Tierney closes her eyes tightly and pulls in a long, quivering breath. The cloud begins to dissipate, then disappears entirely. Both Jules and Lucretia are studying Tierney with expressions of deep concern, but she stubbornly avoids looking at either of them.
“The Gardnerians have their flags hanging everywhere.” Bleddyn punctuates her words with a slice of her hand. She fixes her eyes on me, her green lips twisting with disgust. “They’re waving the vile things around, acting like they’re the masters of Erthia.”
I inwardly shrink back from the force of Bleddyn’s glare, all too aware of my Gardnerian black hair and the emerald shimmer of my skin that’s only heightened by the storeroom’s dim light.
“We’re only days away from Verpacia being nothing more than an extension of Gardneria.” Iris’s voice is shrill as she looks at Jules entreatingly. “We cannot be here much longer, Jules.”
He nods sympathetically. “We’re preparing to move as many people east as we can, but we have to wait a few months for the desert storms to clear and for winter to give way. It’s too dangerous right now.” Jules does his best to reassure her, outlining when a safer opportunity for escape is likely to present itself, and as much as I dislike Iris, my heart goes out to her.
Yvan’s eyes meet mine for a moment, but then he quickly averts his gaze, and I feel a pang of hurt. He’s been noticeably cool toward me ever since we rescued Naga and destroyed the Gardnerian military base. And he’s become cooler still after my mortifying display only days ago, when I walked in on him and Iris in the barn and put my feelings for him on vivid display.
I pull in a long, shaky breath and force the biting memory to the back of my mind as Jules begins telling Fernyllia about the food supplies he needs for a group of refugees. My hand reflexively reaches for the Snow Oak necklace Lukas Grey sent me. Despite my efforts to keep him at arm’s length, Lukas still seems determined to wandfast to me, if his gifts and letters are anything to judge by.
I slide my fingers over the pendant’s embossed tree design, the soothing image of a pale leafed tree rustling to life in the back of my mind. Increasingly, I find myself drawn to the pendant, compelled by the comfort it offers, much like the white wand Sage gave me.
As I clasp the pendant more tightly, a shimmering energy ripples through me, and I’m reminded of Wynter’s words of caution when I donned the necklace for the first time. We both sensed the subtle power in it, a power that calls to some deep part of myself I can’t yet name. It holds the warmth of a flickering flame, the rooted strength of an ancient tree—and a temptation I’m having trouble resisting.
I release the pendant with a sigh, glancing covertly at Yvan again. Iris is pressed so near to him that her chin is almost resting on his shoulder. A fresh wave of envy laps at me, and I fight to subdue the bitter feeling, but I’m so exhausted it seeps in anyway. Longing tangles up inside me as Iris leans even closer to him, her blond hair like honey in the lamplight as it brushes against his arm.
Did I imagine it, Yvan? How you almost kissed me that night? Why did you pull away?
As I search Yvan’s beautiful, angular face, hoping to find an answer, Iris turns her head toward me. Her eyes tighten with censure, and I wrench my gaze away from them, my face heating to an uncomfortable burn. I struggle to regain my composure, but when I look back up, Iris is still glaring at me. She makes a show of gently resting her head on Yvan’s shoulder and wrapping a languid hand around his arm.
Yvan absentmindedly glances at Iris, then brings his hand comfortingly over hers. The triumphant smile on her face makes me swallow hard, my throat gone coarse and dry as my dark mood deepens.
“Is there any word on amnesty for the refugees?” Tierney asks Lucretia as Jules and Fernyllia wrap up their conversation.
“We’re trying,” Lucretia says. “The political climate is...difficult at the moment. The Amaz are taking in a limited number of refugees, but only women—and with the covert understanding that the Vu Trin will eventually bring the refugees east.” Seeing Tierney’s anxious look, she hurriedly adds, “But that is significant. And quite brave of the Amaz.” Then Lucretia’s mouth hardens. “The Lupines and the Kelts and the Verpacians are wary of provoking Gardnerian ire.”
“So, what do we do now?” Tierney asks, almost a demand.
