In the Wake of the Wicked (Veridian Empire #1)

1. Rose

1

Rose

TWENTY-SEVEN YEARS LATER

I slid my hand beneath the counter, feeling around the boxes of metal tins. I knew what each contained simply by touch—I could find anything in this apothecary with my eyes closed. Rounded edges: lavender stems . Chip on the corner: shredded stinging nettle. Ripped label: lemon balm . None of which I needed.

Ah . There it was.

Square tin, still smooth and undented. Hardly touched. Foxglove .

“Can we hurry it along, please?” the customer asked impatiently. I peeked over the counter to see her anxiously looking behind her shoulder to the window leading outside, as if preparing to duck if anyone glimpsed her darkening the doorsteps of my shop.

I bit back a retort and swiftly opened the lid to the tin, pinching the crushed purple petals between my thumb and forefinger, then brought it to the counter and sprinkled them into the tea blend. Shooting the young woman a saccharine smile, I sifted the mixture together, tied the bag with twine, and held it out.

“Here you go, Madeline. That should help you get some more sleep. ”

She snatched the bag from my grip so fast one would think I’d burned her. “What’s in it, again?” she demanded.

I cleared my throat. “Valerian root, chamomile, and a dash of lavender.”

She nodded, satisfied, and dropped several coins onto the counter before turning on her heel and quickly exiting the shop, her red curls bouncing. I waited till the door to the apothecary shut before rolling my eyes.

“ You’re welcome ,” I muttered.

The sound of heavy footsteps bounding through the back door reached my ears, followed by something slamming into wood. I held in a chuckle. Typical Beau .

Lurching beneath the counter, I shoved the box of foxglove out of sight and rearranged the other tins to cover it.

“Was that Madeline I heard?” my cousin Beau asked, his voice breathless as it broke on the girl’s name.

“Yes,” I replied, wiping my hands on my apron.

He came into view, his mop of brown hair disheveled as if he’d hurriedly tried to flatten it. His gray eyes darted toward the door and he craned his long, gangly neck, trying to catch a peek of the girl retreating. “Did—did she ask about me?”

I pinched the bridge of my nose, holding back a sigh. “Beau, honestly, after what she did to you, you still want to talk to her?”

A week ago, I’d found my sixteen-year-old cousin trudging through the dark streets of Feywood during a thunderstorm. He was soaked to the bone and his skin was ice cold, chills racking his entire body, but he didn’t seem to care. His eyes were dull and distant. An alarm had swept through me like a tidal wave at the sight.

He was supposed to be with Madeline, the girl he’d been seeing for quite some time, yet he looked like he’d been wandering for hours .

When I’d found out what had happened, I almost ran through the streets to her house in a blind rage. Beau had stumbled upon his girlfriend in bed with another man—an older boy from town. Instead of showing guilt at being caught in the act, Madeline had laughed . She’d thanked Beau for putting on a good show, but now that she was eighteen, she didn’t need him as a cover for her relationship with the older man.

Three days later, she’d publicly announced her engagement.

Beau had been a wreck ever since.

Today, he’d appeared slightly more like his normal self—chipper and easily distracted—until now, with the familiar red curls of his first heartbreak growing distant in the shop window. She hadn’t been able to get out of the apothecary fast enough, more than likely to avoid an awkward encounter with Beau, but I knew that wasn’t the only reason.

My cousin’s face drooped. “I know, I know. I guess I just…I miss her.” His dejection made me all the more pissed at the girl. “What did she come in for, anyway?” he asked.

“A sleeping tonic.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Then why are your fingers purple?”

I looked down to see the slight colored tinge the foxglove had left on my fingers. Fates .

Beau groaned. “Rose, what did you do this time?”

Irritation boiled inside me, hot and acidic. “She cheated on you and used you for months, then broke your heart to run off and get married. This is the least of what she deserves.”

“Thanks for the reminder.” Beau ran his hand along his chin and the thin patch of scruff that had recently begun to grow in. “Is that foxglove ? How much did you give her?”

