Part One
"We'll be like the lotus. Triumph against all odds."
- Candice Everton
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CHAPTER ONE
*~~~**~~~*
IRIS EVERTON
*~~~**~~~*
MAROS, 926 PC
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Iris hadn’t shed a single tear in the days after Candice’s death. Even the funeral, which had been no more than Iris and her father, had been an unusually dry affair. She’d wanted to cry, there had been plenty enough sadness inside her to do so, but the hole Barik had dug in her heart had filled with anger and resentment so quickly as she’d sat beside the empty bed that her tears were buried beneath a vision of a world in which commoners didn’t have to rely on Purists for anything, especially not survival.
When her father had finally dumped the last shovelful of dirt on Candice’s homemade casket, Iris had carried, in silence, an armful of books to the bulkhead door beside their house and shut herself in the cellar. She’d stood two candles side by side and lit just one as a reminder of what had been taken from her. For weeks she searched for a cure to the disease she believed Candice had died from until her efforts led her to a mysterious branch of science known as alchemy. She had heard of it a few times when her mother was alive, but the things that had been invented with the taboo knowledge had scared her then. However, now that the responsibility to change the world had fallen to her and her alone, there was no room for such childish fears. There was no room to be scared of anything.
She took to the science like fish to water. The strange terms and foreign concepts unraveled themselves in her mind as if she had written the riddles in a past life. That’s not to say she didn’t have to strive for excellence, but she’d be lying if she said it wasn’t much easier than she’d expected. And because of that, her confidence grew rapidly. Her first successful experiment was a concoction to help skin heal faster than it could naturally. Brilliant, yes, but not enough to change the world. She pushed the limits further, searching for ways to cure any and all ailments that fought to overtake a human body. And she found them. Many of them. Eventually, she abandoned the guidance of her books entirely, believing she knew more than all of them combined. Who was to say she didn’t? Alchemy and its essence had become so second nature that within months she was hypothesizing her own theories. But true brilliance recognizes the necessity for perfection so she honed her skills for two and a half years. Then, on her eighteenth nameday she went to her father and asked to leave – in order to study at the University da Mi’lier in a realm across the empire.
He had refused her permission.
The note she’d left him was a simple one – three words and a heart.
*~~~**~~~*
“Here you are ma’am,” the waitress said, stirring Iris from her studying.
Iris’ eyes fell on the bronzed skin of the woman’s hand, following it all along her thin arm until their equally green eyes gazed at one another. The waitress was roughly the same age, a few years older at most, and clearly possessed the same desire to appear mature and competent. Mounds of fiery red hair were tucked beneath a white bonnet and a matching apron draped down her front – “PP” for Penelop’s Place was embroidered in the middle of the chest.
Iris closed her copy of Olt’s Guide to Alchemy and slid it across the wrought iron table, still eyeing what she could see of the woman’s red hair. She hadn’t always disliked her own black hair. She’d known very little else in Faylawn where every woman had black hair except her mother, but now that she was in Locke, the wide array of colorful hair atop heads had made her envious of those with something unique about them. She wouldn’t have minded taking some of the waitress’ height either. Iris’ scratch mark on the door frame had reached its pinnacle around her fourteenth nameday and hadn’t budged an inch after. A fact that she’d regularly begged The Creator to change, but to no avail.
Two adorable plates found their place in front of her. One held a bowl of warm broth with noodles and chunks of chicken. The other featured two pieces of bread stacked fancily.
“Do you need anything else?” The waitress smiled but it was hardly noticeable. Not when the rest of her was so eye-catching and striking.
“No, not at all. This will be wonderful. Thank you so much.” She handed the waitress more Leos than necessary despite not having many to her name. “This is such a lovely place, please give the owner my compliments.”
The waitress’ red hair fell down her back as she pulled the bonnet from her head. “Penelope Price. The owner.” She extended her hand. “Thank you for your kind words and generosity.” Owner. At her age. Suddenly, the young woman appeared much older than Iris. Much wiser as well.
Iris often found herself being bothered by the success of others. Not that she didn’t want them to succeed, but rather because she was still so far from her goals. She turned her jealousy into flattery as she said, “The least I can do. You’ve created something special here. Chasing a dream is to be admired.”