“We continue to work to get refugees out of a Realm that is hostile to them,” Jules answers. “Out of the line of Gardnerian and Alfsigr fire.” He sits back, takes off his glasses and fishes a handkerchief from his pocket to clean them with. “The local Vu Trin might be able to help us. Their commander, Kam Vin, is sympathetic to the plight of the refugees.”
Surprise fills me at this revelation, as I remember how harsh and intimidating Commander Vin was when she wandtested me.
“Commander Vin is trying to maintain a careful balance, though,” Jules adds. “Politically, the Noi people are on guardedly good terms with the Gardnerians. And they don’t want their own Vu Trin military to inadvertently provoke a war.”
“So, the Noi are appeasing the Gardnerians,” Tierney spits out, disgusted. “Like the rest.”
Jules flashes Tierney a jaded look. “They are, Tierney. They most certainly are. But it appears that Commander Vin sees the writing on the wall. She knows that it won’t be possible to appease the Gardnerians forever, so we have a potential ally in her. Which is good, because the current situation is likely to get much worse.”
“It’s already gotten much worse,” Tierney adamantly states.
“She’s right,” Yvan interjects, glancing around. “Some of the Gardnerian military apprentices have started cropping Urisk.”
Iris pales, and Bleddyn spits out what sounds like an Uriskal curse.
“There have been four incidents in the past two days,” Yvan gravely continues. He looks to Fernyllia and Bleddyn with concern. “So be careful. Don’t go anywhere alone.”
“What’s cropping?” I blurt out, confused.
Bleddyn glowers at me. “The Gardnerians are cutting off the points of our ears, like we’re animals. And shearing the hair from our heads. That’s what cropping means.”
Holy Ancient One. Shock and nausea roil through me.
“A Gardnerian farmer here in Verpacia was attacked by some Urisk workers,” Yvan says to me, his demeanor momentarily softening as his eyes meet mine, as if he can sense how much this has upset me. “The Gardnerians on the Verpacian Council are calling for retribution, and it’s provoking mob violence.”
“I heard about the situation on that farm,” Fernyllia says, her expression hard as a plank. “The Gardnerian farmer was abusing his workers mercilessly. Beating them to within an inch of their lives.” She hesitates, her expression darkening. “And much worse.”
“Grandma? What’s going on?”
All eyes dart to little Fern, who has just slipped into the room. Her arms are wrapped around her favorite cloth doll, Mee’na—the doll lovingly stitched by her grandmother, Fernyllia. Mee’na has blush-white skin, rose braids and sweeping pointed ears, just like Fern.
I pray that she didn’t hear a word of this horrible conversation, but I can tell from her wide, frightened eyes that she’s heard quite a bit.
Fernyllia clicks her tongue and goes to her granddaughter. She creakily lowers herself to Fern’s level, hugs the child close and murmurs to her gently in Uriskal.
Olilly slips in shyly behind Fern. The lavender-skinned Urisk kitchen girl gives us all a slight, faltering smile.
“Run along with Olilly now,” Fernyllia says in a reassuring tone. “I’ll come tell you a story in a bit, shush’onin.”
Fern gets a hug and kiss from her grandmother and leaves with Olilly, the wooden storeroom door clicking shut behind them.
We’re all grimly quiet for a moment.
“Keep Fern hidden,” Yvan says to Fernyllia, stark warning in his eyes. “Well hidden.”
&nbs
p; A wave of horror sweeps over me. The thought of someone grabbing up little Fern, shearing off her rosy braids and cutting off the points of her ears—it’s so ghastly, I can barely wrap my mind around it. A few months ago, I never would have believed that even the threat of such cruelty could exist in the world.
Now I know better. And it sickens me.
“One last terrible announcement.” Jules turns to face Tierney and me. “The mandatory wandfasting age for Gardnerians has been lowered to sixteen. All Gardnerians over the age of sixteen not fasted by the end of the fifth month will be forced into a fasting by the Mage Council.”
I glance down at my hands, nails chipped and skin stained blue and green by medicinal herbs. Blessedly unmarked. But not for long.
I shudder as I imagine black fasting marks creeping across my hands, forever binding me to someone I barely know. My aunt Vyvian has started sending threatening letters in the last few weeks, hinting that she might need to cut back on the expensive medical care for my sick uncle if I don’t fast to Lukas Grey soon.
