I lean back against a blessedly dead tree, the bark rough on my shoulder, and stare up at the starry sky. The universe seems so immense, reminding me of how small and insignificant I am in the face of everything.
Sage’s baby, the feared Icaral, isn’t evil at all. He isn’t the nightmare creature from my dreams of so many months ago. And he isn’t a weapon to be wielded. He’s just a baby. An innocent little baby.
And I have a wand of power. The White Wand.
But that Wand is turning out to be as weak as the Icaral of Prophecy, sending only ghostly visions of Watchers and choosing a bearer with no access to magic.
Why?
I suddenly long for Yvan to be here, right now, under the stars with me. I want to tell him every last thing while he listens in his intense way, holding on to my hand and caressing my fire.
An ache gathers deep inside me.
Yvan, who will be leaving for the Eastern Realm.
Yvan, who I can never have.
I’m startled by a small goat wandering through a patch of pine trees. The little animal stops just in front of me and curiously tilts its horned head. It’s soon followed by several other goats, and I reach down to let the nearest one sniff at my hand.
“Hello, Elloren.”
I turn to find Valasca leaning against a tree, staring at me.
I straighten. “Hello, Valasca.”
Her eyes dart up, searching the tree limbs. I realize she’s looking for Watchers.
“They’re gone,” I tell her. “They do that.”
Her brow creases. “You’ve seen the Visay’un before?”
I nod.
“Ni is right,” she says. “No one would believe this.”
She saunters over, a small goat nipping at her tunic hem. She leans down and gives the animal a pat on the behind, sending it off to join the others.
“Were you thinking of a lover?” she asks with a quick tilt of her head toward the sky. “Just now. When you were staring up into the stars.” She sends me a slight grin. “There was something in your eyes that made me think you’re pining for someone.”
A lover. The word doesn’t quite fit Yvan and me. Can you call someone a lover when you’ve never so much as kissed? When you can never be anything to each other but friends? When he’s leaving soon for a Realm leagues away?
I shrug in response, not daring to speak, fearing I’ll say too much.
“Did Sagellyn give you the Wand back?” Valasca asks.
I glance at her sidelong and nod.
Her eyes flick over me searchingly. “Where is it?”
“Hidden. And I have no idea what I’m going to do with it,” I admit.
Valasca smiles. “You don’t do anything with it. You listen to it.” She looks around, her smile widening. “And here you are. Because you listened to it.”
I give a short, incredulous laugh. “And here I am.” I slump back against the tree, the immensity of everything washing over me. I wince as a headache spikes in my temple and reach up to massage the sudden burst of pain.
“Are you all right?” Valasca asks, seeming concerned.
I nod wearily. “I’m prone to headaches.”
She studies me for a moment, then pulls a flat flask out of her tunic pocket, unstoppers it and hands it to me. “Here,” she offers. “This will help. Only drink a little, though.”
“What is it?” I ask as I take it from her.
“Tirag,” she explains. “Fermented mare’s milk. It’s a common drink here.”
I bring the flask up to my nose. It smells bitter and oddly medicinal, and I give her a wary look. “Are there spirits in this?”
“Oh, I forgot,” Valasca says with a laugh. “You Gardnerians don’t drink spirits, do you?”
I thrust the flask back toward her. “They’re not allowed. It’s illegal.”
She makes no move to accept it. “Rescuing Selkies is, too, last I heard.”
I pause to consider this. She has a point. I touch the flask to my lips and take a small sip. It’s strange and bittersweet, with odd little bubbles that tickle at my cheeks and tongue. It goes down smooth and warm. Very warm—the heat spreading out slowly through my core like Yvan’s fire.
My headache begins to dissipate, so I take another sip as both Valasca and I lean against trees and consider the stars.
I savor the heated feeling when it comes, the way my muscles are beginning to relax, my troubles slowly floating away on tiny little wings.
“This is actually quite nice,” I say, tilting the flask back and forth in my hand.
