CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
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Iris Everton
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Febria, 927 PC
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And for the sixth time, Iris adjusted the frame and stepped back, putting her hands on her hips and examining it with a fine eye. A large version of her father’s sketch, the one of Candice and the lotus flower, stared back. “Perfect.” She hoped the empty room would somehow share in her excitement. Nothing. If only Candice was actually here. She’d be excited for her. She could make you believe she cared more about your accomplishments than you did with her infectious sense of joy. A drop of sadness poured into her chest. “No. No. Sorry, Candice. Not today. Not right now,” she said, knowing that ambitious drop of sadness all too well. Give it a chance and it would become a day of moping and moodiness. Not today. Today was too special, too memorable.
An apprenticeship paid minimally, but with no living expenses and extreme frugality, she’d managed to save enough money to move out of the laboratory and into an apartment on the eastern border of the city. Where you could smell the bread being baked in the morning. Where you could see the ships coming into harbor from well over a mile away. Where you could watch the sunrise uninterrupted by towers and buildings. And she had, each of the first three days she’d been in her new home, sipping tea and eating breakfast by the window in the kitchen. She even had a bedroom now, furnished with a cozy bed, lovely stands, and tall dressers. Not just a dirty mattress tossed in the living space. Best of all, her walls now kept the cold out and the warmth of her Hot Rocks in. Decorative bowls of them sat all over the apartment, bringing a smile to her face each time she warmed her hands after coming inside from the frigid temperatures of Locke’s winters.
She moved toward the kitchen, driven by a craving for fruit. In hindsight, the first signs of pregnancy shouldn’t have been a surprise. Not with the lifestyle she and Jameson had been living in his apartment; more sex than conversation. At least, intelligent conversation. Jameson loved talking about his criminal activities when they weren’t too dangerous to mention. Even with the possibility floating around in the back of her mind, she’d still been overwhelmed with shock when she’d realized there was no other answer to missing her monthly bleeding twice and her breasts becoming tender.
Having a child wasn’t the problem, she could be a mother. It was who the father was that concerned her. She’d made a promise to Master Rellin who would eventually see the changes in her body. Even with his lack of interest in those types of things. He’d inevitably jump to conclusions and men like Donovan Rellin don’t jump to conclusions unless they’re sure they’re correct in their assumptions. Who knew if he’d let her continue working with him once he realized she’d broken his trust.
She’d liked to think she’d done enough to make herself invaluable, with all the progress they’d made in harnessing magic, but the world had already taught her no commoner was invaluable. Although, a strong case could be made for Urman Gant. He’d proven every bit as resourceful as Master Rellin had claimed when he’d returned from the ruins of Kryte with enough Rubach to last them a year. The strange substance had unlocked so many doors in alchemy she’d lost count. It was a temperamental brat too though. Difficult to work with and susceptible to changing its properties upon even the slightest shift in its environment.
Not a second after she’d put the first orange slice in her mouth, there came a knock at the door. She was no longer paralyzed by the vision of men in black and gold uniforms standing at her door whenever she heard such knocking but the thought wasn’t entirely gone.
She tried to distract herself as she crossed the living space by smiling at the furniture she’d gotten for an unbelievable price from an overly friendly carpenter across town. Then there was her beautiful blue rug that covered most of the room, nap long enough to run her fingers through, soft enough to tickle her feet.
“Who’s there?” she said through the door. One hand on the lock, the other on the handle.
“Me and The Old Wolf.” Jameson sounded rushed. “Let us in.” A pause. “Please.”
He plowed through the door as soon as she cracked it open, rushing toward the bench along the far wall, hands cupped near his mouth, dirty cloak pulled tight. He put his hands near the bowl of Hot Rocks on the stand beside him. Yormir stepped in much slower, smiling like he’d been walking through the spring sun. She couldn’t remember ever seeing him cold. Certainly not freezing. “Evening, Iris. How are ya?” His eyes were particularly orange today, meaning he’d used a lot of magic. Never a good thing when the two were together.
“Fine, Yormir. Busy day?”
“Guess ya could say that.” Calm, cool, and collected, with a hint of condemnation for his own life. Like always. She’d be willing to bet he’d have a self-deprecating joke for the executioner if he ever ended up with his head in the guillotine. “Now, this is a place t’live. Ya see this, Wick. This is what you could be coming home to each night instead of that rathole you sleep in.” She smiled but not for long.
“Oh, three hells,” she said, looking at the muddy footprints they’d brought into her perfect home. “Take your boots off! Right now. Do you have any idea how long it’s taken to make this place look this nice?!”
Jameson leaned forward and plucked a few slices of apple from the platter Master Rellin had given her to make her new home as sophisticated as she could make it. It had been a gift from King Elezra a decade before; worth more Leos than she could ever imagine if she ever got in a pinch. “Sorry sweetheart, I would but we won’t be here long enough. Just came by to tell ya I can’t eat dinner with ya tonight.”
Her hand covered her stomach nervously, like he might look inside her womb. She wasn’t sure how to feel about carrying a Purist’s unborn child but she did know how she wanted the conversation to go when she told him. Perfectly. Obviously. Smiles and hugs and kisses and future plans. Joy. They’d made something together after all. Something most would call a miracle. That’s not to say she hadn’t already spent nights begging the world not to give her baby magic though.
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“Can you stay for a few minutes? I’d like to speak with you about something.” She looked at The Old Wolf. His nose made that horrible sniffing sound like a dog. “Yormir. May we have a few moments alone?”