“Thank you. It wasn’t easy but it was worth it.” Penelop wiped her brow. “Can’t say there aren’t times I wish I could escape the pressure though. Feels endless.”
“I’m sure.”
“Anyway, I must be going. Never can trust the boys inside when they’re alone. Come back soon.”
And with that the nicest person Iris had met in Locke turned away and wove through the lines of tables sitting outside the small eatery. Penelope’s interaction with other patrons couldn’t be called charismatic but it was sincere and mindful. Both likable qualities. Both were rare qualities too. At least in the vast majority of people Iris had met in this new world. Locke hadn’t exactly met her with open arms. Not that she expected much else from a city with such a high volume of magical souls, but the Purists here made the few she’d encountered in her life look tame. Except for Barik Liskin, he’d fit right in here.
Sadly, whether she liked it or not, these few months in Locke had helped her better understand why Purists thought so highly of themselves. The first time she’d seen a group of them using their magic to repair damages done to the city by a harsh storm she’d almost applauded, stopping herself just in time and reminding herself that they would be impressed by her soon enough. She’d already unveiled her brilliance in the university’s laboratory by knowing more than all the other first years combined and offering improvements to many of the protocols within the alchemy department. There wasn’t a student in the entire school that didn’t know her face. She loved the notoriety but hated the singularity.
She watched the dockers and fishermen as they went through the motions of their daily routines and ate her delicious lunch. The constant chatter at the docks bordered on hostility at times but compared to the prim and proper etiquette of the university, the curse words and vulgarity were a welcome source of entertainment. It reminded her of her father and his friends from the mines. She frowned at that thought, and how she’d left on bad terms, left the house in the middle of the night.
He’d given her no choice though. Candice’s hopes of survival had vanished in a cloud of dust kicking up behind Barik’s stagecoach, but a path to the future she desired had been left in the dirt road as well. She had to leave her small village if she was going to make her sister proud. It was he who didn’t understand that. Or wasn’t willing to admit it. Iris on the other hand, was willing to do whatever was asked of her to make sure commoners received equality.
She was halfway through her meal when a silence fell over her little part of the city – a frustratingly common occurrence in Locke. Of course they’d show up and ruin my delightful afternoon. The throng of commoners that filled the cobblestone street spread like a parting sea, their heads bowing as they did. Iris followed suit, staring at her book respectfully, though she felt no respect for the Purists of the High Chamber. She cursed under her breath as they strolled through arrogantly on their way to the harbor. Lords forbid I look them in the eye. I may set them ablaze with my less than perfect soul. When the last of the Purists cleared her vision she lifted her head and glared at their backs, wishing they would in fact burst into flames.
When she looked back at her soup she was no longer hungry. She shoved the bowl away and opened her book. The sketch her father had drawn of her sister years before stared up at her. Candice’s wide eyes peered over an intricately etched lotus, the tops of her round cheeks barely visible above the pedals. Candice had called the lotus that grew in the swamp near their home an inspiration so often that their father had given her the sketch as a gift when she’d fallen ill. In return, she’d told him all would be alright, that they would be like the lotus, triumph against all odds.
The tears that had been buried beneath Iris’ goals fought toward the surface but a deep breath pushed them back down where they belonged. She hid the sketch deeper in the book and began reading.
*~~~**~~~*
“Surprised to see ya outta the lab,” a man said.
Iris tried to squeeze the last bits of frustration out of her eyes before looking up but by the way Jameson Wicket’s own eyes narrowed, she guessed she’d failed. The charismatic local was one of the few faces she recognized outside of the university. And what a face it was. His wavy black hair was long enough to grab two handfuls if she were to ever kiss him and the thin layer of stubble that covered his jaw and cheeks was slightly thicker in all the right places. What set him apart though, what had put that indescribable feeling of intrigue in Iris, was his blue eyes and how the ocean itself had been poured into them. They were crisp enough to demand attention but soft enough to be flattering when he wanted them to be, changing shades with the tides of his interactions.
“I needed some fresh air today,” she said.
