The Iron Flower

by Laurie Forest

  Yvan turns to me before he walks out, his gaze holding mine with concentrated force, his silent message clear.

  Wait for me.

  The door leading into the kitchen shimmers blue, and Trystan reenters the room. His eyes immediately dart toward the others as they leave, and Bleddyn nods to Trystan before she exits. He somberly dips his head in return.

  “I’m going to stay here overnight, Ren,” Trystan tells me as he approaches, his wand clenched in his hand. “Along with Tierney.” He angles his head toward the workers’ lodging. “Right outside their rooms.”

  “Where will you sleep?”

  “On the floor in front of their doors if I have to.”

  I nod, glancing toward their lodging. “That’s probably a good idea.” I turn back to my brother, my lips trembling as my tone grows savage. “I wish I had access to my magic. I want to fight back against this.”

  Trystan is quiet for a moment, his eyes implacable. “I’m going to find a way to get to the Noi lands, Ren. And I’m going to join the Vu Trin, whether they want me or not.” His expression darkens. “And then I’m going to come back here with an army and fight the Gardnerians.”

  * * *

  I wait alone for Yvan, the deep night closing in around me, the kitchen lit by the flickering glow of a single lantern set on the table before me.

  I’ve made a fresh pot of mint tea in a futile attempt to calm myself, and a soothing curl of steam wafts up from both my cup and the pot’s spout. The edges of the kitchen are cast in deep shadows, and Bin’gley, the gray kitchen cat, silently prowls along the dark edges of the room.

  Yvan slips into the room with that silent, lithe grace of his that never fails to make my heart trip. He leans against a counter, facing me, his eyes glowing golden in the dark.

  I’ve only seen his eyes on fire like this twice—when he saved me from a dragon attack they glowed green, and when the Kelpie came after me they blazed all the way to gold.

  “Your eyes,” I say haltingly. “They’re golden. Again.”

  His hands grasp the counter’s edge. “It’s getting harder to control my fire,” he says, and I’m stunned by his admission. His tone is tightly controlled, but fire blazes tempestuously in his eyes. He looks around, as if searching for the right words. “It’s especially difficult when I’m upset, or angry, or...”

  His gaze flickers over my face. The flame in his eyes intensifies, and this time, it’s me who has to look away.

  “I need to fight them, Elloren.”

  His words have the finality of a declaration. An unbreakable vow. There’s an explosive quality to him right now, as if his fire is pent up almost to the point of conflagration.

  “Are you going after the mobs?” I ask carefully, my heartbeat picking up.

  His lips curl with ferocity. “No. I want to go after the Gardnerian and Alfsigr militaries.” His voice is low and threatening. “When the inevitable war breaks out.”

  “Will you join the Keltic military, then?”

  “No.” His gaze simmers with import. “I want to go east and join the Vu Trin Wyvernguard.”

  We’re both quiet for a long moment as the ramifications of this settle in. “My mother doesn’t want me in this fight,” he says. “She wants me to be a healer, and only a healer. She’s tired of losing everyone she loves to war.”

  “So, what are you going to do?”

  The fire in his eyes blazes hotter, the gold stoked to incandescent yellow. “I’m going to talk to my mother and tell her I’m going east.”

  I pull in a quavering breath. Jules has hinted that the Vu Trin might start allowing some of the hidden Fae youth into the Noi military academy—the Wyvernguard. I’ve seen Yvan kill a dragon with his bare hands. And I’ve sensed the enormity of his fire power. Of course, the Vu Trin will want him. Of course, they’ll want to bring him east with the other powerful Fae.

  Where he’ll be leagues away over an impassible desert.

  Get hold of yourself, Elloren. One way or another, he has to leave. You’ve known this for some time.

  I look down at the table as a tumult of emotions clash inside me, and my eyes glass over with tears. When I finally speak, my voice is so low, it’s almost a whisper. “I feel like...we never had a chance to...” I break off, too overcome to continue.

  A wave of heat suddenly rushes out from him, suffusing my lines. “Elloren.”

