Page 119 of The Iron Flower

A flash of white in the trees catches my eye, and my whole body goes rigid with surprise.

A Watcher. Perched on a tree limb, just beyond the rune-barrier.

My heartbeat quickens as the wand in my boot starts emitting an insistent buzz. I breathlessly fumble under my skirts for the wand, my eyes darting to the dwelling to make sure I’m alone.

I pull the wand out, my breath catching when I see that it’s glowing white and pulsing with energy. On instinct, with another quick look behind me, I raise the wand and touch it to the rune-barrier.

The huge rune before me blinks out of existence.

My heart pounding against my chest, I reach out my hand toward the invisible wall and find a large portion of it gone. Glancing up at the Watcher, I slip through the barrier and breathlessly trail the white bird as it darts from tree to tree.

I follow the Watcher through the woods and to another rune-encircled clearing, this barricade formed by emerald runes of a design completely different from the scarlet Amaz runes—fewer curls and spirals, harder geometric shapes telescoping out from their centers. There’s a round dwelling similar to ours in the center of this clearing, with countless small green runes suspended above and around it like arrested raindrops, everything washed in their verdant glow.

The Watcher flies straight toward the rune-barrier, a small explosion of emerald rays flashing out as the white bird passes through. It lights on an eave above the dwelling’s doorway and sets its serene eyes unblinkingly on me.

Giddy with anticipation, I press the white wand to the barricade rune before me, and it pops out of existence.

I step through the gap and walk through the rainfall of runes toward the dwelling.

I’m halfway across the small clearing when the door begins to open. I freeze as a figure appears in the doorway, backlit by golden lamplight.

At first, I think I’m staring at a young Urisk woman, her skin violet and her hair a riot of purple. But her skin has a glowing amethyst quality to it, much like the green shimmer of Gardnerian skin, and her ears are round, not pointed. I look closely at her features, and a sudden, light-headed rush of recognition swoops through me, my shocked surprise almost buckling my knees.

It’s Sage Gaffney standing in the doorway, her Icaral baby held in her arms.

CHAPTER SIX

THE ICARAL

“Sage?”I rasp out.

She’s frozen, too, her expression one of openmouthed amazement. “Elloren? Elloren Gardner?”

ItisSage. My childhood friend.

Her fastmark wounds are still horribly present, but she doesn’t seem as pained and distressed by them as she did the last time I saw her.There are small, golden chains affixed to her hands now, looping around her fingers and palms and wrists. The chains are adorned with a series of tiny scarlet Amaz runes that glow like iridescent berries.

Sage’s Gardnerian black garb is gone, replaced by a loosely woven violet tunic and pants—pants!—edged with purple gemstones and golden embroidery. There’s also a wand sheathed at her right hip, and a rune-dagger sheathed on the left, a flowing golden rune on its hilt.

The baby in her arms watches me with wide, silvery-green eyes filled with an almost heartbreaking innocence. He looks to be about six months old, with a gemlike pattern to his skin that glitters as many shades of violet as Sage’s hair. Delicately pointed ears peek out from beneath little tufts of Gardnerian black hair, and a pair of ebony wings are folded behind him like soft fans.

Beautiful, opalescent wings. Like Naga’s.

Sage’s plum-colored eyes light on the glowing white wand in my hand. “It led you back to me.”

I try to get hold of my whirling thoughts. She’s so dramatically, mind-blowingly altered.

“Um, no,” I say, flustered, blinking around at the runes, at the Watcher, at Sage’s unexpected purple figure. “I freed a Selkie,” I say absently, everything surreal. “I’m here to petition the queen to rescue all of them.”

“A Selkie,” Sage echoes, more a statement than a question.

“Yes.”

She stares at me for a long moment, clearly astounded. Then laughter bubbles up inside her, first as an involuntary cough, then as an open bout of incredulous mirth, her mouth lifting into an irrepressible grin. “It’s because of the wand. All of it.”

I nod, still adjusting to her complete metamorphosis.

“Saving all the Selkies,” Sage marvels, shaking her head, a glint of mischievous rebellion in her eyes. “That’s just the sort of outrageous thing that wand leads you to do.”

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