He whistled to a waitress as he sat down and gave his signature two finger wag that meant he wanted an ale. “Reckon fresh air is the key to a good day, but it looks like ya could use more than fresh air.” He examined her with his blue beauties, trying to understand what had her upset. “Was the soup too hot? Did it burn your tongue?” He reached for a piece of bread she’d left for the birds.
“Aye, just a tad too hot.” That’s where she left it and he didn’t pry. He was a sly character though, she knew he’d have something else to say about the matter when the moment was right. He’d proven in the month they’d known each other that he wasn’t a brilliant man, far from it in many ways, yet he seemed to always have the upper hand in the conversational games they played.
His charm refused to abandon him even as he chewed the ball of bread he’d tossed in his mouth like a buffoon. The way he sat, casual and relaxed, drew attention to her own rigid posture. That’s how her father demanded she and Candice sit though. She didn’t know another way and all attempts at doing so left her feeling awkward and uncomfortable.
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“Bet your shoulders are as tense as a man goin’ into battle.”
She tried her best to relax but ended up frowning at herself when she couldn’t. “I’ve never been one to relax. Always working, always studying. I can’t silence my mind or rest my muscles.”
“Don’t envy ya there. Course, it’d be nice if my brain wasn’t always chirpin’ about bad ideas. Ya ever considered not goin’ to the lab all the time? A day off here and there is good for the spirit.”
The waitress arrived with Jameson’s ale, sitting the mug down politely and saying, “Put it on your tab?”
“If you’d be so kind.” The wink he gave the waitress put a smile on her face and a scowl on Iris’. Before the woman walked away, he said, “Tell Penelope she’s a doll, will ya.” He lifted the mug to his lips and peered at Iris over the rim like he might know a little jealousy had bubbled in her chest.
All she could think to do was say, “I sleep a little later on Sundays, you know.” Now, his grin was less charming and more playfully judgmental. At this, she didn’t bat an eye. No one would force her off the path she’d laid for herself.
“I don’t know how you drink that stuff,” she said, hoping a change of subject would help her relax.
“If ya do it enough, it gets to be somethin’ ya don’t even notice. Might just loosen those muscles for ya.”
She couldn’t imagine that. The one time she’d tasted ale with her father she’d spit it back into the mug and shook her head in disgust. “I’ll stick to tea.”
“Course ya will.” He hadn’t said it rudely yet it still bothered her. He sat up in his chair. “Oh, I’m sorry. Didn’t mean t’hurt your feelings. Reckon you’re just the kind of gal that don’t get too rowdy.”
Nothing had ever made Iris question her personality like this before. Was it the comment or who had said it? The latter seemed more likely. “No, you’re right. I don’t get rowdy. Never have. I’m not sure why though.” She knew damn well why – her father would have locked her in her room and thrown the key in the swamp if she had. “I just prefer books to booze, I suppose.” She was happy with her slightly smoother words.
Jameson looked relieved to have not ruined her day, sending a shot of warm happiness through her when he smiled. “When ya gotta be back at the lab?”
The truth was that she didn’t have to be back at all. She could not go back for the rest of the week and still be miles ahead of the other first year students, but that mentality wouldn’t get her where she wanted to go. “I have an hour or so.”
He shoved the rest of the bread into his mouth and washed it down with a long swig of ale. “Good,” he said as he wiped his mouth with the back of his wrist. “Reckon I can add some spice to your day.” He snatched her book from the table and stood up. “Come with me or you’ll never see your precious book again.” He smiled. She tried to smile too but wasn’t sure if he was serious or not. She followed him into the street for no other reason than to see to it that her book survived. At least that’s what she told herself.
*~~~**~~~*
Jameson led her through the crowds of people on the streets, up and down flights of stairs, across several stone bridges between the buildings, and through back alleys she would have never walked in alone. The whole time she kept asking herself what Candice would think of her galavanting around with a man who’s fingertips were dangerously close to strumming the chords of her heart. Change, hard work, excellence, those were the triumvirate of their promise, not flirting and love. By the time they stopped in the middle of the darkest alley of them all, she missed Candice so badly all she wanted to do was grab her book and run back to the lab, her sanctuary.