I shrugged. “Enough to make her have an uncomfortable couple of nights. She’ll be fine.”

Beau wagged his head disappointedly. In that moment, he looked so much older, so much like my uncle, that it softened my anger. Sometimes I forgot he wasn’t my annoying little cousin anymore, running between my legs and following me everywhere I went. He was becoming a man who could take care of himself. He didn’t need me to play the coddling sister figure, as much as I wished I could always protect him from the Madelines of the world.

Rubbing the fabric of my apron between my fingers, I took a deep breath. “I just wanted to look out for you. I’m sorry, Beau.”

Beau’s gray eyes—so bright they appeared silver—pierced into me, and he gave a little snort. “No, you’re not, but I guess you did it for a good reason.”

A small smirk played at the corner of my mouth. I edged closer to him. “So, you’re saying?—”

“ No , I’m not saying it’s okay for you to poison people.”

“ But …you still love me?” I finished with a grin as I lunged to ruffle the top of his shaggy, light brown hair—several shades lighter than my own raven locks. He batted me away with a laugh, his long arms able to keep me away, unlike when he was younger.

“Yes, I still love you,” he agreed, dodging my attacks. “Maybe next time, love me a little less, yeah? I don’t know, put a potion in her soap that makes her skin turn green or something. Don’t try to kill her.”

I stopped in my tracks. The soap idea wasn’t half bad. “I wasn’t trying to kill her,” I said, giving him a quick pat on the head before grabbing a rag to wipe down the counter. I motioned to the drawer next to Beau that contained the store’s money bag. “Since you're here, mind counting down for me? I’m about ready to close.”

He nodded and began separating the coins from the bag to take stock of our earnings for the day. My aunt and uncle—Beau’s parents—had owned the shop, the Arcane Apothecary, for nearly twenty years now. My own parents had started it before then, but when my mother died during childbirth and my father had followed five years later, my aunt and uncle adopted me and took over the shop. I grew up learning the ways of the apothecary alongside my younger cousin. It was the only life I’d ever known—stable and comfortable, if not sometimes a bit…lonely. Like I was living a life meant for someone else.

Four years ago when I turned twenty-one, I’d decided to move to the small apartment above the shop instead of continuing to take up space in Uncle Ragnar and Aunt Morgana’s household. They had done so much for me, and while they claimed me as their own, I’d always felt like a burden. Something thrust into their hands out of necessity. Out of pity. They loved me, of course, and were the only parents I’d known for the majority of my life. But they’d given me sixteen years at that point—it had been my turn to make something of myself.

I’d been running the Arcane ever since. Beau helped where he could, and it was still under Ragnar and Morgana’s name—until I saved enough to properly buy it from them. But it was mine . Every stained glass window, every dusty nook, every wooden shelf lined with vials and herbs, tonics and bobbles. I’d found my purpose in the shadows of these shelves, the magic of my Alchemist blood singing each time I opened the doors.

If only the town felt the same way.

Morgana and Ragnar were respected in our province of Feywood, one of six in the Veridian Empire. The Arcane had always been a renowned establishment—the best shop for Alchemists to stock up on their herbs, try new potions, and buy basic remedies they didn’t have the time or desire to brew themselves. But business had been steadily declining over the past couple of years. Once it had become obvious that I had taken over, the whispers started and the sales slowed.

I had cursed blood , they said. It seemed wherever I went, darkness wasn’t far behind. An orphan with parents who died such tragic deaths, the little girl who couldn’t make friends, the young woman with a penchant for toeing the line between acceptable and indecent, conventional and peculiar, righteous and wicked.

These people had condemned me before I could string full sentences together. Never mind the fact that I made the best healing poultices in the province, that my protection charms were second to none, and that Morgana and Ragnar had dedicated two decades of their lives to this place. The citizens here were superstitious to a fault. If they saw something wrong with you, something other , they distanced themselves as much as possible. I hated that the Arcane was suffering because of it. I hated that it was my fault.