“Easy, Gardnerian,” she laughs. “It’s quite strong. You should probably stop now.”
I give her a mock scowl and rebelliously take a larger sip, sinking further and further into the delicious warmth. My eyes flick over to the rune-stylus sheathed in her belt. “So, you’re a rune-sorceress.”
“I am,” she confirms with a nod.
My thoughts fly to Tierney’s predicament. “My friend Andras told me that the Amaz are getting close to removing Fae glamours. Can you do that?”
She smirks. “Do you know any glamoured Fae, Elloren?”
I shoot her a cagey look. “I might.”
Valasca laughs. “We’ve figured out how to remove Lasair glamours.”
“And Asrai?”
She shakes her head. “Not yet. But soon, I think. They’re trickier. The Asrai Fae layer multiple glamours, one on top of the other, so unlocking them is a bit of a puzzle, but we’ll get there in time.”
Hope lights in me, and an eagerness to convey this news to Tierney. I peer out over the city, just able to make out the mammoth Queenhall and the Goddess statue rising up from the center of the plaza.
“Your people confuse me,” I muse, the drink freeing my tongue and making it easy to say whatever comes to mind. “You’re doing so many admirable things, helping the Fae remove their glamours, defying the Gardnerians and taking in refugees. But...the way you treat males... I met Sorcha’s son, did I tell you that? I told Sorcha about him. Do you know what she said?”
Valasca raises an eyebrow.
“She said she doesn’t care about him at all. And my friend Andras—he loves her. But he means nothing to her. How can your people be so cold?”
Valasca’s gaze is steady. “Not everything is as it appears on the surface.”
I spit out a sound of derision and look away.
Everything is beginning to appear liquid and hazy, like a dream. The scarlet glow of the Amaz city, the moon-washed Spine beyond. It’s all blending together, like streaked paint.
“After Sorcha brought her baby to the Lupines,” she says, “I spent every night with her for about two weeks while she sobbed herself to sleep. She was completely distraught over giving up her baby to the Lupines. And she was heartbroken over Andras, too.”
I stare at her in bewilderment. “But...it really seemed like she hated him. And Konnor, too.”
Valasca coughs out a sound of disbelief. “Did you really expect Sorcha to break down and cry over Andras and her son in front of a hall full of Amaz soldiers? Things are never as simple as they seem. There are many here who love men, who agonize over the sons they’ve lost, who secretly visit both. You’ve met Clive Soren. You must know of his relationship with Freyja. Everyone does.”
“I pretty much figured it out,” I admit.
“She goes to see him several times a year. She says she’s going to hunt. Alone. No one asks questions, and she tells no one the truth, so she is left alone.”
“And if she were honest?”
“She would be thrown out of Amaz lands.”
“Forever?”
Valasca nods, seeming resigned to these unforgiving ways.
“And you agree with this?”
A deeply troubled look passes over her face. “I�
�m not sure, Elloren.” Her voice lowers as she looks away, her eyes tight with conflict. “I don’t think people should be valued only because they can sire babies. And that’s the way we treat men.” She turns back to me. “So, no. I don’t agree with this.”
“What are you going to do about it?”
Valasca stares out over the city as one of her goats playfully butts her thigh. She reaches down to gently pat the animal. “I don’t know. It’s a dilemma.”
I take another sip, the drink making me bold. “So, do you have a secret lover?”
Her lips curl into a slow, wry grin. “I’ve had a few.”
I take another drink of the Tirag and hand the flask back to her. Valasca looks at the flask, as if deliberating. Then she lets out a sigh and takes a long swig from it, leaning languidly back against the tree.
“So, who’s your secret man?” I ask her.
A husky laugh escapes her, and she smiles crookedly at me. “No men. Only women.”
Surprise lights in me. “Can you openly be that way here?”
Valasca eyes me searchingly, growing serious. “Of course.”