Ire rises in me at the thought, along with a burgeoning sense of desperation. Who will I fast to, if not Lukas? There might not be any way to avoid fasting, even if I stay in Verpacia and refuse to return to Valgard. There’s enough of a Gardnerian presence here that my aunt could easily enforce the new fasting mandate.
Tierney’s face has grown rigid with anxiety over the looming threat of wandfasting—and the iron-testing that Vogel has ordered to precede each ceremony. A test that would not only reveal who Tierney really is, but potentially kill her.
“We’re trying to negotiate with both the Lupines and the Vu Trin to get you and your family and the rest of the hidden Fae out,” Lucretia tells Tierney as Jules rolls out a map of Verpacia, flattens it on the table and leans over to examine the handwritten notes.
Escape routes. For Urisk and Smaragdalfar Elves and the Fae-blooded fleeing east.
“Have Rafe and the Lupine twins come see me, Elloren,” Jules says, looking up from the map. “We need trackers to scout out new trails for refugees. The Verpacian military has shut down most of the northern routes.”
I nod, heartened by the contributions my family and friends are making toward the Resistance efforts. My brother Trystan has enthusiastically fallen in as well, fashioning weapons on the sly for the refugees and their guides.
Everyone in the room knows about all of this.
But Iris and Bleddyn have no idea who was really behind the destruction of the nearby Gardnerian military base and the theft of an unbroken dragon.
And of the people here, only Tierney and Yvan know about Marina, the Selkie hidden in my lodging.
“We’re going to need help from you and Tierney, as well,” Lucretia puts in. “There’s a bad outbreak of the Red Grippe among the refugees streaming into Verpacia, especially the children.”
“And instead of showing one shred of compassion,” Jules interjects, disgust edging his tone, “the Verpacian Council is using their illness as a reason to bear down on anyone who’s here without working papers, making it impossible for the refugees to seek help from physicians and apothecaries.”
Tierney and I exchange a resolved glance, but we have no illusions about the difficulty of what we’re being asked to do. Norfure tincture is tricky and expensive to make, and the ingredients are difficult to procure. But we’re the only ones in our small Resistance group who have the necessary skills to prepare it.
“We’ll make the medicine,” Tierney promises, her voice shot through with rebellion.
“Thank you,” Jules says gratefully, then turns to me again. “And Elloren, let your brother Trystan know that we’ve found someone who can train him in the use of combat spells. His name is Mavrik Glass. He’s the head wandmaster at the Fourth Division Base, but he’s come over to our side. He’s been holding back in his training of the Gardnerian soldiers and saving the best instruction for our people. He’s also secretly working flaws into the Mage Guard’s wands.”
Trepidation flashes through me. I’m sure this was easy to hide when Damion Bane was in charge, but the base has a new commander now. And there’s no fooling Lukas Grey.
“Tell him not to hold back on his training anymore,” I insist. “And he should stop making flawed wands.”
Yvan’s eyes fly to mine with surprise, and the others immediately look suspicious “Why?” Jules asks.
I meet Jules’s gaze evenly. “Because Lukas will know.”
He shakes his head. “Damion never did—”
“Maybe not,” I cut in vehemently, “but Lukas will.”
Iris’s lip curls up in contempt. Her eyes flick to Jules. “Is she giving the orders now?”
I hold my hands out defensively. “You need to trust me on this.”
“Trust you?” Iris asks scathingly.
“You’re still in touch with Lukas Grey, then?” Bleddyn’s eyes are hard on mine.
I swallow the dry lump in my throat. Lukas’s tree pendant thrums enticingly beneath my tunic, and an uncomfortable warmth slides down my neck. “He’s...friendly with me. Which could be of use to us.”
Yvan’s gaze flashes with rancor, and I swear I feel heat surge through the air between us. His mouth sets in a hard, unforgiving line that sends a palpable sting through me.
Jules’s and Lucretia’s expressions have turned calculating as they coolly appraise me, as if suddenly seeing me in a new light.
Iris stands abruptly, gesturing angrily in my direction. “She shouldn’t be here!” she cries. “We shouldn’t be working with any Gardnerians. Or Alfsigr.”
