She turns to me, her expression stark. “It matters,” she insists in a jagged whisper. “It gives the Gardnerian and Verpacian councils yet one more justification to double down and go after anyone they want to target.”
More insistent thunder cracks overhead. Out of the corner of my eye, I watch as the young Verpacian soldier nails one posting after another all the way down the street, most pedestrians having ducked into stores or restaurants to try and wait out the impending storm.
* * *
Rafe and Trystan are rattled by the Gardnerian military’s mild response to the Selkie raid.
“Vogel has to know that the Amaz were involved,” Rafe plainly states that night as I lean against his desk. My brothers are sitting on their beds, jumbles of books and classwork scattered around them as rain sheets against the windows and forks of lightning flash outside.
“How could he know?” I ask, dubious.
“Well, for one thing,” Trystan says, “the Amaz likely used runic explosives to obliterate the taverns. That’s what Valasca was planning. And that leaves a rather unique radius of destruction.”
“And the Amaz probably erased their tracks to and from the taverns, to avoid being followed,” Rafe adds. “Selkies wouldn’t have access to Amaz track-warding runes if they escaped on their own. So, the Gardnerians must know that rune-sorcery was used.”
“And the whole thing was too coordinated.” Trystan throws Rafe a poignant look. “Too military efficient.”
“Which means,” Rafe continues, an ominous edge creeping into his tone, “there might be another reason Vogel’s not threatening the Amaz.”
We’re all quiet for a long moment, the silence blaring.
“What reason?” I ask nervously.
Rafe’s dark look is unwavering. “Maybe Vogel is conserving his power for something else.”
* * *
Disquieted by my brothers’ sense of amorphous foreboding, I throw myself into the busy routine of my life. Everyone else is just as preoccupied, the past few weeks having put us all much further behind in our studies. Anxious that the Mage and Verpacian councils are covertly investigating the Selkie raid, we’re all careful to stay within the boundaries of what’s expected, to blend in and go unnoticed.
Now that spring has arrived, Gareth leaves with the other maritime apprentices for the Valgard docks, and I miss his comforting presence, as well as Marina’s.
Yvan and I hardly speak during this time, and it’s difficult to see him. An ache twists inside me whenever we pass each other in Mathematics class or when we’re working the same kitchen shift, but he seems determined to maintain his distance this time and not waver.
But still, there’s a spark of light.
Ariel is now actually civil to me. I almost fall clear off my bed the first time she finds something interesting in one of her animal husbandry books she wants to read to me. And Jarod has started coming in from the woods more and more, showing up at the North Tower at odd hours to sit with us while he studies.
It’s almost as if a new peace is descending, and a dawning hope that maybe it’s possible for things to get a little bit better instead of always worse.
* * *
One evening, I’m stirring a large pot of soup in the kitchen when Yvan comes in to load the cookstoves with wood.
I notice that he hits the stove’s iron lever with his foot, shoves the wood in quickly and then, uncharacteristically, closes it with his foot as well, even though his hands are now free. He’s turning to go back outside when Fernyllia calls to him.
“Yvan, be a good lad and scrape the rust off those pots there, would you? They’ll be fit for use again once they’re free of rust and well-seasoned.”
Yvan turns to look at the pile of iron pots on a nearby table. They’re covered with brown splotches of rust, the scraping tools nearby.
I notice his glimmer of hesitation where Fernyllia doesn’t. She’s gone right back to kneading large piles of dough with Bleddyn and a dispirited Olilly, whose head is wrapped with an ever-present scarf to hide her damaged ears.
“Yvan?” I say softly.
He shoots me a quelling look, his eyes darting around at the other kitchen workers for emphasis before he sets about doing the task. With a sigh, I go back to stirring the soup, the sound of his metallic scraping hard on my ears, setting my teeth on edge.
A sudden clatter rings out.
