The Murderer

Iris pov

I was reaching for the bathwater when the world suddei went dark.

One moment, my fingers were testing the temperature...steaming hot, the way I liked it, the way Kyra always said would boil her skin off. The next, something rough and suffocating slammed over my head. A sack, pulled tight around my throat.

I screamed.

The sound never left my lips. Or maybe it did, and something swallowed it whole. Magic. Old magic. The kind that tasted like copper and iron and made my starlight wither in my chest.

Hands grabbed me. Too many hands. Rough hands. They yanked my arms behind my back, pinned my legs, lifted me off the floor. My towel slipped. I felt cold air on my skin and panic flooded my veins.

"Let me go!" I thrashed. Kicked. Bit at the canvas. "Do you know who I am? Do you..."

Something hard struck the back of my head.

And everything went black.

***

I woke on cold stone.

My head throbbed and my wrists ached. My legs were bare. The towel...my only covering...had somehow stayed wrapped around me, though it had slipped low on my chest and high on my thighs. I tugged it up with shaking hands and looked around.

I was in a massive chamber. Circular walls of black marble. Torches burning with silver flame. Thrones carved from bone...five of them, arranged in a crescent around a central dais. Above me, a ceiling lost in shadow. Below me, a floor inscribed with symbols I did not recognize.

I didn't need someone to tell me where I was.

The council chamber.

I had never been here. But I knew it from Theron's description.

Where the heirs and the headmaster decide who lives and who dies.

The doors at the far end of the chamber swung open.

Drystan Vane walked in.

He was beautiful in the way a frozen lake was beautiful yet cold, dangerous, ready to crack beneath your feet. His black hair fell over one crimson eye. His silver eye fixed on me with an intensity that made my skin crawl. He wore vampire formal robes, black silk threaded with blood-red runes.

And he was carrying a glass of wine.

"What the hell?" I scrambled backward on the stone, one hand clutching my towel, the other reaching for magic that felt sluggish and far away. "What the actual hell, Vane?"

He stopped ten feet from me. Took a sip of his wine. "You're awake. Good."

"Good?" My voice cracked. "You dragged me here in a towel. In front of the entire..." I gestured wildly at the empty thrones. "Where is everyone? Where are my clothes? Where is..."

The doors burst open again.

Theron.

He moved like a storm...shadows pouring off his body, his violet eyes blazing, his hands already reaching for me. He was muttering. No, not muttering. Cursing. A stream of words in a language I did not recognize, dark and sharp and beautiful.

"I'm going to kill them," he was saying. "I'm going to tear this academy apart stone by stone and feed every single one of them to the shadows. I told them. I told them not to touch her."

He reached me. His hands cupped my face first; checking my pupils, my pulse, my breath. Then he saw the towel. The way it had slipped. The way I was shivering.

His jaw clenched.

Without a word, he ripped off his jacket...dark leather, lined with fur, still warm from his body...and wrapped it around my shoulders. He did not ask neither did he try to explain. He simply covered me, pulling the edges closed over my chest, tucking them beneath my arms like I was a child he was putting to bed.

"Theron," I whispered.

"Don't talk." His voice was rough. His hands were gentle. "I'm getting you out of here."

"You're not getting her anywhere."

Drystan had not moved. He stood by his throne, wine still in hand, watching us with an expression I could not read. His silver eye gleamed.

"She stays until I have answers."

I pulled Theron's jacket tighter around me. The warmth of him...the smell of rain and jasmine...steadied my shaking surprisingly. "Answers to what?"

I quickly asked before Theron could talk.

Drystan set down his glass. "My cousin was murdered tonight. Elian Vane. Seventeen years old. His chest ripped open. His heart missing. His blood turned to silver ash."

The room went cold.

Silver ash.

The Stillness.

"You think I did that?" My voice came out steadier than I felt. "I was in my dormitory. Sasha saw me. Mira saw me. Elowen..."