“Ain’t it beautiful?” Wicket asked, his head tilted so far back he looked like he could fall over.
It was then that she realized they were standing in front of Walendar’s Tower; an enormous structure that stood fifty feet taller than anything else in the city. She’d barely been able to take her eyes off it as the boat entered Locke’s harbor months before, but now, as she stood directly in front of it, she was even more awe-struck by its majesty. The six sides of the hexagonal tower stretched high into the sky, each featuring swirling carvings that were etched in the stone like elegant handwriting. At the top of the tower were six open arches that would have shown off a magnificent bell had there been one. They held a golden dome that capped it all off perfectly.
“Come on.” He moved toward the arched door frame that led into the tower.
“Are we supposed to be here?” Iris asked, looking around the empty alley. She’d heard other students at the university discuss the odd stories that surrounded the tower.
He turned toward her. “Course not. No one is anymore. Purists hate this damn thing. But it won’t let them tear it down.” He said it as if it wasn’t something remarkable but she registered it in the back of her mind. “Besides, I don’t much care for rules. So, when you’re with me, plan on doin’ whatever ya want. Like it should be.” The entire notion nearly made her keel over and vomit. If her father knew of this he’d shun her, if he hadn’t already. Still, she followed Jameson’s charisma into the tower.
The interior of the tower had the same spectacular carving as the exterior, swirling around like gusts of wind sweeping up and out of the arches above. A statue of a hefty-looking man stood directly opposite the entrance, greeting visitors with a huge smile and a legendary beard. Arren Walendar if she had to guess, given it was his tower and all. Three crescent moons were painted in white on the floor, interwoven to create the symbol of The Creator; Creator, Purist, commoner, as one. The notion made her shoot a disgruntled breath out her nose.
As they walked up the winding staircase she ran her fingertips along the smooth stone wall and wondered what secrets might lie in the structure’s history. Up and up they went, stair after stair. By the time she stepped onto the damp stones that covered the floor of the belfry she was panting.
A handful of crows fluttered away in a hurry when Jameson waved his arms at them.
She moved to an iron railing that circled an opening in the floor. It shook slightly beneath her grasp. Jameson joined her, his hand grazing hers as he grabbed the rail. She waited, suddenly wanting much more than a simple graze of the hand.
“Good man there,” Jameson said, pointing down at the statue. “A Purist that commoners could love.”
Her mood shifted at the mention of Purists. “Makes you wonder if he was honest,” she said, regretting it immediately when she saw Jameson’s disapproval. “Sorry. I just haven’t had the best experience with Purists.”
“Well, I reckon we’re not all bad.”
The world came to a stop. Had she heard him correctly? He couldn’t be a Purist. Purists didn’t dress like ordinary people yet Jameson looked poorer than her. Purists didn’t make a habit of drinking ale with common folk yet Jameson was practically a king at Penelope’s Place. And Purists certainly didn’t take time out of their day to be kind to women like her. And yet, here they were, standing close enough to smell each other’s desire.
“You… You’re a Purist.”
“What? Didn’t think somebody like me could have the same stuff in him as those arrogant pricks in the High Chamber?”
Iris was no stranger to tact, but it escaped her now. “Of course not.”
“Ah. Ya ain’t the first to make that mistake. Won’t be the last.” He shrugged. “I don’t like all the attention that comes with it.”
He had to be lying. “You don’t like the attention?”
He turned to her, smiling at the fact that he was caught in a lie he’d meant to be caught in. “The truth is, I just don’t like using my magic much. Reckon it gets me in all kinds of trouble. So, I try to lay low, blend in with the more fortunate.”
“You mean the less-” He shook his head.
“Look through this one here,” he said as he moved toward an arch that faced the coast. She followed, pressing her hips against the stone wall as she looked at the ever-peaceful Jazak Sea. The white sand that knew the water so well was crisp and pristine for miles. A dozen or so boats were floating around in the harbor while three larger ones were tied to the docks. The workers were small blurs moving around with purpose. “Had some good times along the coast,” Jameson said. “Can’t find a better place in all of Thandlecor.”
“I love feeling the sand beneath my feet.”
