Page 81 of Iris
Still, for Emmie’s future, I either want something done or for us to start somewhere else.
Killian’s right in a way. If we do that, we’re just prolonging the inevitable, because Council reach, if it’s not tempered, will slowly overtake and infiltrate everywhere.
The irises that Iris smells of are true to the flower; I remember them as a kid. Strange and beautiful flowers. Slender stalks and soft petals that have a romantic and almost sensual look.
I think they’re a messenger to the gods, and come in many shades. The spice is delicate, the musk intimate, and all with thatsweetness that belies strength. A messenger is strong, able to wear many mantles or colors.
It’s an apt flower and name for our girl.
Our.
I let it sit in my head, and it does before sinking down to become one with my flesh.
Iris belongs to me and Killian in ways Tamara never did.
Except Iris is true royalty, true class. And that puts her out of our league in a tangible way.
We’re going to have her, taste her. But Killian and I are realists. Iris is fleeting, something to be savored like a whisper on the wind.
Of course, all this is contingent on whether we survive this.
There are those out there, those who are more dangerous than the Council, those that’ll do anything to stop the world changing, who’ll kill to keep the status quo.
I finish the cigarette and crush it out, leaning against a wall in an alley, the perfect spot to watch to see if there are watchers.
We’re not at the spot where we told Iris to meet us, and I doubt she told anyone that location. There’s only one person I think she’d tell, and we’d know by now, because there’s no way someone like Iris would let her friend stand alone in that part of the Lower Side.
Messenger. It really is apt. And it’s part of why I volunteered for look out tonight. I don’t want to be there if Killian starts trying to manipulate her. If? He will. It’s Killian.
There’s only two people he’s loyal to. Me and Emmie, and I come in second. As I should.
For both of us, Emmie is the world.
And Iris…
She’s nothing but a hot piece he can use.
Thing is—she’s young and rich and hungry, and not just for us. She wants change, too. At least she thinks she does.
I sigh.
Tired of making notes, I flip to the Stitch feed, a place where gossip always gives glimpses of any news.
I stop in my tracks.
Holy fuck.
Trouble.
Quick update, Hivemind. Those in the know at the ball on a sea of shimmering light have been DMing me all night.
All night!
The Monarch is here.
She’s in white.
Again.
