The Iron Flower

by Laurie Forest

  I throw off my cloak, stalk across the room and slump down into my desk chair. Marina pads over to sit on the floor nearby, resting her shimmering head against me.

  At least there’s this, I consider with a long sigh. One Selkie rescued from a terrible fate. It might seem like a small thing in the face of a mountain of darkness, but her freedom is one bright spot of hope.

  Oh, Marina, I agonize, stroking her beautiful hair. What are you thinking? I study Marina for a long moment, never tiring of admiring her liquid-silver hair. Wishing I could look inside her mind.

  Letting out another sigh, I turn my thoughts to my studies, knowing I’ve procrastinated long enough. I open my Apothecary text to a marked spot and pull out some paper so I can take notes through the rest of the night if I have to. I have an exam in two days’ time, and I’m barely passing the class as is.

  I can’t access my own power, I dolefully consider, but at least I can make medicines. It’s not a lot, and it won’t stop what’s coming, but at least I can provide some temporary comfort and healing to the people who need it.

  And maybe Lukas is wrong. Maybe the Vu Trin forces of the Eastern Realm are stronger than he thinks. Maybe they’re stronger than Vogel and all his soldiers and broken dragons combined.

  Bolstered by the thought, I begin reading, pausing occasionally to scratch out some notes. As I write, Marina gets up and begins fussing with my hair, her long fingers rhythmically stroking it, her touch soothing. I smile and reach up to squeeze her hand affectionately. She gives me a weak smile in return and leans down to nuzzle her cheek against mine.

  Her pale arm reaches around me, her finger pointing at the small painting of my parents that’s propped up on my desk. Wynter made it for me a few weeks ago, to replace the original that Ariel smashed, their images pulled from Wynter’s empathic reading of Rafe’s and my scant memories of them.

  Marina starts talking to herself in her flute-like tones, as she’s wont to do, struggling with the sounds, as if it takes great effort to make them. I’m only half listening, absorbed in the lesson in my book, so she taps my shoulder and gestures at the picture again, almost knocking it over.

  Distracted, I stop what I’m doing and turn slightly to glance over my shoulder at her. Marina cocks her head to one side and forms her mouth into a circle. Looking meaningfully at the image of my parents, she blows some air out and makes a metallic humming noise. Her gills pull in almost flat on her neck, then quickly fall slack and ruffle open. Her expression fills with frustration for a moment before she repeats the action.

  I smile, humoring her. Not sure why she’s suddenly so taken with my painting.

  “Maaaahzhurrrrr,” she blows out, the sound fractured into parts, as if she’s breathing it through multiple flutes. I glance over at her, puzzled by her insistence.

  She tries again, and this time the disparate notes pull together.

  Shock rips through me.

  I drop my pen on the desk and wheel around to face her fully. Marina is staring straight at me, her storm-gray eyes determined. She touches the picture again, her finger right on my mother’s face. Then she presses both palms hard against the gills on the sides of her throat. The muscles of her neck tighten, her face tensed as if with great effort.

  “Maaah Thurrr,” she says, this time clearly.

  My heart thuds in my chest, her ability to speak unmistakable.

  “That’s right,” I say, so stunned I’m barely able to get the words out. “My mother.”

  Marina’s expression turns to one of shocked surprise at my finally being able to understand her. She grabs hold of my arm so tight it pinches, her gills flying open as she launches into frantic, once again unintelligible speech.

  I shake my head in confusion, trying my best to make out actual words, but her flute-like tones are back, the sounds chaotic. Marina stops, distressed by my bewilderment, her breathing heavy from the effort. Then an excited light fills her eyes.

  She drags me into the washroom, toward the large tub that’s filled with unheated, ice-cold water. She pivots and lets herself fall backward into the water, one of her arms still gripping mine as she pulls me roughly toward the surface, her entire body now submerged. A torrent of bubbles streams up as her gills flatten against her neck.

  “You hear me?”

  Shock blasts through me.

  The words are very faint and muffled, but completely understandable. I realize she must be yelling against the water for her words to be audible.

