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

2. Rose

2

Rose

T o anyone else, the back room of the Arcane, which doubled as extra storage space and my personal workshop, was in desperate need of organization. But to me, it was perfect, orderly chaos.

A rickety wooden shelf stretched to the ceiling on the left wall, reinforced over the years by several rods of metal. It housed dozens of supply bins—empty glass vials, parchment for labels, bags, twine, candles. The back wall contained most of the gardening tools and a door leading to our greenhouse. That was where my Aunt Morgana liked to spend most of her time—she had a natural green thumb, and I was more than happy to hand her the reins. Herbs and spellcasting were her strong suit. She grew and nurtured the various plants we needed for the Arcane’s most sought after herbal remedies, and once harvested, I sorted through them and replenished our stock.

Most nights, I stayed up far too late experimenting with new potions and spells, feeling a sort of freedom and comfort under the solace of the moon. Along with filling up my own Grimoire, I’d inherited both of my parents’ when I turned sixteen. Even after nine years, I still found hidden treasures buried deep in the fading pages.

My gaze drifted to the right wall of the room, where my work table and shelves resided. On the table beneath a layer of stray moss, candles, and basil leaves rested both mine and my mother’s Grimoires, hers flipped to a page in the center full of her notes. I’d fallen asleep the night before with my cheek plastered to the thin parchment.

An involuntary pang shot through my chest at the sight.

I’d never known my mother. Never felt her arms wrapped around me, never heard a soothing lullaby from her lips, never looked into her green eyes or saw the curl of dark hair. Aunt Morgana often told me how much I resembled her, and I had a small portrait of her and my father in the locket around my neck, but it did little to fill the hole that had been carved from my life.

Because of my life. Because she had died giving birth to me .

Reading her spells and potions, following each dip and curve of her letters…it was the closest I’d ever get to knowing her. To seeing her. It was like she was speaking to me, even now, eager for me to learn the magic she’d held so close to her heart.

The backs of my eyes prickled and I blinked the sudden emotion away, burying it beneath my weathered layers.

A chilly burst of wind ruffled the ends of my raven hair. A shiver crawled across my skin as a few leaves flew through the open window above my desk, sending seeds and crushed petals sprawling. I crossed to the window, surprised I’d been careless enough to leave it open, and quickly jerked it down.

The beginning of autumn was approaching, and in Feywood, that meant strong winds, brisk nights, and the smell of snow in the air. Lingering scents of firewood and burning herbs washed over me, the muted sounds of townspeople mulling about the main square just a block away from the apothecary still audible through the window.

Autumn was normally my favorite time of year. When the darkened leaves flowed like crimson and orange waves beneath my feet, the brightness of the moon stirring the Alchemist magic in my blood, the smiles of strangers and whispers of spirits and crisp scent of spice and smoke…it awoke something in me.

But not this year. Not with the cloud of the Decemvirate hanging over our heads, and the fact that soon, my entire family would be packing for the month-long visit to Veridia City.

I brushed a windswept strand of hair behind my ear, then paused.

The hair on my neck raised as my breath caught and my muscles tensed.

What felt like an invisible blanket fell over the room, momentarily sucking the air from my lungs—the telltale sign of a spell being cast. It brushed against my skin like a caress until it vanished.

Two hands grabbed my waist from behind.

“ Got you. ”

A strangled gasp left my lips as I jolted. “ Fates , Aven, I’m going to kill you.”

Aven’s deep chuckle sounded in my ear. “Always so violent.” He spun me around until I faced him, his deep brown skin glowing in the moonlight. Mischievous dark eyes twinkled down at me. “You can pray to the Fates all you want, but I’m the only one here.”

I smacked him on the chest and untangled myself from his arms. “Was it you that opened my window?”

The smug look on his face answered my question. “And cast the silencing spell. Didn’t want that little cousin of yours listening when I made you scream.”

“I didn’t scream .”

“Not yet.” He winked, and I rolled my eyes. Shameless flirt.

“I don’t have time, Aven,” I said, untying my apron and throwing it on top of my mother’s Grimoire. “I have too much to do to get the shop ready for when we leave.”

His hands found my shoulders and began kneading out the knots. “I don’t see why you can’t stay here while your family goes to the capital. Your aunt told you you didn’t need to go. What am I supposed to do while you’re gone?” he pouted .

Extracting myself from his touch, I scoffed. “What you do every time I’m busy. Find someone else.” I wasn’t blind. I knew the reputation Aven had, how quickly he grew bored with his playthings—and that was fine. I grew bored, too. Aven was an escape, a distraction from the demons of my past that I didn’t want to face.

Sometimes escaping wasn’t enough.

“Don’t be like this, Rose,” he said exasperatedly, as if surprised I had the nerve to turn him away. “I’m going to miss you, that’s all.”

I pursed my lips at his wide eyes, his downturned mouth, the crease on his forehead. He was good.

I was better.

Stepping toward him, I raised my hand to cup his cheek, my nose grazing his. Our breaths mingled in the space between us. I felt his pulse quicken. “I know you will, Aven.” My tongue came out to swipe along his lower lip, and he sucked in a breath. “Tell Amelia hello for me tonight, yes?”

I gave him a sweet smile and slipped away. Reaching into my pocket, I pinched a thistle leaf between my fingers then placed it on my tongue. “ Finiscere, ” I muttered, feeling the spell bubble and flow from my fingers, banishing Aven’s silencing charm.

That’s when I heard the shout.

My neck snapped up. Beau .

I crossed the room in three strides and threw the back door open, the amaranth stem from my pocket already halfway to my mouth before I stopped in my tracks.

Beth lay crumpled on the floor, her brown hair blossomed around her head like a cloud. Beau's entire body shook as he held a hand to his pale forehead.

“We were talking, and she—she just collapsed,” he said, swallowing thickly. “It’s the curse. It has to be.”

I exchanged a look with Aven, whose face was grim. Walking to Beth’s still form, I crouched down and gingerly lifted an eyelid, holding my breath against what I knew in my bones I would find.

Blood-red irises.

Heart sinking, I swallowed back panic, the truth plummeting like a weight in my chest.

“The Somnivae Curse,” I whispered.