  There’s so much conveyed in that one, impassioned word and in his surprisingly palpable fire. Everything he won’t allow himself to say.

  And in that one word, I can feel us already saying goodbye.

  * * *

  That night, I dream of the mobs. An army of Gardnerians chasing after Tierney, Bleddyn, Olilly, Fern and me. All of us running and running down one dark alley after another as the Mages close in, so many they’re like a dark swarm.

  We run into the plaza and skid to a halt. Uplifted wands blaze crimson torchlight as the Mages fall in around us.

  I kick and lash out as they grab at me, holding tight to little Fern’s hand as she screams in terror. And then her hand is yanked from my grip as she’s pulled into the bloodthirsty mob of Mages, and I lose sight of her. More Mages close in around me as a scream tears loose from my throat.

  I bolt up in bed, sweat-soaked, blankets tangled around my limbs. Disoriented and struggling to control my panicked breathing, I glance toward the window.

  The first hint of dawn colors the sky a deep blue above the jutting Spine.

  I silently curse the morning. I curse the entire country of Verpacia and the terror being rained down on so many here.

  Wynter is slumped against the windowsill, fast asleep, her black wings wrapped tight around her body, only the top of her white-haired head poking up. Ariel is passed out diagonally across her messy bed and dozing fitfully, her chickens roosting beside her, her raven perched on the headboard. Marina is underwater in the washroom, most likely curled up at the base of our tub. I can hear her breathing through the open door, softly bubbling up air through the water.

  A fierce protectiveness rises up in me.

  My family.

  The thought has an edge of surprise to it, but an even bigger edge of truth. They’ve all become like family to me. Even Ariel. The thought of losing a single one of them feels like the fabric of my life tearing.

  Rafe, Diana, Jarod and Andras will leave soon for Lupine territory. Yvan, Trystan, Tierney, the Icarals and everyone in the kitchens will need to escape to the Noi lands.

  But I can’t leave Uncle Edwin here alone, and he’s too frail to travel anywhere. So, I’ll remain behind in hellish Gardneria, trapped among people monstrous enough to do what they did last night, as everyone I love is scattered far away, save Aislinn and my uncle.

  Diana is lying on her side by the fire, watching me with her wild amber eyes.

  “They’re going to get away with it,” I tell her, my voice thick with anguish and disgust. “Those monsters who hurt Bleddyn and Olilly. There’s no way of even knowing who they are.”

  “I went to see Bleddyn and Olilly the kitchen girl,” Diana says, deadly calm. “I scented their attackers. And I tracked them all. They are Third Division military apprentices.”

  My eyes widen with surprise. “What did you do?”

  “I have spoken with Rafe.” Her tone is low and lethal. “It seems that the killing of that many apprentice soldiers by the daughter of a Lupine alpha would be considered an act of war. So, I will wait.” Her eyes glow with a patient, predatory simmer. “Until I have father’s permission. And then I will hunt them down, rip off their ears and slash them to shreds.”

  I hold her intimidating gaze for a long moment. “Good.”

  Diana’s brow pulls tight. “The Gardnerians are making a play for dominance, Elloren Gardner. I can smell the threat of war in the air.”

  MAG
E COUNCIL

  RULING

  #223

  All Urisk must vacate Gardneria by the end of the twelfth month. All workpapers extended past that time are hereby revoked, and any Urisk found in the Holy Magedom after that time will be shipped to the Pyrran Islands.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  FALLOUT

  “Olilly deserves justice.” I set the crate of Norfure tincture down on Jules’s desk with a loud thunk.

  Jules glances up, wire glasses slightly askew. His brown hair is its usual disheveled, his green professorial robes wrinkled and thrown on over his dark woolen clothing. Lucretia is seated on a chair next to him. They both give me a slightly guarded look as I enter, and I get the sense that I’ve just barged in on a private conversation.

  But I don’t care. I’m simply too upset.