I turn to see Yvan retrieving the tool he’s dropped, which surprises me. I’ve never seen Yvan drop anything. He’s always so graceful and deft, always so in control of any task he’s doing.
No one else seems especially concerned by the noise, lost as they are in their buzz of conversation and the business of work. And no one else notices when Yvan abruptly gets up, the task not yet finished, and leaves the kitchen through the back door.
I move the soup pot to a cooler area of the stove and tell Fernyllia that I’m taking the scrap buckets out to the livestock barn. She nods absentmindedly, and I leave to find Yvan.
Once outside, I spot him leaning against a large tree, staring at his hands, his breathing ragged. Concerned, I set down the scrap buckets and go to him. “What’s the matter?”
He looks around quickly, and then, satisfied that we’re alone, holds his palms out for me to see.
Even in the overcast evening light, I can see how red and raw they are, with large, angry welts bubbling up all over them.
“Holy Ancient One. That’s from the iron?” I ask, my concern mounting.
He nods stiffly. “It’s never bothered me like this before. It...it really hurts.”
I reach for his arm. Boundaries be damned. “Come with me,” I tell him.
“Where?”
“To the apothecary prep room. To get some medicine.”
* * *
A few minutes later, we’re in the deserted prep room, sitting opposite each other in tense silence as I rub Arnicium gel into his hands. I can feel the turbulent flare of Yvan’s fire, his defenses shattered, but I doggedly hold my fire lines in check, even as my fire strains to reach out for him.
Yvan winces sharply as I work the medication into the sores, my emotions a tangle as I touch him.
“I’ve never experienced a burn,” he says through gritted teeth, his eyes flicking up to meet mine, “but I imagine this is what it must feel like.”
“What, you’ve never been burned?” I ask, surprised.
“I can’t be.”
“You can’t?”
He shakes his head, his eyes riveted on mine.
“What would happen if you stuck your hands in fire?” I ask, not quite believing his statement.
“Nothing.”
“Wow.”
He shrugs, as if it’s no big deal.
“It’s working,” I say after a time, noticing the boils are flattening out, the red beginning to fade, an unsettling warmth kindling in me as I stroke the medicine into his long fingers.
“The pain’s receding,” he says. He’s breathing more normally now, not the quick, strained breaths from before. “This isn’t good,” he says, looking at his hands.
“No, it’s not.” I frown. “Maybe it was just too much iron.”
“No, I’ve done this job before. It’s never bothered me like this...just gave me a rash.” He looks at me, his expression grave. “It’s getting worse. Much worse.”
“Have you told your mother?”
“No.”
“Maybe you should. Maybe she can help.”
He looks back down at his palms and grimaces as I continue to smooth the gel over his fingers. “I can’t hide what I am for much longer. I don’t know what I’m going to do.”
“Maybe the Lupines will give the Fae amnesty,” I offer hopefully. “Jules thinks there’s a chance...”
Yvan lets out a bitter laugh. “Vo
gel has demanded that the Lupines cede half their territory to the Gardnerians. He’s threatening military action if they don’t comply.”
“I know, but they’ve threatened the Lupines before—”
He shakes his head, his tone hardening. “The Lupines won’t cede their territory, which means they can’t afford to do anything else that will inflame tensions with Gardneria. They will not let the Fae in. It’s too provocative.” Yvan flexes his hands experimentally, a shadow falling over his expression. “It’s not just the iron that’s a danger. It’s getting harder to contain my fire.” He looks to me, uncharacteristically rattled. “I’m in a lot of trouble, Elloren.”
Fear grabs at me, but I shake it off. “Rescuing Naga looked like a long shot at one point, if I remember,” I note as I concentrate back on his hands. I can feel his eyes intent on me. “So did rescuing all of the Selkies. What were the chances of that ever happening? I think Gunther Ulrich may surprise everyone.” I study his palms. “Wow, that’s really helping, isn’t it?”
The boils are gone. Now his palms are just red and splotchy.