“Sales were a little down today,” Beau said with a shrug as he finished counting.

And I hated that it still hurt, every time.

“But we have a couple specialty orders that came in earlier,” he continued. “I wrote them down and put them next to your Grimoire.” He gave me a sheepish look. “I hope that’s okay.”

I pursed my lips but stayed quiet. An Alchemist’s Grimoire was incredibly private, and while I knew my cousin didn’t mean any harm, the idea of someone seeing into my spells—my mind , my magic—set me on edge.

He must have seen the look on my face, for his eyes widened. “I’m sorry, Rosie,” he said, using his childhood nickname for me. “I didn’t look, I just set the paper down and walked away."

“It’s fine,” I said curtly, crossing to the front door and locking it. Before I could return to the counter, however, a body slammed into the wood on the other side. Beau shouted in alarm behind me, and I heard something crash. He must’ve knocked over one of the glass jars.

I reached into the pocket of my brown skirt to grab a stem of amaranth, my favorite protection charm. Slowly, I unlocked the door and turned the handle, heavy breaths reaching my ears through the crack in the wood.

“Rose, is that you? It’s Bethaly. I’ve got a delivery. Quick, this time—I can’t stay long.”

I exhaled at the familiar voice, pulling the door open all the way to reveal a young woman with shoulder-length, curly brown hair, golden skin, and a purple travel cloak sweeping around her ankles in the brisk Feywood evening. Her chapped lips broke into a grin, the dimples on her cheeks bursting to life.

“Sorry I didn’t make it earlier. Had a little trouble getting through the forest,” she said breathlessly .

“We’re closed, Beth,” I said with a tsk , crossing my arms. “Deliveries need to be made during operating hours.”

“Oh, shut up and come here.” She dropped her bag and enveloped me in a hug, which I returned warmly, letting my false grumpiness fall away.

After a moment, I stiffened, feeling eyes from the street watching us. “Get in before someone says something,” I said, leading her into the shop, both of us lugging her bags of supplies to the counter.

Bethaly was from Celestria, our neighboring province to the northwest. Celestria was home to many flowers, herbs, and various natural ingredients we didn’t have here in Feywood, and Beth was one of the few permitted to cross the border between the two to make routine deliveries. Fifteen years ago, the current emperor—Emperor Gayl—had established a law requiring one to have a special permit to enter another province, whether it was for trade, personal reasons, or other business. We were no longer free to travel among the empire, as our ancestors had been able to.

Another law the mighty Emperor Gayl put into place to divide us further. Just the thought of him sitting on his gilded throne watching the rest of the empire regress made anger boil beneath my skin.

Beth had been working with us for several years and over the course of time, had become one of my dearest friends. We didn’t see each other as often as I’d like, but whenever she had to travel here for extended periods of time, she always stayed with me.

We had to be careful, though. Tension between the provinces had been growing ever since Gayl had enacted his law, and was now at an all-time high. Many people here wouldn’t like the idea of me having such close ties with a Celestrian—or any foreigner to Feywood, for that matter.

I was already an outcast in my own province. I didn’t need to give them a reason to hate me even more.

“That should be all of it,” Beth said, heaving one of the bags onto the counter. “The guards took forever letting me through the forest. You know how border checks go when we get this close to the Decemvirate.” She rolled her eyes in annoyance.

A chill went down my spine at the mention of the upcoming tournament, but I shook it off. “What good are those Strider abilities if you can’t make it on time? Can’t you magick yourself here from the border?” I joked, wiggling my fingers at her.

She scoffed. “I wish. It would be so much easier if I could just”—she winked at me, and in the next breath, disappeared from sight and reappeared right behind Beau—“snap my fingers and be here.”

My cousin yelped. “I hate it when you do that,” he said with a huff, his cheeks turning bright red as he began pulling tin canisters from Beth’s bag. Those with the magic of Celestria, like Beth, were called Striders. Their power allowed them to magically transport themselves from one space to another. She loved using her abilities to tease Beau.