“Kitchen alright? I’d rather not go outside right now.”
“Should I ask?”
“Probably not.” He headed for the kitchen, leaving more footprints on her gorgeous rug. He called to her over his shoulder. “Got any rum?”
“There’s wine on the counter.” She pictured the lovely glass cups she’d made at the university sitting in front of the dark green bottle of wine. Perfection.
“Works for me.”
She sat down beside Jameson on the bench, wobbly with a cushion so thin it was more or less not even there. She had to admit, there was a reason the carpenter had given her a deal on the furniture. “How have you been?” There was a sweetness in her voice that she typically reserved for the bedroom. Best to approach the conversation in such a way that she got Jameson into a good mood. Her hand found its way to his thigh out of habit. The more time she spent around him, the more bad habits like this she found.
“Reckon I’ve been better,” he said, chewing with his mouth open. She didn’t cringe like she had with Urman and Harlow. Instead, it brought back memories of nights that had led to this conversation. No matter how hard she tried to hate him, or even just forget him, she couldn’t. The undeniable gravitational force that lived within him was just that, undeniable.
“What’s wrong?” How many times had she asked him that? More than one person should ever have to ask another in a lifetime. And she’d only known Jameson a year. It seemed like, for every right she looked for, he had two wrongs that looked for him. If it weren’t for her insatiable curiosity she might leave his problems with him and those foolish enough to help him with them, but she was what she was, and that meant knowing everything. Good or bad.
He shook his head as if he didn’t know she’d pry the information out of him eventually. Her hand slid further up his leg as she brought herself closer to him. “Maybe I can help,” she said, hoping he would remember how she used to lay her head on his chest at night and help him plot whatever scheme he and his men were up to at the time.
He scoffed. “Not with this, Iris. You made that clear.” She should have been offended by the way he threw the words in her face. Instead, she was shocked that he was still in possession of the explosive boxes of Apple Core.
“Is it still in your apartment?”
“Aye.”
“I thought you had a buyer lined up…” He grunted angrily. She should have known better than to think one of his jobs might actually go as planned. He often joked that The Creator followed him around with a rain cloud to remind him she hated him. “Well, could you just get rid of it?”
“Planned on it. That’s where we was headin’ now but the City Guard’s roaming around the city lookin’ for me. Had to lay low for a bit.” She instantly pulled her hand away from him. An image of Ceralline’s ruined body laying at the bottom of Walendar’s Tower flashed in her mind. Her black and gold uniform missing a button, torn off by the impact of the fall.
“How?” she asked.
Jameson had the same look he’d get when his magic had control of him. The only thing missing was the darker shade of blue in his eyes. “Someone tipped ‘em off. Reckon it was Reggie. Haven’t seen him for weeks. Bastard probably got arrested for something else and squealed on the rest of us.”
She was hearing the words but not processing them. The only thing she could think about was herself and how close she and Master Rellin were to her dreams. Too close to let this bumbling idiot ruin things for her. She stood up. “Why did you come here?”
He looked stunned. Hurt. “To tell ya I couldn’t eat with ya. Didn’t want ya waitin’ on me all night.”
Glass shattered in the kitchen.
“You have to leave. Now. Get out.” She pointed at the door. “Go.” She glanced at the threshold between the kitchen and living space. “Yormir!”
“Sorry, Iris! I’ll clean it up.”
“Come here now!”
Jameson stood up. His hands in front of his chest. “Hold on now. We didn’t mean to upset ya.”
Yormir appeared.
“Listen to me carefully, Yormir,” she said. “I don’t want either of you in this apartment while the City Guard is looking for you. If ever again!” The future fetus inside her left some wiggle room for reconciliation.
The two criminals shared a glance. They looked so much grimier than when they’d walked in that she wondered if they’d been wearing costumes before. Evil dripped from their chins. Ruthlessness coated their skin. “Alright, alright. We’ll leave,” Jameson said. He stepped toward her. She wanted to lift her hands to defend herself but what good would it do? If he wanted to hurt her, he could. That had always gotten her excited in the bedroom but not now. Now, she was miserable. Terrified. Filthy memories crawled all over her skin as he approached. He got close enough that she could smell the sweat on his neck and whispered, “If they take me down, you’re comin’ with me.” He kissed her cheekbone and gestured for Yormir to follow him.
“Sorry about the mess, Iris,” Yormir said. “I’ll leave this by your door.” He lifted his full glass of wine up as he spoke.
She grabbed the door before The Old Wolf closed it. “Wait.” Both men looked at her. She grabbed hold of the glass and tugged it out of Yormir’s grasp, spilling some on the stone balcony. She glared at Jameson. “I’m pregnant!” She slammed the door and locked it. Leaned against it, then downed the glass of wine in a single go before throwing it down angrily. It shattered right beneath her sinking ass. Glass crunched as she hit the floor. Her face hid in her palms. Why him? Anyone but him! She let out a shrill scream and slammed her hands on the floor, glass cutting through her skin all over them.
“Iris.” Jameson’s muffled voice came through the door. “Iris, sweetheart, are you alright? Open up.”
“Go away!”
“Sweetheart. Please.”
“Leave! Or I’ll go to the City Guard myself!” A hollow threat, they both knew that, but it apparently got the point across because boots could be heard walking down the stairs a moment later.
She looked at her bloody hands, stinging and shaking. This was anything but perfect! She cupped them on her knees and slammed her head against the door just hard enough to hurt. “Why him?!”