This sobers me for a moment. I know such things are forbidden in Gardneria and many other places in the Western Realm, but then I think about the Lupines’ easy acceptance of people loving whomever they love, and I’m suddenly heartened that Valasca can be open about who she is here in Amaz lands, without fear.
And I wonder if the Noi lands will be like this for Trystan. As much as the thought of my brother leaving makes me feel like my heart is being twisted into a tight knot, I want this for him. I want him to find a place where he can be who he really is, freely and openly.
Valasca’s eyes have grown half-lidded. She’s beginning to look like I feel—liquid and relaxed, her posture slackened, like she’s melting into the tree behind her. She takes another drink and peers out over the city, smiling to herself.
I reach for the flask again, and Valasca purses her lips, her head lolling toward me as she reluctantly hands it back.
“Elloren, you really shouldn’t have any more.” Her eyes snag on mine, and we hold each other’s gaze for a long, floating moment. “You’re beautiful, did you know that?” she says, a light observation, nothing flirtatious in it.
I huff out a sound of derision. “I’m not. I look like my grandmother.”
She gives a short laugh. “I don’t know about that,” she says. “I was only a child back then. I don’t remember her like the others do. But...you Gardnerians...the way your skin shimmers emerald. It’s lovely.”
“It’s our magic. But... I have none.” For some reason, this strikes me as very funny, and I start to laugh. This drink makes everything seem so amusing. I wonder if this is how my irreverent brother Rafe feels pretty much all the time. Always in such good spirits. In good spirits from the spirits. More laughter bursts out of me. The idea is just so...funny.
“I really think you’ve had enough of that,” she says, smiling. She leans in to try to clumsily reclaim the flask from me.
“Why?” I say teasingly, holding it just out of her reach. “I like the way it makes me feel.” My words are strange to my ears, all melting together, slurry and light. Everything is warm and weightless all around me.
“Trust me, you’ll regret it in the morning.” She reaches for the flask and stumbles as I clumsily move aside, stumbling, as well. The two of us fall against each other, wildly infectious laughter bubbling up in both of us as the flask drops to the ground. I grasp her arm for support at the same time she grabs onto mine, and we both stop laughing for a moment as our eyes meet. Then we burst out into hysterics all over again.
Valasca leans back on the tree, alternately catching her breath and laughing. Eventually, we both calm down, Valasca’s back against the broad tree trunk, and me propped against it on one unsteady arm.
“Have you kissed the serious Kelt boy?” she asks. “I saw the way he looked at you earlier today.”
“No,” I say, my smile dimming as a sudden melancholy washes over me. “I thought once...we almost did. But no. I haven’t.”
“Do you think you ever will?”
I shake my head lazily from side to side. “No. Not ever.” The hurt is somewhat muted by the drink, but it still aches in me.
“Do you love him?”
The question hangs in the air between us, all the suppressed emotion inside me suddenly threatening to unravel. Beautiful Yvan, his intense gaze holding mine. So completely and utterly unattainable.
Tears sting at my eyes. “I think I’m falling for him. But I can never have him. Never.”
And then I’m telling Valasca everything I feel for Yvan in a sudden rush. All of it.
She stares at the stars and listens intently as I pour my heart out to her. Then, utterly spent, I fall silent and wipe away my tears.
“I know what it is to have an impossible love,” Valasca says quietly, her voice suddenly rough with emotion. “I’m in love with Ni.”
Ni? Our guard, Ni Vin? My eyes widen with surprise, and I look to Valasca, my head feeling strangely loose on my neck. “Does she like women, too, then?”
Valasca nods mournfully. “She has feelings for me, but...she wants me to come east with her, and...” Valasca glances out over the city and waves her hand loosely toward it. “I can’t leave this. I love my people, and I can’t leave them. Not right now. Not with things as they are.”
Because of what my people are doing, I consider with dismay. Because we’re bent on creating havoc for everyone in the Western Realm.