“You’re just jealous.” Beth grinned, ruffling his hair. He shoved her off and ducked away from her reach.

“Someone’s moody,” she remarked. “How are things going with that girl? The older woman .” Beth shimmied her shoulders at Beau.

I winced as the color drained from his face.

“What?” Beth glanced between the two of us. “What happened?”

“I’ll tell you later,” I muttered, clearing space and reaching for the second bag of supplies.

“We’re over,” Beau said gloomily. “Madeline’s getting married.”

Beth’s dark eyebrows shot straight into her forehead. “ What ? Girl moves on fast. Fates, I’m sorry, Beau,” she said, frowning. “Want us to go cut off her hair or something?”

I snorted. “And this is why we’re friends.”

“Yeah, Rose already poisoned her,” Beau added, a small smile breaking through the storm clouds .

And I’d do it again. I’d do anything for the few people in this world I cared about.

“That’s our Rose,” Beth said with a chuckle. “What about your father, Beau? How’s he doing with the tournament?”

The playfulness in the room immediately dissipated, leaving behind a strain that made me cringe. I silently cursed at the way Beau’s face tightened, his shoulders caving in.

The Decemvirate, a tournament that occurred every ten years among the six provinces of the Veridian Empire, was set to take place in two weeks at the capital of Veridia City. Legend has it that long before the empire became what it was today, the small island—now our capital—had been bestowed with untapped magic by the Fates, the three ancient beings believed to guide our way and dole out futures as they saw fit. They took the components that made up their essence, their purpose, and split the magic into six potent forms: light and dark, power over mind and power over nature, ability to change and move forward.

Nobody knew why the Fates chose this land to inhabit their magic so long ago, only that it was powerful.

And anything that powerful breeds conflict.

Over three hundred years ago, after the War of Beginnings when our Veridian Empire conquered the Kingdom of Mysthelm to the south in order to lay claim to this power, the Decemvirate was created as a way to divide the six types of magic among the provinces. Each of the six provinces selected a single challenger to compete, and all of them traveled to the island city for an exhibition of their skills through various tasks. Based on their performance, the challengers were allowed to select which strand of magic their people received: the ability to create and bend light, to wield shadows, to cast illusions, to practice spellcrafting, to shift into an animal form, or to transport from one place to another.

But it didn’t stop there.

People began to realize the magic slowly lost its strength. After several years, their power took more effort to perform and wasn’t nearly as effective as it once was. The reigning emperor sought to ensure he and his people didn’t lose their magic entirely. According to history records, the three Fates appeared to him and told him of a ritual that could be performed to increase its power—but only every ten years.

He decided to structure this power ritual after the original Decemvirate. A tournament to replenish magic among the provinces in the same way it had been given in the beginning. The province with the challenger that performed the best in a series of magical tests received the highest tier of magic, and so on, until the sixth and final challenger—whose province received barely a fraction of the others. The magic would then dwindle for ten years until the next Decemvirate rolled around, and it started all over again.

This time, the challenger from our province of Feywood was Ragnar Gregor. Beau’s father and my uncle.

He was, undoubtedly, the most prestigious and skilled Alchemist in all of Feywood. It was no wonder he was selected to compete, even though he was nearing fifty years of life and past what most would consider his prime. It was an honor , of course. A privilege to represent your province and have the chance to bring home the strongest of magic to your people.

I ground my teeth together.

It made me sick.

The Decemvirate was a hoax. Instead of making magic equally available to all provinces, it had been turned into nothing more than pageantry. A political scheme that had since been egged on by decades and decades of emperors who used it as a way to leash the people into doing their bidding. To turn the provinces against one another in the name of competition while keeping them in line. Who wouldn’t obey every command when the future of their magic was at stake?