  Marina bursts up from the water, spraying ice water all over me. Her hand is still vise-tight around my arm, her eyes blazing with determination.

  “Yes,” I tell her, astonished. “I can hear you.”

  She throws herself down into the water again, and I press my ear almost to the surface of it.

  “My sister! They took her! My sister! She is very young! Younger than me! Help me! Please help me!”

  She pulls her head out of the water again, pulling at me with desperation. And then she completely breaks down. Her gills fly open wide as she closes her eyes tightly and lets out a long, flute-toned wail.

  The full horror of what she’s trying to tell me crashes down. Her sister. Trapped by someone like the groundskeeper who once held Marina prisoner—or perhaps somewhere much worse.

  Overcome, I throw my arms around her. Marina’s slender body is violently trembling, her gills frantically opening and closing as she sobs.

  “We’ll help her,” I promise tearfully as she struggles to regain control of her breathing.

  “I swear to you, Marina,” I tell her, not knowing how we’ll manage it, but sick of feeling helpless. “We’ll find your sister. We’ll get help, and somehow, we’ll get you all out.”

  MAGE COUNCIL

  RULING

  #271

  Smuggling Selkies or spirits across the Gardnerian border shall be grounds for imprisonment.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  GARETH KEELER

  A few nights later, I leave my kitchen shift and venture out into the frigid cold, bundled tightly in my cloak. Marina has been on my mind all day, and I’m eager to get back to the North Tower.

  I’ve told everyone in my small circle the news of Marina’s newfound ability to communicate. Jules and Lucretia are redoubling their efforts to quietly rally support for the Selkies, and my brothers tried to visit last night, hoping she might be able to share more information about where her sister and the other Selkies are being held. Marina devolved into panicked protest at the sight of them, terrified of men, and they left quickly to avoid causing her further distress.

  I’m just starting down the path by the kitchen’s back door when I spot a tall, stocky young man making his way toward me from the bottom of the hill. He’s broad-shouldered and wearing a dark Gardnerian cloak and tunic lined with the single blue stripe of a Gardnerian mariner. The tips of his hair glint silver in the light of the walkway’s sole lantern.

  My heart leaps in my chest, and I break into a run down the hill. “Gareth!”

  Gareth sweeps me up in his muscular arms, chuckling as I practically hurl myself at him. We envelop each other in a warm, overjoyed hug, and for a moment all my exhaustion and grief and stress fall away as I cling to my childhood friend and tears come to my eyes. I step back from him, smiling and crying and laughing all at the same time. Gareth squeezes my shoulder and gives me a warm smile and a heartening look of solidarity.

  “I’m so happy to see you,” I tell him, wiping away the tears as relief spreads through me. Movement at the top of the hill catches my eye.

  Yvan.

  He’s leaving his kitchen shift, too, heading up the higher path that goes by the livestock barns, his heavy book bag slung over his shoulder. Yvan pauses, watching Gareth and me, and I can feel a surprising flash of his unsettled fire from clear across the hill. He’s been remote and closed off
ever since that horrible night of mob attacks, and I suppose I’ve been withdrawn, as well. Both of us holding back, knowing our time for goodbyes is coming soon, and that there’s absolutely nothing to be done about it.

  Briefly, I hold Yvan’s gaze, my sudden, heated awareness of him shimmying through my fire lines.

  I remember what Lukas told me about my rising ability to read affinities—a rare skill.

  Even Fae affinities, I realize.

  I turn back to Gareth, flustered and acutely aware of Yvan’s shadowy figure disappearing into the line of woods.

  Gareth’s eyes flick up to follow Yvan’s retreat. “Someone you know?”

  A wry sound escapes me, and I nod. “Oh, Gareth, so much has happened.” I study his face in the dim light and realize how much he’s changed—his jaw squarer, his sparse beard fuller. It dawns on me that my childhood friend isn’t a boy anymore. “When did you get in?” I ask.

  Gareth angles his head back toward the central University buildings. “I just arrived with the other maritime apprentices. The Saltisle Pass has finally iced over, so they’ve got us back here for a couple of weeks to take astronomy and some other classes.”