“Every time I look at Ni,” Valasca says, her voice impassioned, “it’s like an arrow to my heart.” She dramatically thumps her fist over her chest. “She’s brave and kind and the most beautiful thing I have ever seen. She doesn’t see it, though. All she sees is her scars. She doesn’t see how perfect she is.”
I think of Ni Vin’s ravaged ear and hand, the burns that cut across half her body, and shame knifes through my drunken haze.
My grandmother gave her those scars.
She seems so private, Ni Vin. So closed off. I remember her unflappable calm, her unreadable expression when she saved Marina, purposefully ignoring her presence in the North Tower when she was supposed to be conducting an investigation.
She saved Marina’s life that day.
“I’d give anything to be with her,” Valasca says with heartfelt longing. Tears fill her dark eyes as she focuses on the stars.
“So, here we are,” I say broodingly. “The both of us. Stuck in the Western Realm.”
“Yup,” Valasca agrees with an exaggerated nod.
“The commander of the Fourth Division Base wants to fast to me,” I tell her with absolutely no preamble.
Valasca’s head pivots toward me, her brow flying up. “Lukas Grey?”
“Yes.”
Her expression turns guarded. “You know him quite well, then?”
“I’ve kissed him.”
“You’ve kissed Lukas Grey?”
“Quite thoroughly.”
Valasca’s expression becomes darkly cautionary. “Sweet Goddess, Elloren. Stay away from him. He’s dangerous. And unpredictable.”
I glance out at the western shard of the Spine, snowcapped and just past the Amaz city. He’s there, somewhere just past those peaks.
I remember the resentful look Lukas gave me when we last parted. How final it all felt. And I wonder if there ever was any real chance of Lukas breaking from the Gardnerians.
“Don’t worry. I’m staying away from him,” I tell Valasca, a sullen bitterness creeping into my voice.
“Does your Kelt know about him?”
I nod, suddenly miserable. “My life is a mess.”
Valasca whistles long and low. “You’re right. It is.”
I frown at her, and she gives me a rueful look of solidarity.
“Well, you’re in good company, in any case.” Valasca shakes her head and looks up at the glittering stars. “Both of us with true loves who will never have us.”
She breathes in deep and closes her eyes for a moment, then reaches down and clumsily retrieves the flask from the ground. “This drink is making us maudlin.” She throws the stopper decidedly back onto the flask.
I drop my forehead into my hands. “My head is starting to really hurt.”
“You drank way too much.” When I look up at her, Valasca’s eyebrow is arched, but not unkindly. “I did warn you.”
“I know you did,” I pathetically relent as my head is hammered over and over. Everything is a troubled whirl inside me—Yvan, Lukas, the Wand, Sage’s baby, the Prophecy...my power. “I feel so confused,” I tell her. “About everything.”
“That’s all right,” she says, her voice pitched low with understanding. “There’s nothing wrong with being confused.”
A laugh bursts from me, and I hold on to Valasca’s self-assured stare as the world spins sickeningly around me. “You remind me of this professor back at University. He’s always talking about confusion being a good thing. He gave me all these histories to read. All from different perspectives.” I slur the last word terribly and pause to try and regain control of my tongue.
“I do that,” Valasca says, growing pensive. “I read everything I can get my hands on, from every possible viewpoint.” She shoots me a sly grin. “Even if I have to smuggle some of the books in here. I make sure to confuse myself on a regular basis.”
Valasca’s brow tightens, as if her thoughts suddenly trouble her. “It makes it difficult to judge anyone, though. I think that’s why I’ve become the perfect confidante. I am the city’s unofficial keeper of secrets. Confidante of many, and the true love of none.”
She says the last part with mock chivalry, but there’s something pained behind her lighthearted tone. Her mouth lifts in the ghost of a smile. “I have a good many friends, though.” Valasca pauses and tilts her head, considering me appraisingly. “You know, if things don’t work out with the Kelt, you could come and join us. Before they force you to fast. We could make a warrior out of you. Teach you to fight. You’d never be powerless again.”
The Iron Flower Page 33