"Bullshit...Your new friends will say whatever you tell them to say." Drystan stepped closer. "You're an Elf. Starborn magic. The kind that can turn blood to ash. The kind that can rip a heart from a chest without leaving a mark on the hands."

"I didn't kill anyone."

"Prove it."

I stared at him. The arrogance. The accusation. The way he looked at me like I was already guilty.

And something in me snapped.

"Fine," I said.

Theron grabbed my arm. "Iris, don't. You're too weak. Your magic is still..."

"I don't care."

I pushed off the floor and my legs wobbled. 

The towel slipped again and Theron's jacket fell open. I held it closed with one hand and raised the other.

"I'll find your murderer," I said, looking Drystan in the eye. "I'll track him through the walls, through the shadows, through whatever hole he's hiding in. And when I do, you will apologize. On your knees. In front of everyone."

Drystan's lips curved. "Bold words for a girl in a towel."

"Watch me."

I closed my eyes.

And I reached for my magic.

I was angry, and Drystan's silver eye was still watching me like I was something to be dissected.

I finally found the thread.

Not the thin, controlled thread I used in training. Not the gentle pulse I used to heal Kyra's coughs. I found the deep thread. The one that connected me to the stars. The one my aunt the queen had tried to cut when I was seven years old.

I pulled.

The wind came first.

Not a breeze. Not a gust. A storm...ripping through the council chamber, tearing torches from their sconces, sending papers flying, rattling the bone thrones in their sockets. Theron grabbed my waist to steady me. 

Drystan stumbled back, his wine glass shattering on the floor.

Then the light came.

My eyes. I felt them change...the purple deepening, brightening, spilling out of my pupils like liquid starlight. The shadows in the room recoiled. The silver flames on the torches burned white.

And I saw.

Not the chamber. Not the thrones. I saw the academy. Every corridor. Every room. Every shadow. Students huddled in dormitories. Guards posted at every door. And in the lower levels, near the old port where supply boats docked...

A figure.

Running.

Dressed in student robes. Hood pulled low. But beneath the hood, a face I did not recognize. And in its chest, something that pulsed with stolen light.

The heart.

"The murderer," I gasped.

The wind roared. My knees buckled. Theron caught me...his arms around my ribs, lowering me to the floor, cradling me against his chest.

"Where?" Drystan demanded. "Where is he?"

I fought to keep my eyes open. The light was fading. The wind was dying. But I had seen enough.

"The port," I whispered. "The old port. He's disguised as a student and he's getting away."

Drystan was already moving, shouting orders at guards who had appeared in the doorway. Theron held me tighter.

"You did it," he murmured against my hair. "You found him. You brilliant, foolish, beautiful girl."

I wanted to smile. I wanted to tell him that his jacket smelled like home. I wanted to ask why he kept saving me.

Instead, I turned my head toward Drystan's retreating back.

"And you," I said, my voice barely a breath. "You owe me an apology. On your knees. I haven't forgotten."

Drystan paused at the door. He looked over his shoulder...crimson eye, silver eye, both unreadable.

"If he's there," he said, "you'll have it."

"If he's not," I whispered, "you'll have worse."

The darkness took me before I could see his reaction.

But as I faded off , I heard Theron's voice...soft, fierce and desperate.

"I've got you. I've got you. Don't leave. Not yet. I just found you."

I didn't know what that meant. 

And then nothing.

***

When I woke, I was in a bed.

Soft sheets. Warm blankets. The smell of rain and jasmine.

Theron sat in a chair beside me, his head bowed, his shadows still. In his hand, he held a single Starbell; crushed, wilted, but still glowing.

"You're awake," he said.

"The murderer?"

"Gone. Drystan arrived too late. But he saw him. A shadow fae, Theron. One of my own kind." His jaw tightened. "The port master is dead.

The boat is gone."

I closed my eyes.

"And Drystan?"

A pause.

"He's waiting outside. To apologize." Theron's lips curved...the smallest, saddest smile. "On his knees. Just like you asked."