  The back door to the kitchen creaks open, then slams shut. I glance up and spot Iris and Bleddyn walking down the hill together.

  “Have you seen Rafe and Trystan yet?” I ask Gareth. “Have they told you anything about what’s going on here?”

  Gareth shakes his head, his silvered hair sparkling like it’s snow-dusted. “No, I came straight here. I remembered they had you working in the kitchens.”

  Gareth and I pause our conversation as Bleddyn and Iris pass by. I can see Bleddyn taking in Gareth’s silver-tipped hair, her large emerald eyes narrowed in appraisal. She glances at me and smirks.

  Iris notices the exchange. She shoots me a glare and tugs Bleddyn decidedly away. But as they near the bottom of the hill, Bleddyn lifts her hand to Gareth and me in a silent good-night.

  Heartened by her gesture, I turn back to Gareth. “Have you eaten?”

  “No, and I’m starving.” He eyes the back door to the kitchen, a playful glint in his eyes. “I don’t suppose you’d know where we could get some food?”

  * * *

  A few minutes later, we’re ensconced in one of the storerooms, surrounded by shelves of preserves and barrels of grain. Gareth and I sit on overturned wooden crates, the top of a barrel acting as our table. Steam wafts up from a pot of mint tea, and a mountain of warm, freshly baked mushroom turnovers fills a plate next to it.

  “This is a lot of food, Ren,” Gareth comments with a laugh.

  I grab up a turnover and take a huge bite. “It’s just enough food,” I say through a mouthful, grinning at him. Gareth’s like a third brother to me, and I love how I don’t have to be the least bit civilized around him. “I’m starving, too. And these are really good.” I’m momentarily lost in the bliss of buttery mushrooms, flaky crust and caramelized onions.

  Gareth digs into the food as well, his eyes lighting up. “Sweet gods, these are good.”

  I nod, a congenial warmth washing over me. I’d much rather be sitting here with Gareth, eating mushroom pastries, than dining on roast swan at some fine Valgard estate. Plus, I bet Fernyllia’s cooking skills could best any of the fancy chefs employed by wealthy Gardnerians.

  Gareth takes a sip of his tea. “What’s happened while I’ve been gone?”

  I let out a long sigh, relieved to be with someone I can speak freely around. Someone I can trust completely. “Settle in and eat,” I say, nodding at the plate of turnovers. “This story is going to take a while to tell.”

  * * *

  “So, you’ve rescued a Selkie,” Gareth marvels, the tea long since cooled, the pastries rendered to crumbs on the plate. “What’s she like?”

  “Marina’s wonderful. Kind and sweet,” I reply as I stroke the kitchen cat who’s curled up, purring, in my lap. “She was very sickly at first, but her health is slowly improving now that we know she eats raw fish. And she’s speaking the Common Tongue quite fluently.”

  Information about Marina has come in thick waves since she’s found a way to communicate with us, full of incredible revelations, and I relay to Gareth everything she’s told me.

  The Selkies live in large cities in ocean caves lit by fluorescent coral, and though they number in the thousands, their society is very communal and tight-knit.

  “It took a while for her to understand our language,” I tell Gareth. “Land sounds are distorted to her, and the strange tones she makes against air are clicks and musical tones underwater. She’s a musician in her land, apprenticing with a bard, so I think she has an ear for language.”

  “That’s incredible,” Gareth says, an awed look on his face. “I’m glad you’ve been able to help her.”

  “We need to do more,” I reply, frowning thoughtfully as I absently pet the soft cat. “Her skin is the source of her power, but we have no idea where it might be hidden. She’s in a severely weakened state without it.”

  “So why do the Selkies come to land?” Gareth asks, curious. “It’s so dangerous for them here.”

  “Their shifting magic can get snagged by a spell that was cast long ago. It can happen whenever the moon is full, and it inadvertently pulls them onto our shores. I don’t really understand all of it, but that’s what she was able to explain to us. And...well, you know the rest.”

