…” he says quietly, eyes lingering on the closed doors to the infirmary, “is that…”

I nod. “It was Iris Vaughn.”

“Was?”

I don’t reply, the words too heavy to say out loud, but Pax got his answer. I can see it in the droop of his shoulders. “We’ll meet tomorrow morning. I can’t talk about it tonight.”

“She’s dead, isn’t she?” A voice I recognize sounds from behind me.

I hadn’t even realized she was standing there–Lucina. I turn slowly to face her. “That’s none of your business.”

Her dark brows lift, then she takes a cautious step towards Pax. She must trust him; I wonder how he managed that. I carried her the entire way here, yet it’s him whom she trusts.

It doesn’t matter. Nothing matters right now.

But there is a twinge of regret that settles in my chest, and I can’t quite make sense of it. I shouldn’t care that she shrank away from me. I shouldn’t care that I scared her. Instilling fear comes with the job— I must be feared to be taken seriously. The Dame taught me that a long time ago.

I hold her stare a moment longer. “Take her back to her cabin,” I order Pax, and Lucina’s chin lifts in silent challenge, but she says nothing as he leads her away.

“Captain,” Delia calls as she approaches. Her silver robes are smothered in moonlight, and her brown hair is tucked behind her ears, revealing the etched siding of her diadem. The Dame’s face is flat and slightly solemn as she says, “You have three months.”

I turn to face her fully. “Until what?”

“Until I close the Banyan. Permanently.”

I blink, all the blood draining from my face.

“You and your coven have permission to use the portal freely for the next three months, but you must inform me of every trip. I trust you not to jeopardize our people in the process. I’ll need to approve of any potential rescue missions, but you can go out and scout at your leisure. Once your time is up, Pirn will be our new home. It’s easier that way. We are safe here.”

“Six months,” I wager. If this is the only chance I have, I’m going to make damn sure I have plenty of time to get it right. I can’t afford to rush this. If we get caught, Pirn could be found, and everyone here would be at risk.

Delia grits her teeth. “Four.”

“Five.” It comes out before I can stop it, and the ground trembles with her irritation. She seems to be stuck on an inhale, her eyes sharp and angry.

But she’s the one who taught me persistence.

“Fine,” she spits out, and relief floods me. “But let me make myself clear: I will be included in the entire process. Not a single trip out of the Banyan will happen without my knowledge, and so help me, Callan, if you keep anything from me, I’ll close the portal tomorrow.”

“Done.” I lift my chin, and even though she’s an inch or two shorter, she stares down her thin nose at me.

Slave. Iris’s confession hasn’t stopped echoing around us.

“We must be reasonable, Callan,” Delia starts, “it’s been twenty years, and you saw what those years did to Iris. She was nothing but a bag of bones. Our people might be alive, but it might be too late for you to save them.”

There she is—the Dame in all her glory.

Nothing but a bag of bones. But Iris was much, much more than that. She was someone’s daughter. She was someone’s friend. She was a miracle, and she’s hope. Hope that Delia hasn’t allowed herself to believe in and still refuses to acknowledge it, it seems. At least not without ultimatums.