Since my uncle was a challenger this year, we would soon be leaving for the capital, and it had become harder and harder to deny the reality of what we were about to face. It wasn’t uncommon for challengers to die in the Decemvirate, to face horrifying torment and danger. No matter how much he tried to hide it, I could tell Beau was terrified for his father. I was, as well, although I was used to locking my fears far beneath the surface.

Locking anything far beneath the surface.

Before I could attempt to inject some levity into the conversation, Beau responded with a heated, “We’re not supposed to talk about our challenger with you. You’re a Strider .” Then he grabbed the store’s money pouch and sulked off to the back room.

Beth blinked at me. “What did I say?”

“He’s just…” I sighed, shaking my head. “He’s got a lot going on. Don’t take it personally—he didn’t mean it like that.”

Beau wasn’t wrong; talk amongst provinces about their respective challengers was frowned upon. Some provinces, like Drakorum to the far east and Iluze to our north, weren’t above sending spies to the others to scope out the competition. There was a rumor that in the last Decemvirate ten years ago, one of the Shifters from Drakorum had snuck into a neighboring province and poisoned their challenger before he could compete.

These people were cutthroat and cunning, unafraid to do what it took to win. Even if I despised the tournament, part of me understood. When the leader of our empire pitted the provinces against each other, what else could be expected? We adapted, or we lost.

And losing wasn’t an option.

Feywood hadn’t won the Decemvirate in seven decades, and our magic was hanging on by a thread. I felt the effects of it every day; the extra effort it took to perform simple spells, the way my mind was more sluggish after using too much magic, the number of people who came into the shop needing healing potions because they could no longer make their own.

This tournament and its cruelty was the price of that magic, I supposed. But it shouldn’t be. Not when every emperor for the last three centuries could have put an end to it, could have decided to replenish the magic equally and without conditions, yet continued to keep up this spectacle. All for the sake of maintaining power and wealth—the Decemvirate brought hordes of inter-province commerce to the capital, lining the emperor’s coffers with gold from all the visiting spectators.

Money and magic. The only things our dear leaders cared about.

I gripped a tin of crushed dandelion leaves from the bag so tightly that the thin material dented with a crunch .

Beth’s brows pinched. “How are you doing with everything?” she asked. “Have you decided if you’re going with them to the capital or staying here?”

A strand of dark hair fell across my eyes, and I blew it away, releasing some pent-up tension. “I’m going. Morgana keeps trying to convince me not to, but I found someone to watch the shop for the month. It’s probably my only chance to ever travel outside of Feywood. I can’t pass that up, you know?”

Beth finished laying out all of our new supplies on the counter, then buckled the straps on her bags. “I’ve always wanted to visit the capital, but I can’t say I’m jealous. You need to be careful, Rose. I know we were both only fifteen the last time the Decemvirate came around, but this one feels…different.” Her shoulders shivered. “I can tell. I see it in all the provinces I deliver to. Things are getting worse—fights breaking out in streets, border guards not letting us cross over, whispers of the stronger provinces wanting to expand into the weaker ones. And Emperor Gayl doesn’t seem to care. As long as he gets his precious Decemvirate, the people can do whatever they want. And the challengers this year…” Beth trailed off, then grabbed my hand, her hazel eyes shadowed with worry. “Ragnar needs to be ready. All of you do. I’ve heard the one from Iluze in particular is a piece of work.”

A sliver of dread slid down my spine, but I shoved it away and squeezed her hand. “We’ll be careful, Beth. I promise.”

She looked like she wanted to say more, but at that moment, Beau reappeared. “I put the money up and recorded everything for the day,” he said, moodiness still lining his voice.

“Great.” I straightened. “I’m going to go check those orders you left out for me. Can you help Beth put the supplies where they need to go?”

“Yeah, sure,” he mumbled. I covered my mouth to hide a smile and shared a look with Beth.

She winked at me before cheerily saying, “So, Beau, there’s this pretty girl I deliver to a few streets away…”

This time, I didn’t bother hiding my laugh as I walked into the back room.