  Jules has a pile of papers by him. The stack is uncharacteristically neat and perfectly even, at odds with the usual discordant mess of his office, which is a veritable maze of books strewn about and haphazardly arranged on shelves that line the walls. Lucretia is the picture of contrast to Jules Kristian in her perfectly pressed Gardnerian silks, not a single black hair out of place. The silver Erthia orb around her neck gleams in the evening lantern light.

  My voice is rough with the anger I’ve carried around with me all day. “The monsters who attacked Olilly need to be arrested. Diana knows exactly who they are.”

  Jules and Lucretia exchange a quick, loaded glance. “Close the door, Elloren,” Jules says quietly. “And lock it.”

  Almost vibrating with outrage, I do as he asks before taking a seat in front of his desk.

  “Olilly is here illegally,” he says calmly.

  “I don’t care,” I shoot back, my voice shaking. “She’s fourteen years old and nothing but sweet and kind to everyone. They mutilated her. The military apprentices who did this should be punished.”

  “If she went to the Verpacian authorities,” Jules replies, his voice hardening, “she’d be deported to Gardneria.”

  I internally war against what he’s saying. “She won’t speak,” I throw out, incensed. “She won’t leave the kitchen. She’s got a scarf wrapped around her head to hide her bald head and her scarred ears.” Now my body is trembling along with my voice.

  “I understand your outrage, Elloren,” Lucretia says, her gaze suddenly stripped of her prim Gardnerian demeanor and glittering with rebellion. “But Verpacia is already up in arms about the Urisk workers who attacked that Gardnerian farmer here—”

  “Fernyllia said he was abusing them!” I cut in.

  “He was,” Lucretia replies patiently. “But most Verpacians don’t know about that. All they know is that the four young women are Urisk and in Verpacia illegally. And that they attacked a Gardnerian.”

  “Those Urisk women have been found guilty of assault and deported to Gardneria,” Jules adds somberly.

  “And will likely be sent to the Pyrran Islands from there,” Lucretia unflinchingly puts in.

  The two of them stun me with how calm they can be right now—willing to look this thing straight in the eye without flinching, when it’s withering and frightening and heartbreaking to even think about.

  I struggle to fight back the sting of furious tears. “So, the Verpacian Council doesn’t care that there were mobs all over the city attacking innocent people last night?”

  Lucretia’s answer, when it comes, is dripping with disdain. “The Verpacian Council noted this morning that some vandalism took place in response to the capture of the ‘criminal Urisk.’ Do you see what they’re stressing here?”

  “Twelve Urisk were cropped last night,” Jules Kristian says gravely. “Of those twelve, nine are in Verpacia illegally. Including Olilly.”

  “What about the Urisk who are here legally?” I rage. “Can’t they press charges?”

  The line of Jules’s mouth hardens, and he shakes his head. “If they ask for help from the Verpacian authorities, they will draw the mob back down on their heads like hawks to prey. And possibly have their workpapers rescinded in retribution.”

  “Which would result in them being forcibly returned to Gardneria,” Lucretia says.

  I struggle to control my breathing. “So, there’s no way to fight back against this?”

  Jules picks up a few papers from the top of his tidy stack and eyes me pointedly. “There are a few.”

  “What are those?” I ask, desperate for a solution.

  “New identity papers for Olilly, Fern and Bleddyn,” he tells me. “Foolproof enough to have a chance against a thorough Verpacian or Gardnerian investigation. This is the only way we can fight back for now. Keep them and others from being deported and find a way to get them out of the Western Realm.”

  I slump down into my chair, unbearably discouraged, wishing I could grab the wand from my boot and set this right. Wishing I could wield my magic and force justice.

  “What’s going to happen?” I ask them shakily. “Do you think it’s going to keep getting worse?”

  “The situation is not good,” Jules says. He looks briefly to Lucretia. “We’re surprised by how quickly the Verpacians have buckled to Gardnerian influence.”

  Lucretia gives a small nod of agreement. “Both the Gardnerians and the Alfsigr Elves have too much power, and it’s growing by the day.”

