Tierney nods again, her breathing now forcefully measured as she closes her eyes. Soon the snow stops, and the dark cloud dissipates into a smoky, swirling mist.
“Good,” I encourage her, letting out a relieved breath. A group of young, shouting Gardnerian men run past the alley.
I turn back to Tierney. “We need to get back to the University as fast as we can.”
Tierney nods, angry defiance rapidly sweeping back into her gaze. We rush down the alley, out into the road, and come to an abrupt, skidding halt.
In the center of the small plaza is a Gardnerian blessing star, big as a miller’s wheel, made entirely of sputtering flame. It hangs suspended in the air a few hand spans above the ground, wrought with Mage-fire and throwing off sparks in the buffeting, wintry winds.
A large crowd of Gardnerians, mostly young men, are massed around the star, all of them wearing white Vogel armbands and raucously shouting. Laughing. Some of the Mages are holding their wands aloft, torch-like red fire shooting up from the wand tips to create more fiery stars hovering around the square and singed onto storefronts.
With horror, I notice that flames are spreading over several buildings, rapidly consuming the panes of multiple storefront windows. The targeted buildings look to be owned by non-Gardnerian merchants, all of them lacking Gardnerian guild banners.
Grim-faced, Tierney and I skirt around the crowd, keeping our heads down with breathless urgency as we hug the shadows of the plaza. Cruel eyes sweep over us as we pass, assessing. Sparing us. We slip down a side street and find another yelling mob of Gardnerians pushing an elderly Keltic merchant onto the ground. One of the Mages has his wand out and is drawing a flaming blessing star on the window of the man’s bookstore.
Panicked, I glance across the cobbled street and spot an Urisk woman slumped over in a deserted alley. I can just make out her green skin and long emerald hair. I gasp as I recognize the looping embroidery on the edges of her moss-colored tunic.
“Tierney,” I whisper coarsely, “I think that’s Bleddyn over there!”
Tierney squints across the street. “Holy gods. She can’t be out here right now.”
Our eyes meet in joint resolve, and we hurry toward her, dodging the Gardnerians and studiously avoiding eye contact with the rabid crowd.
Ducking into the alley, we’re quickly enveloped by its shadows. Bleddyn is listing to the side, propped up against the wall behind her. There’s blood all over her face, and one of her eyes is swollen completely shut. I push back my sickened outrage as Tierney and I snap into apothecary mode, drop to our knees and each take hold of one of Bleddyn’s arms.
I jostle Bleddyn’s arm gently in an attempt to rouse her. “Bleddyn...”
She’s only semiconscious, her unswollen eye unfocused. I shake her again, a bit more firmly, and she stirs slightly this time. Sudden clarity washes over her face as her gaze zeroes in on me. She jerks her whole body violently away, her expression twisting into a desperate snarl.
“Don’t touch me, you Roach! Get away from me!”
“Bleddyn, it’s me,” I plead, stubbornly holding on to her. “It’s Elloren. We need to get you out of here.”
A man’s pained cry echoes behind us as the mob continues their jeering threats.
“Fae-blooded bastard!”
“This is Mage land!”
Startled, Bleddyn tries to shake us off again, but her balance gives way, and she tilts forward. Tierney and I tighten our grip on her.
“You’re coming with us,” Tierney insists fiercely. “Right now. Do you hear me, Bleddyn? Right. Now.”
Bleddyn’s head seems to clear once again as she focuses on Tierney. Her gaze flickers toward me again, then back to Tierney, stark comprehension igniting in her large, emerald eye, and she stops struggling.
We take full advantage of her hesitation.
“Put this on.” I hastily slide my cloak off my shoulders.
We help Bleddyn get to her feet, and Tierney supports her as I wrap my cloak around her shoulders, the frigid cold immediately seeping into me. I pull the cloak’s hood down over Bleddyn’s pointed ears and quickly push her long green hair underneath, then fasten the cloak from top to bottom. Then I kneel and rip down the hem at the bottom to lengthen it, so it will fully hide Bleddyn’s non-Gardnerian garb.
I stand again, and Tierney and I both link arms with Bleddyn. “Keep your head down!” Tierney orders frantically.