She felt a hand on the small of her back. “We could go together, ya know. Tonight.” They turned toward one another.
“I would-” Suddenly, she couldn’t move, couldn’t speak. Jameson’s eyes narrowed in confusion. Then concern. He darted away.
“What the hell are ya doin’?!” he said to someone.
A woman’s voice. “What are you doing, Jameson?”
“What I’m doin’ ain’t no business of yours, Ceralline. Get the hell outta here.”
Iris fought to move her arms but her body was stiff as a board.
“No one is supposed to be here. You know that. I’d hate to see what would happen if I brought this to the attention of the High Chamber.”
“We weren’t doin’ nothing wrong.”
“I believe my father would disagree. I’ll just go check with him now.”
“I have a better idea. Why don’t ya tell me why ya was following us. ”
Ceralline scoffed. “I wasn’t following you. This is my part of the city to patrol. I saw you come in here and figured a man like you was up to no good. Even if you looked more like foolish children than stealthy burglars.” That pissed Iris off. “Why wouldn’t I check on what you were up to?”
There was a forceful cut in Jameson’s tone that Iris had never heard from him before. Not that she had much experience to call upon but to this point he’d always been a calm wave ebbing and flowing with the way of the world. “I think that ya should probably just make ya way home and forget ya ever saw us, Ceralline. Before a whole lot of trouble finds ya.”
“I see,” the woman said, her snippy confidence in full stride. “Sneaking into a forbidden place and threatening a fellow Purist. The High Chamber will be most displeased, I’m sure.”
Jameson may not have fit the image of a Purist Iris had drawn in her mind but this bitch and her smug tone did perfectly.
“Like I said, just get outta here and forget ya ever saw us,” Jameson said.
“I suggest-” Ceralline never finished her sentence. Instead, she started a new one and in a far kinder tone. “Afternoon, James! How are you?” There was a pause. “Who’s your friend?”
As the Purist spoke, the hold on Iris faded. She blinked her eyes and stretched her jaw as she turned to the others.
There was a look of admiration on Ceralline’s face as she followed Jameson toward the middle of the belfry. Lords, she was beautiful. A braid circled the rest of her long blonde hair like a thin crown. Her chest was full beneath the black uniform members of the City Guard wore. Three gold buttons held the coat together firmly and her pants were crisp and sleek. The thin sword at her hip brought back memories of Barik’s sellsword standing in the doorway back in Faylawn. Despite how thin and unimposing this sword was, it was still deadly enough to make Iris uncomfortable.
“Sit up here for me, Ceralline.” Jameson directed the woman to take a seat atop the iron railing in the middle of the belfry.
At first, it was the wobble of the railing that made Iris nervous for the woman. Then, it was the sinister look on Jameson’s face. For the first time since meeting the man, Iris considered the fact that she didn’t truly know who he was or what he was capable of. His charm had put such a veil of perfection over him that she’d never even considered he may be a threat.
Then something unexpected occurred. As Jameson’s intentions became clear, as Iris understood his magic a bit better, an eager sense of selfishness sprouted up in her mind, flushing through her entire body rapidly. She should pay for Candice’s death. She would have been no more merciful than Barik.
Jameson put his hand on his captive’s jawline gently. “Ceralline.”
“Yes, James.” She smiled wide as she put her hands on Jameson’s waist to balance herself.
“I need ya to do me a favor.”
“Anything, James.”
“Don’t ever fuckin’ follow me again.” A forceful nudge sent the woman tumbling over the railing. There was no scream as she fell, just a loud slap that surged up the shaft when she hit the stone floor below. The most devious elements of Iris’ insatiable curiosity pulled her to the railing. Ceralline lay atop the crescent moons at Walendar’s stony feet. Ruined. A pool of blood surrounded her. Not five minutes before Iris would have expected to feel squeamish and scared. But instead, the only thing that filled her as she looked at the dead Purist was satisfaction. Perhaps it was herself she didn’t know entirely.
She turned to Jameson whose eyes were directed at the ground and coated in something that resembled shame. There was a long silence before she lifted herself onto her toes and kissed him, grabbing a handful of luscious hair as she did.