Page 66 of Malicent
The memory of Arcadia telling me a theatrical story comes back to me—her frustration, her dramatics. She hadn’t been overly pleased about facing me, but I found the story…amusing.Let them all bear witness to my power.
Iris smiles widely. “When you say sisters, I assume you mean coven. Do you have any blood sisters?” She switches out her tools for a syringe, focusing on larger arteries, testing multiple entry points to see if any viable fluids remain.
“No sisters,” I say. “I had my mother. She was my only blood relation.” The words settle heavily in my chest. My heart clenches at the mention of her.
Iris notices, her movements stilling over her work. When she looks up at me, she gives me her full, undivided attention. “I am sorry for your loss.” Her voice is quieter now. “I had a blood sister, too. I lost her.” A shadow flickers through her expression. “She was the other half of my soul. I miss her every day. Grief never really goes away—you just learn to live with it. It lingers, like a presence in the room. A memory that haunts us, but in a sad, loving way.”
Her smile softens, her eyes grow distant. “The grief reminds me she was real and I loved her—it is beautiful in that way.” She shakes herself out of whatever thought threatens to pull her under and returns to her task.
I stare at my hands. “Haunting feels too tame a word for what it is,” I murmur, the words flowing out before I can think.
Iris tilts her head slightly, listening.
“Not just haunting—watching. Waiting. Longing to devour me until there is nothing left.” My fingers tighten around the edge of the table. “That’s what it feels like. A curse I cannot rid myself of. If the price of relief is to erase her from memory, to carve her from my soul, I don’t want it.”
I lift my gaze. Iris’s expression is unreadable, but her sadness lingers in the set of her jaw, in the way she exhales slowly through her nose.
“I will bear this,” I say. “And I will long to see her in my dreams. Better to have had and lost than never to have had at all. That is what Arcadia always says.” I sigh, forcing the thoughts away from my mother and from Cage, chained and screaming. “She is like a sister to me. The only one I’m truly close with from my coven.”
I lean back slightly, letting the shift in topic settle. “I think she’d love the castle. Arcadia has a taste for luxury.”
Iris perks up. “Maybe she can visit! Tyran loves playing host.” She resumes her work, securing the final vial into its holder before grabbing a leather book and quill.
I smile at the thought of Arcadia here, surrounded by gold and finery. “Maybe. She doesn’t stay in one place for long. As soon as she was old enough to leave the coven, she did.”
Iris settles onto the stool beside a wooden table that is nearly empty save for scattered stacks of papers and unfurled scrolls. She pats the seat next to her. “Come sit. I want to start the record of the events from the field.”
I push away from the table where the creature’s remains still lie and take the seat beside her. She flips open a leather-bound book, dating the page with a careful stroke of ink. “Did you ever venture out?” she asks lightly.
I shake my head. “I’m not permitted to. My elder has strict rules for me. I remain on coven grounds, and my training schedule is more demanding compared to the others.”
Iris purses her lips. “Well that doesn’t seem very fair. Awfully boring, really.” She leans forward slightly, green eyes glinting with thought. “The world is massive, and our covens are so small. Did you ever wish to explore?”
I consider the question, tilting my head slightly. “Yes,” I admit. “Especially when Arcadia began traveling, returning home with tales and trinkets. You don’t defy the elders, as you know.” I shrug, not overly bothered by my arrangement. “I also came to understand my role in the coven and why the rules exist.”
Iris hums in response, jotting down notes as she speaks. “And what was your role?” She glances up. “I was one of the best Necromancers, so I was utilized for creation. To shape things that should never exist.” She exhales, shaking her head. “Things that defy nature. Things made from power-hungry ambition.” Iris seems genuinely interested in me. It’s…nice. Talking to another witch, someone who understands without needing constant explanation. It eases a weight I hadn’t realized I was carrying.
The pressure in my chest—the one that always lingers—lifts ever so slightly. It reminds me of late nights spent talking Arcadia’s ear off. “I am considered rare, both in my coven and by power standards,” I say, studying the grain of the wooden table. “I hold two types of magic—blood and dark magic.” I pause. “To wield two forms is—”
“Exceedingly rare,” Iris cuts in. “So rare I’ve never seen it documented. You may very well be the first.” Her certainty sends an odd sense of validation through my chest. “Yes. Because of my rarity, I was a target from the start,” I continue, propping my elbow on the table and resting my chin on top of my hand. “As I grew, I became something else—a source of destruction. My magic requires constant training and discipline. My elders made sure that I had both.”
My breath slows. “Power comes at a price. Part of mine is freedom. The freedom to go where I wish, with whom I wish.” My gaze drifts to Iris. “When this is over, I will return to my coven. I am here now, under Elder orders.”
Iris takes a moment to respond. She dips the quill into the ink pot, hovering over the page as if collecting her thoughts. “I’ve learned that power can come from different places—your physical form, your blood, or the control you possess. To lack control over your own life and your own choices?” She shakes her head. “That is the greatest loss of power.”
Iris’s gaze meets mine. “I would give anything for freedom—to wake in a place where the sun warms my skin, where I decide where I go, who I speak to, who I share my life with. I have already paid the price for power.” Her voice softens. “And now, I have paid for my freedom. I only hope that, wherever your path takes you, Millicent, you can find both.”
She has no idea what I have paid. No idea of what pieces of myself I have given away, never to be reclaimed. Her ideals are different from mine, but I knew this from our first exchange. If I chose her path—if I abandoned the coven—I would not simply be free. I would be unbound. Untethered. Without discipline, without structure, without Nora’s control, my power would consume me. I would not exist as I am now.
Iris is sweet, and I am not.
There is a world of difference between what runs in our veins and what we must do to keep it from destroying us. “It is different for me, Iris.” My voice is steady, but my fingers betray me, idly spinning the ring on my thumb. “My elders are here to help me.” A pause. Then, quieter, almost hesitant, “You can call me Millie.”
“Millie is cute. I like it! I like your full name too.” She rolls her eyes but gives the biggest grin. The sorrow lingering in her features is finally fading away. “The nickname around here for me is ‘Rainbow,’ but you’ll notice it’s rarely used—unless it is Kalix.” She rolls her eyes at the mention of his name, but there is a smile behind them.
I grin mischievously. “Soo…Kalix?”
Iris groans, “Please don’t even ask. He’s a really good friend, that’s it.”