Bleddyn nods, looking dazed. We hasten through the city streets, my teeth chattering from the onslaught of cold air as the three of us try to avoid the notice of the wild-eyed Gardnerians passing by. There are flaming stars all over the city. People running. Cries in the distance.
A group of Vu Trin ride past on horseback, shouting at a fleeing mob. Elfhollen soldiers run toward Mistress Roslyn’s dress shop, where a huge blessing star is steadily burning. Shock knifes through me at the sight of it, the flames rapidly consuming the storefront window and spreading to the colorful Keltic clothing inside.
When we reach the University archway, we guide a stumbling Bleddyn under it and slip into a grove of trees, hiding under their sheltering branches.
“The kitchens,” Tierney says, panting. “We can bring her there. It’s not much farther.”
I nod grimly and send up a prayer as we trudge forward, desperately hoping that safety lies ahead.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
NIGHTMARE
We hug the forest’s dark shadows straight up toward the livestock pens and rush to the back entrance of the main kitchen.
Tierney practically kicks the door open.
Yvan and Fernyllia are standing by the broad table, Fernyllia’s hands on a pile of dough. Both of their heads snap toward us as shock swiftly overtakes them.
Fernyllia cries out in Uriskal and abandons the dough she’s kneading as both she and Yvan rush forward.
Yvan catches Bleddyn before she goes limp and sweeps her up into his arms. “Clear the table,” he orders.
We hastily comply, grabbing piles of raw dough off the table’s broad surface. Yvan lays Bleddyn down as Fernyllia places a hastily folded kitchen towel under her head. Tierney hovers beside us, her face pale with worry.
“There are mobs of Gardnerians out in the city,” I breathlessly tell them, describing everything we witnessed as Yvan directs me to restrain Bleddyn’s limp hands. I curl my palms firmly around her wrists.
Yvan brings his hands to Bleddyn’s face and closes his eyes as if reading her wounds, his secret healing abilities a wide-open secret by now. A sudden thought spears through me, ratcheting my pulse higher, and I look to Fernyllia in panic. “Where’s Fern?”
“Inside,” Fernyllia says. She pauses in the act of pumping water into an iron pot and glances worriedly around.
“Are you sure?” I insist, my voice shrill. Alarm clamors in my mind. Little Fern cannot be outside in this. She cannot be caught by that mob.
“Grandma?” a small voice says from one of the kitchen’s side doors. Fern stands there, hugging her floppy cloth doll tight. “I heard a noise. What’s happening?”
“Oh, sweet Ancient One,” I breathe out. A staggering relief spreads through me at the sight of tiny Fern in her long-sleeved nightgown, pink braids hanging over her shoulders.
“Where’s Olilly?” Fernyllia asks Yvan, her tone urgent.
My lungs cinch in sudden panic. I spot Olilly’s small basket of colorful yarn on the counter, strands tied to the rails on the back of a wooden chair and partly woven into a bracelet. Patient, gentle Olilly has been teaching little Fern how to weave bracelets all week.
Before Yvan can answer, Bleddyn pulls in a hard breath, then several more in quick succession, and starts to struggle. I hold tight to her hands, bearing down as Yvan murmurs to her, keeping his hands firmly on her face, his right hand moving over her wounded eye.
&nbs
p; “When did you last see Olilly?” Tierney demands of Fernyllia, a tempestuous cloud kicking up around her, sputtering small threads of white lightning.
Fernyllia’s voice is tight with fear. “I sent her out for nutmeg. Before the guildmarket closed.”
“The markets closed over an hour ago,” Tierney says, fierce worry filling her eyes.
Fernyllia seems momentarily frozen in a dawning nightmare.
“We need to get Trystan,” I say, thinking quickly. “He can go look for Olilly.”
“I’ll do it,” Tierney says. She pauses to take a deep breath, and the cloud around her slowly disappears. She seems to have pulled the storm into her eyes, her gaze practically spitting lightning. “If I can’t find him, I’ll go after Olilly myself.”
I hold her sparking gaze for a heartbeat, fully realizing the risk she’s taking. “Take care,” I say, my voice cracking.
Tierney nods and leaves.