I bristle at this as Lucretia considers Iris calmly, seeming unfazed by her pronouncement. I know Iris doesn’t like working with Gardnerian Lucretia, either, but she doesn’t have much of a choice in that regard, since Lucretia is one of our leaders.
Tierney throws Iris a caustic look. “I understand where you’re coming from, Iris. I really do. But what you’re suggesting would put my entire Gardnerian family in danger.”
Iris ignores Tierney as she rounds on me, outrage blazing in her eyes. “Are you planning to have Lukas Grey come back to threaten us again? To threaten Fern?”
I remember how Lukas terrorized Fernyllia’s granddaughter, and for a moment, I can’t even look at Iris. Or Fernyllia. Especially not Fernyllia.
“No,” I counter, my voice breaking with shame, “of course not—”
“And why does she dress in our clothes?” Iris demands of Jules.
I shift uncomfortably in my dark brown tunic and skirt from home. I’ve taken to wearing the simple garb again when working in the kitchens, saving Aunt Vyvian’s elaborate silks for classes and events.
“Iris, Elloren is one of us,” Jules says firmly. “You know how I feel about this.”
Iris glares at me. “You’re not one of us. You’ll never be one of us. You’re simply bringing attention to yourself. And that places us at risk.”
Yvan places a hand on her arm. “She’s on our side, Iris.”
“No, Yvan. You’re wrong.” Iris wrenches away from him and sends me a penetrating glare, as if she can look straight into my soul and spot my grandmother’s dark power hidden there. “You forget who she is,” Iris says, her voice low with a foreboding that sends a chill down my spine. “You forget who her family is. She’s dangerous.”
Then Iris gets up and storms out of the room. Bleddyn shoots me a hostile look and follows close on her heels.
Bereft, I glance toward Yvan to find his concerned gaze suddenly riveted on me, open and impassioned. And for a brief moment, the rest of the room recedes as a flare of what he once seemed to feel for me breaks through.
Then it’s gone again, his open expression shuttering as the wall between us slams back down. He gives me one last tense, pained look before he gets up and follows Iris and Bleddyn out.
* * *
/> “Elloren, can I speak with you for a moment?” Lucretia asks as everyone else filters out of the storeroom. Tierney looks at me curiously for a moment, then offers to meet me in the apothecary lab. I nod, and she takes her leave as Lucretia quietly closes the door.
Lucretia turns to peer at me through gold-rimmed spectacles. “I don’t know if you’ve realized this yet, but your connection to Lukas Grey could prove to be important for us,” she says.
An unsettling tension spreads through me at the mention of Lukas’s name.
“He’s turning out to be a voice for moderation in the Mage Guard,” Lucretia explains. “He might be someone we could influence.”
I look to her with surprise, thrown by this new information. Lucretia seems to register my shock and quickly adds a word of caution. “He could be an ally, but don’t let your guard down around him, Elloren. He’s not to be trifled with. Still, we’ve been watching him closely, and he’s already been reprimanded several times for refusing to enforce some of Vogel’s new religious strictures.”
“How does he get away with defying Vogel?” I ask.
“Power. Vogel wants Lukas Grey’s power on his side. So, he’s overlooking his insubordination. For now, at least.”
I’m suddenly wary of what she might be preparing to ask of me and draw slightly away from her, giving her a narrow, guarded look.
“You’ve made it clear you don’t want to fast to him,” Lucretia says, her tone full of import. “But...perhaps he doesn’t need to know that at the moment. Do you understand?”
I consider this and give a slight nod.
“If Verpacia falls to the Gardnerians,” she says, “Lukas Grey gains jurisdiction over the borders here. We need you to find out where his loyalties lie...and whether he could be convinced to make a break with the Gardnerians.”
My eyes widen in astonishment. “Do you really think there’s a chance of that?”
“Yes,” she says, a conspiratorial gleam in her eyes.
An unsettling thought occurs to me, one I’m at first hesitant to share. “I have a strange compulsion to be honest with Lukas,” I admit finally. “I can’t explain why, but the feeling is...sometimes overwhelming. You should know that.”
The Iron Flower Page 2