  “Will the Western Realm fall?” I ask. The question is almost too terrible to say out loud.

  “There is only one thing keeping the Gardnerians out of Keltania,” Lucretia says, a jaded cast to her expression. “The fragile coalition between the Lupines, the Amaz, the Vu Trin and the Kelts.” She pauses, her unflappable calm cracking for a moment. “If that fails, the Gardnerians will roll clear over the Western Realm.”

  I turn to Jules imploringly. “Do you think that will happen?”

  He holds my gaze, his whole body rigid, as if struggling to deny his answer. “Yes, Elloren,” he says finally. “I believe the Western Realm will fall.”

  We’re all silent for a long moment as icy hail pelts the curtained window, battering the glass like it’s trying to break in. My sense of foreboding swells like a dark tide, and I’m suddenly reminded of my recurring nightmare.

  A red sky. Dead trees. The White Wand.

  And a dark figure searching, searching, searching for me.

  “There’s another group that needs to get out,” I tell them, absently reaching down to reflexively touch my wand’s hilt through my skirt, a seditious fire sparking in the face of such insurmountable odds. “The Selkies.”

  Jules’s lips lift into a small smile. “Are you helping Selkies now, Elloren?”

  “I might be.”

  A fond look washes over his face, as if he’s seeing someone else when he looks at me. “You’re so much like your...” He abruptly cuts himself off and looks away, clearing his throat.

  “Like who?” I ask, confused.

  He shakes his head, still not looking at me, as if shaking away the question. He turns back to me, his composure returning. “You should know that it’s very difficult to rally support for the Selkies,” he says. “There’s a widespread belief that they’re just animals in human form—”

  “They’re not animals,” I state emphatically. “They’re weakened without their skins, but they’re people.”

  “That may be true,” he agrees, “but the fact that they can’t speak complicates things.”

  I think of Marina’s flute-like mutterings and the look in her ocean-colored eyes when she’s trying to communicate with us. “I think they can speak. Just not in a way we understand.”

  “It’s despicable, what goes on with the Selkies,” Lucretia spits out, color rising in her face. “I’ve tried to encourage sympathy for them in Resistance circles but have gotten absolutely nowhere.”

  “You’d need an army to free the Selkies,” Jules puts i
n. “You’d be going up against the Gardnerian black market.”

  I inwardly rail against the daunting barriers. “They need to get out of here before the Mage Council decides to kill them all,” I passionately argue. “My aunt and Vogel are going to push that motion through. You know they will. It’s only a matter of time.”

  “I’ll speak to some people,” Jules says. “I can’t promise you anything, but I’ll try.”

  “Thank you.” I pull in a long, shaky breath.

  Jules wordlessly pours some tea for each of us. We drink it for a moment in silence, curlicues of steam rising from our cups and the spout of the teapot that sits on Jules’s desk.

  I glance down at Lucretia’s hand, her long fingers gracefully holding her chipped, brown teacup. She reminds me a bit of Aunt Vyvian, all refined elegance, but she wields her power in such a different way. She looks to be in her thirties, but her hands are free of fastmarks, which is unusual for a Gardnerian woman at her age.

  She looks like she might be younger than Jules, but not by a lot.

  Staring at Lucretia’s unmarked hands, I’m abashedly reminded of what Diana told me about Lucretia and Jules—that they’ve one of the strongest attractions to each other that Diana has ever sensed in any couple.

  But neither one of them knows about the other’s feelings.

  Diana has commented on this more than once—expounding that if Jules and Lucretia were Lupine, the pack would insist they pair as their fevered longing for each other would be so distracting to the rest of the pack, it would be hard to even think around them.

  And Jules, to my knowledge, has never been married.

  I study them surreptitiously while they talk to each other. Jules quietly lists which Mage Council seals he needs her to pilfer the next time she’s in Valgard, and she matter-of-factly outlines what’s possible. I can’t find any outward hint of their feelings toward each other, but it’s clear they’re longtime friends. Fellow soldiers in this war, battle-hardened and weary.