Bleddyn stirs, her eyes fluttering open, and Yvan’s hands move to the sides of her head. Incredibly, the swelling around her eye is almost completely gone, her broken nose knit back into its proper shape. I release Bleddyn’s wrists as Yvan helps her sit up. Fernyllia dabs at the blood all over Bleddyn’s face and neck with a warm, moist rag, her expression full of anxiety.
Iris bursts through the back entrance, the door slamming shut behind her, her face wild. “They’re burning things! Attacking people!” She halts and takes in Bleddyn’s blood-streaked face. Then her eyes light on me, and her face twists into a vicious snarl. “Get out!” she cries, starting for me, her fists balled.
I step back, stopped by the table behind me.
“Iris, stop!” Bleddyn says, rising on unsteady feet to block her path.
Iris’s eyes swing to Bleddyn, wild with surprise. She points at me, her hand shaking. “She caused this!”
Yvan throws Iris an incredulous look. “No, Iris. She didn’t.”
“Yes, she did! Her whole family is responsible. They’re going to come for us all!”
Fern starts to cry. I turn to find her slumped on the floor nearby, hugging her doll. My heart twists, and I drop down to my knees beside her.
“Sweet one,” I say, putting my hand gently on Fern’s heaving back.
“Get away from her!” Iris seethes.
Rattled, I glance up to find Iris glaring at me with such hate, I wonder if she would actually attack me if we were alone.
Iris breaks down, sobbing, and Yvan goes to her. He tries to touch her arm, but she pushes his hand away, white-hot accusation in her eyes. “She’s the granddaughter of a monster!” she lashes out at him. “How can you even look at her without retching?”
A stinging flush suffuses my neck. I immediately sense this is part of a deeper argument between them.
“I’m your kind!” Iris rages. “Not her! They’re all monsters! All of them!”
A faint scream sounds outside. “What’s that?” I ask nervously, rising to my feet.
The scream grows in volume. A girl’s scream. Agonized and piercing. Then the door slams open, and the kitchen devolves into instant chaos.
Rafe strides in, splattered with blood and carrying Olilly in his arms. Blood is on his face, his neck, his hands. My breath stops in my throat at the sight of them. Olilly is screaming over and over, her blood-soaked hands pressed tight over her ears.
Pointed ears that used to be too large to cover with her slender hands.
Horrified tears fill my eyes as I realize what the mobs have done to her. Olilly’s amethyst eyes are huge with abject terror as she wails unceasingly. Blood covers her lovely violet face, and her beautiful hair is all gone, brutally shorn off.
Trystan runs in behind Rafe and Olilly, his dark cloak streaming behind him, wand drawn, gaze raptor-sharp. Tierney trails them in last, her face stricken. A turbulent black cloud forms and circles around her as she shuts and bolts the kitchen’s back door.
Yvan and Fernyllia swoop in toward Olilly as Iris looks on with horror, and Rafe gently lowers Olilly onto a table. Yvan leans down close to try and assess her wounds. Bleddyn staggers over toward Olilly, while little Fern starts to cry convulsively. Trystan begins locking doors and setting spells on them, the door before him momentarily glowing a deep blue.
Olilly is completely hysterical, her body rigid as she sits on the edge of the table, her hands tight over ears, her eyes unnaturally wide and unblinking.
“Olilly,” Yvan says, his deep voice gentle, “you need to lower your hands.”
“No no no no no!” Olilly cries, shaking her head, closing her eyes tight, recoiling back from Yvan.
Rafe moves away from them, giving Yvan space to try and help Olilly. He comes over to stand by me, his eyes lit with rage.
“They should be arrested,” I tell him, my voice shaking with fury.
Rafe’s whole body is bunched like a fist. “There are too many of them,” he says, his voice pitched low. “There are mobs running loose all over the city. There’s no way of even knowing who did this.”
Yvan has finally coaxed Olilly’s hands away from her mutilated ears and replaced them with his own. Bleddyn’s muscular arm is around Olilly’s shoulder as she holds tight to one of her hands, and Iris holds Olilly’s other hand, tears streaming down her face. Fernyllia stands facing Olilly and is murmuring a stream of gentle consolation in Uriskal.