“It doesn’t hurt at all anymore.” His deepened voice sends a thrum straight through my fire lines. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” I say, my cheeks warming. I pull more gel from the long Arnici leaf next to me and continue rubbing it all along his long fingers, between them, down his palm to his wrist, the two of us quiet for a long moment.
“Yvan,” I ask, wrestling with a question that’s been on the tip of my tongue for a while now. “When we all met with Valasca...well, I was just wondering...”
Yvan raises his eyebrows at me, as if prodding me to just out with it.
“Can you tell what I’m feeling from your sense of my fire?”
He hesitates, his mouth tightening the way it does when he’s withholding information.
“Is this another secret?” I gently press. “You just told me you can stick your hands in fire.”
He smiles slightly and dips his head, acknowledging my point.
I wait.
He finally relents, his voice low. “A little. But mostly I can scent your emotions.”
Surprise flares in me. “Is that something Fire Fae can do?”
He looks away cagily. “It’s something I can do.”
“All of my emotions?”
“Yes.”
Oh, my.
“What am I feeling right now?” I haltingly challenge.
He tilts his head to one side and considers me closely. “A little upset, I think. But mostly...you’re enjoying touching my hands.”
I stop rubbing his fingers, my face coloring.
“It’s okay,” he says, his lip lifting, his gaze turning sultry. “I like it, too, especially now that it doesn’t hurt.”
Heat burns at my cheeks. “You’re a mystery to me, you know that?”
He lets out a hard laugh. “I’m a mystery to myself.”
“You’re not going to explain what you mean by that, are you?”
“I’d rather not.”
“All right, then,” I say with a sigh of resignation. “You’re hurt, so I won’t press you to tell me more. And I’ll go back to rubbing your hands, even though it’s such a tiresome chore for me.”
We exchange a flirtatious smile, which sets warmth blooming in my center. Heatedly aware of him, I turn my attention back to working the medicine into his palms and I can sense his fire simmering.
After a few moments I glance up at him, disquieted by my mounting awareness of his fire—like a turbulent stream, running red-hot just under his skin. “You’re even more dangerous than I know, aren’t you?”
“Yes,” he says, watching my fingers. “But apparently, not invincible.”
He meets my eyes, both of us serious, and I have that familiar sense of him stridently holding himself back from me.
“Why do you keep shutting me out, Yvan?” There’s no hurt in the question this time, only concern.
Silence.
“I will not tell your secret.”
Tensing, Yvan pulls his hands away from me and holds them up for inspection, his expression darkening.
They’re still red.
His gaze takes on a hard edge. “Unfortunately, Elloren, I think my secret’s going to go ahead and tell itself.”
MAGE COUNCIL
RULING
#338
The Northern and Southern Lupine packs must cede the disputed land bordering Gardneria.
They have one month to comply. Failure to do so will result in military action.
CHAPTER TWO
102 SELKIES
“Ah, Elloren Gardner.”
Jules looks up from the book he’s reading as I tentatively make my way into his disheveled office, stacks of books and papers everywhere. I place the pile of history texts I’m lugging onto the only open space on his messy desk. “I figured I’d return your books,” I tell him. “I’ve had them a long time.”
“Did they confuse you?” he asks, sitting back in his desk chair and adjusting his glasses.
“Thoroughly.”
“Good. Shut the door, would you? I have a few more for you.”
I close his office door and take a seat by his desk as he gets up and peruses his bookshelves. He pulls out one volume after another, pushing some back in, adding others to a growing tower on his chair.
“Seems you’ve been putting your complete and utter powerlessness to good use, eh?” He pauses to look at me, his eyes bemused.
“Yes, sir,” I agree, cocking an eyebrow. “Seems you’ve been quite busy yourself.”
Jules gives a short laugh, then holds up a cautioning finger and waggles it at me. “You are currently winning, however. Sixteen Fae children ushered out of Gardneria this month to your 102 Selkies back in the ocean. I shall have to work harder to keep up with you.”