  Gareth is quiet for a long moment. “Can I meet her?”

  I shake my head. “I don’t think that’s a good idea, Gareth. We’ve tried introducing her to Trystan and Rafe and some of the others, but she’s terrified of men.”

  “You need to get her out of here, Ren,” he says, his voice gentle but firm. “There’s serious talk in Valgard about killing all the Selkies as soon as they come to shore, and I think someone on the Council is going to make an official motion soon.”

  I return his grave look. “My aunt, I know.” I reach up to massage my temple, a sharp headache blooming. “Marina has a sister who’s probably being held in one of those...taverns.” I spit the word out with blistering disgust. “And there are so many others. We need to find a way to free them before my aunt rallies the support she needs on the Council.”

  “Can the Resistance help?”

  “We’d need a small army to mount a rescue, which the Verpacian Resistance doesn’t have access to. They’re overwhelmed just trying to help the refugees streaming through here.” I shake my aching head and meet Gareth’s steady gaze.

  He reaches over to place his warm hand on mine. “Ren, I’m a mariner. Let me meet her.”

  I hold his resolute gaze, the ever-present kindness in it swaying me. Perhaps there’s some slim chance that Marina won’t be as intimidated by him.

  “All right, Gareth.” I sit back and let out a long sigh. “Come by tomorrow night.”

  Gareth nods and sits back as well, a troubled look passing over his expression. “Ren,” he says, pausing, “have you found a fastmate yet?”

  Where is this coming from?

  “Lukas Grey still wants to fast to me,” I tell him and catch his gray-blue eyes tightening with a glimmer of disapproval. I shake my head. “But...I can’t.”

  “I imagine your aunt’s not too thrilled about that decision.”

  “She doesn’t exactly know yet,” I admit.

  Gareth considers this. “They’re going to make us fast by the end of the fifth month. They’re not kidding. They will make us.”

  “What about you? Do you have someone?”

  Gareth coughs out a bitter laugh. “Who would have me in Gardneria? With my hair?” He hesitates, his expression suddenly bleak. “If the Mage Council has to get involved in my fasting, it will bring down an inquiry into the purity of my bloodline.”

  “But, Gareth,” I protest, “you’re Gardnerian.”

&nb
sp; The line of his mouth tightens. “That’s what my parents say, but...” He sends me a loaded glance. “My bloodlines aren’t pure, Ren. I’m sure of it.”

  Concern ripples through me. “So, fasting could be an actual danger for you.”

  “Only if it comes down to a forced fasting,” he says. “If it does, I’ll have to get out of the Western Realm.”

  My eyes widen at this. “Where would you go?”

  “Noi lands.”

  I let out a hard breath, my gut clenching in protest at the thought of another person I love trying to get to what seems like the other side of Erthia. “Trystan is trying to find a way to get to Noi lands, as well,” I tell him, my voice catching with emotion.

  Gareth’s eyes widen slightly in surprise, followed swiftly by understanding.

  “If I can’t get out in time,” he says, “and if you don’t find a partner...” He pauses, looking nervous, then seems to find his resolve again. “We should fast, Ren.” His momentarily determined expression falters as my mouth drops open. “As friends,” he hastily amends.

  I stare at him for a long moment, utterly shocked. “Gareth, we can’t fast just...as friends,” I finally sputter. “You know as well as I do that the next thing the Mage Council will be mandating is the sealing ceremony for everyone of a certain age.”

  And the consummation of the sealing union is expected that same night, prompting the fastlines to flow down a couple’s wrists as proof of that consummation.

  I drop my forehead into my hands, a blush heating my face. “Could you really be with me in that way?”

  I’m not the only one who’s thrown by this conversation. A red flush forms high on Gareth’s cheeks as he looks away, deeply flustered. “I... We’ve known each other for so long. It’s strange to consider...” He takes a deep breath, then meets my eyes, his expression full of sincerity. “Ren, it would be an honor to be fasted to you.”

  I’m touched by his words. We’re all being thrown into one impossible situation after another, but would it be so bad to be fasted to one of my closest friends?