Olilly’s convulsive sobbing subsides slightly, her eyes locked on Fernyllia, her chest heaving as she cries. Yvan’s head remains bowed for several long minutes in concentration. Finally, he lowers his bloodstained hands.
Olilly pulls her hands away from Bleddyn and Iris and reaches up, fumbling over the tops of her ears, the points completely gone. Her expression wrenches with despair.
“My ears!”
Bleddyn falls down on one knee before Olilly. “Shush’onin.”
“Donlookatmeeeee! Donlookatmeeeeee!” Olilly sobs in a keening wail, palms pressed tight again over her ears.
“Olilly—”
“I’m so uuugly!”
“No. You’re not,” Bleddyn says with ironclad firmness.
“My eaaaaars! They cut my eaaars!”
“I know, shush’onin. I know they did. But you are beautiful. They cannot change that. They can never change that.”
Bleddyn pulls her into a hug, holding tight as Olilly cries and rages into her broad shoulder.
Trystan and Tierney are standing by the largest window in the kitchen, set over the pump-sink. Trystan presses his wand against the window, its tip emitting a quick flash of blue light. He quietly confers with Tierney, then nods as she lifts her palm toward the window, a heavy white frost forming around the panes.
They both step back, assessing their work. Then Trystan strides over to Rafe and me as Tierney leaves through the back door.
“I’m going to get Diana,” Rafe tells us, his tone weighted with fury.
Trystan nods somberly, and Rafe takes his leave. I turn to my younger brother. “What were you and Tierney doing? To the windows and doors?”
“Warding them,” he says grimly. “If anyone tries to use Mage power to get in, the spell will double back and blast a hole through them. And if someone tries to force the windows open, their hands will freeze.”
I blink at him, impressed. “Well, that’s good.”
“I’m going outside to find Tierney,” Trystan tells me, his face agitated. “To help her check the grounds.”
Worry clenches my gut. “What will you do if any of the mobs come?”
Trystan gives me a look I’ve never seen before in my younger brother’s eyes—pure, unadulterated danger.
“I’ll throw bolts of lightning straight through their chests.”
For a split second, I wonder what happened to the skinny little boy who was so afraid of thunder. Who would come racing into my room, clutchin
g his toy bear, diving completely under my covers to hide from the booming sound. Now he’s standing before me, all power and assurance, prepared to throw lightning to protect everyone.
“Be careful,” I say, my voice rough with emotion.
Trystan’s tone is slow and lethal. “Oh, Ren, I think they’re the ones who need to take care, don’t you?”
Trystan strides out with an air of dark purpose, his cloak rippling behind him.
Small hands grab on to my skirts, and I look down to find little Fern clutching her doll and clinging to me.
“Oh, sweet one,” I say, sinking down and pulling her close, wishing I could strip the memory of this horror from her mind.
“They’re gonna cut her ears,” Fern sobs, her mouth pressed against her doll’s head, the words muffled.
I enfold her in my arms. “We’re going to protect you.”
She shakes her small head against me. “They’re gonna catch her and cut Mee’na’s ears.”
Oh, Ancient One. Her cloth doll, Mee’na. She’s afraid the Gardnerians will come and mutilate her beloved toy.
The magnitude of my people’s cruelty washes over me with a force that’s so staggering, for a moment I can barely breathe. And suddenly, I’m longing for power like Trystan’s, so I could take up the wand concealed in the side of my boot and strike down the mobs without mercy.
“No one is going to hurt you, or Mee’na, or anyone else,” I promise her fiercely. “Everyone here is going to protect you.”
Fernyllia comes looking for Fern. She sends me a grave glance and lowers herself to her granddaughter’s level, murmuring softly to Fern as she takes the child into her stout arms.
As I rise, my eyes meet Bleddyn’s from across the room, and a flash of morbid solidarity passes between us. She and Iris are helping Olilly to her feet, their arms wrapped around the girl’s slender shoulders. Led by Fernyllia, they all move toward the side-door that leads to the workers’ lodging just off the side of the kitchen. Fernyllia hands Fern to Yvan, and Fern wraps her small arms tightly around his neck, her fearful eyes peeking at me over his shoulder. I attempt a small, bolstering smile, but my heart is breaking into pieces.
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