I smile, blushing slightly. “I can’t take the credit for that, honestly. I have powerful friends.”
He laughs. “As do I, Elloren Gardner. As do I.” He winks at me. “And thank goodness for that, eh?” He sets another book down on the pile, his expression growing earnest. “Fernyllia and Lucretia and I have been trying to convince the Resistance to take an interest in the plight of the Selkies for a long time now. But our concerns have never been taken seriously. But you finally accomplished it—and just in the nick of time, I’d say. Well done, Elloren.”
“But I’m not the one who rescued them,” I protest.
Jules gives me a significant look. “Sometimes pushing the wheels of change into motion is the bulk of the battle.”
I consider this for a moment as he goes back to surveying his books. “Jules,” I venture, emboldened by his words, “Tierney...and her brother...”
“I know,” he says, cutting me off and suddenly serious. “I’m doing all that I can. It’s up to Gunther Ulrich, I’m afraid. The Amaz won’t budge on this matter—they will not let male refugees through their borders.”
My thoughts fly to Yvan’s iron-ravaged hands. “Yvan told me that you’re an old friend of his family.”
He looks at me questioningly. “I’ve known him since he was a child.”
“And his mother?”
“Yes.”
“So, you...know all about him?” Even what he’s not telling me?
Jules’s eyes narrow slightly. “Yes.”
Some relief shudders through me. This is all too big to carry alone. “I’m... I’m frightened for him.”
Jules comes around to the front of his desk and pushes the piles of books and papers back a bit. He perches on the edge and sets an encouraging hand on my shoulder. “I know they’re part Fae,” he says in a low whisper with a glance toward the door. “I’ve known that for a long time. Yvan told me about what’s happening to him with the iron. If Gunther d
ecides to give the Fae amnesty, I’m sure he’ll let Yvan and his mother go, too. It would be a safe place for them, and a boon to the Lupines, really. By driving the hidden Fae out, the Gardnerians could be unwittingly sending the Lupines a large number of young people with a vast array of unknown magical talents. Talents that could prove to be quite useful in the defense of the Lupines’ territory.”
“You think Gunther will say yes because of self-interest?”
“I think he’ll say yes because Gunther Ulrich is a deeply decent man, but the idea of all that Fae magic at the Lupines’ disposal... It can’t hurt our cause now, can it?”
Hope swells in my heart. “You really think he’ll say yes?”
“I think he might.”
I hesitate before continuing. “Yvan and I... We’re... We’ve become close friends.”
“He told me that,” Jules says gently. He smiles ruefully at me and shakes his head. “If ever there were two star-crossed...friends.” He gives me a poignant look full of compassion and sighs. “Well, perhaps, with a bit of luck, even this might turn out all right in the end. You never can tell what the future holds, even in times as dark as these.”
Jules rises to his feet, chuckling to himself. “Just when you think something is impossible, over a hundred Selkies are suddenly free and swimming around in the ocean.” He turns and picks up the pile of books on his chair, lugs them over and hands them to me.
I take the books and set them on my lap. Comparative Mythology of the Western and Eastern Realms. A History of Religion. And translations of the holy books of the Alfsigr, the Smaragdalfar, the southern Ishkartan and the Noi.
“Religion this time?” I ask, surprised.
“Essential reading,” he says.
I cock an eyebrow and give him a wry smile. “So...more confusion? In this, too?”
He grins. “Especially in this.” He gestures loosely toward the pile. “Take a look. Mull them over.” He gives me a warm smile. “Let me know what you think.”
I look down at the stack. “You know,” I tell him, “I never thought I’d enjoy reading about all these types of things so much.” I flip through the top book, intrigued by a drawing of a starlit Noi dragon goddess rising up from the ocean, a spiral of ivory birds wreathing the goddess’s neck. “All I wanted to do when I first came here was learn how to be an apothecary, like my mother.”
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