Page 16 of The Iron Flower

“Well, I suppose if she is,” Jarod finally says, “we’ll have to hope that our side finds her before Vogel does.” He attempts a small, comforting smile, but his eyes remain serious.

He offers his arm to me again, and this time I take it, the two of us setting off down the field together.

Jarod chats with me amiably as we walk, but I can feel the trees watching my back.

I turn once to glance uneasily back at the wilds.

CHAPTER FIVE

THE YULE DANCE

Hoods pulled over our heads, Jarod and I move against the flow of festive Gardnerians that’s streaming toward the White Hall’s main entrance.

A Gardnerian soldier positioned by the door spots us and narrows his eyes at obviously Lupine Jarod, his expression rapidly turning belligerent.

I grab hold of Jarod’s hand. “C’mon. If we go that way, they’ll stop us.”

We dodge around Gardnerian couples, stifling laughter at the astonished looks everyone gives us. Clinging to each other’s hands, Jarod and I sneak in through the side entrance that only kitchen workers know about. The muffled sounds of orchestral music and lilting conversation can be heard through the wall of black velvet fabric that hangs in front of us, the curtains extending around the White Hall’s entire peripheral walkway.

I pause to pull my satiny shoes out from my inner cloak pocket and quickly slip them on, leaving my wet boots neatly propped by the edge of a wall to retrieve later.

Jarod and I exchange an anticipatory glance and pull back the edge of the velvet curtain. Both of us excitedly peek inside, like two kids about to find forbidden candy. Warm air rushes toward us, the music growing louder and clearer.

“Oh, Jarod.” I draw in a sharp breath as I take in the incredible transformation the hall has undergone, my earth affinity lines shuddering to life.

Ironwood boughs are suspended above the crowd to create a low ceiling, completely hiding the White Hall’s constellation-adorned dome. Earth Mages must have coaxed the boughs into full bloom, the Ironflower blossoms glowing a sublime blue. Ironwood trees planted in enormous, black-laquered containers ring the hall and are interspersed throughout it, transforming the vast assembly room into a living forest.

A dance floor at the far end of the hall is filled with twirling couples, and scores of blue glass lanterns hang from the dense, overhanging branches, their candles only heightening the ethereal glow of the Ironflowers. The sapphire light sparkles off jewelry, dress beading and the crystal flutes being waved around by celebratory, laughing Gardnerians.

I breathe in deep, the smells of expensive perfume and Ironflower blossoms seductively transforming the hall’s normally dank air. Urisk and Keltic kitchen workers move through the crowd with expressions of forced pleasantry, serving food from golden trays and tending to the lamps. I briefly spot Fernyllia carrying out a selection of appetizers and search the white-aproned workers for a glimpse of Yvan, but he’s nowhere in sight.

Anxious tension rises in me.What if Yvan’s working here tonight?

Jarod and I slip into the hall and remain discreetly behind the line of potted Ironwood trees. I leave my cloak on, not wanting my phosphorescent dress to attract attention just yet, but I pull down my hood and shake out my bejeweled hair. Jarod follows suit, grinning at me, his blond hair charmingly mussed.

An orchestra performs from the hall’s central dais, the music full of melancholy grandeur. The whole scene is both breathtakingly gorgeous and completely disheartening. Seeing so many Gardnerians strutting about like a flock of triumphant, predatory crows is daunting, and it’s hard to look at the oppressively large Gardnerian flag hanging behind the musicians, with its silver Erthia orb on black.

They’re weapons, these flags. Meant to intimidate.

“Refreshment, Mage?”

Torn from my troubled thoughts, I glance down to find an elderly Urisk servant offering up a golden platter, her eyes flitting toward Jarod with surprise, then nervous concern. I glance down at her tray, and my gut clenches at the sight of our traditional holiday cookies, cut in the shape of Icaral wings. Wings like those of my roommates, Ariel Haven and Wynter Eirllyn.

I decline the horrid things with a shake of my head, and the Urisk woman seems more than happy to flee from us.

“Wings?” Jarod inquires as he watches a group of Gardnerians pick the buttery cookies off a tray, the couples laughing as they snap the wings in two before taking a bite.

“Icaral wings,” I reply ashamedly as I remember the baskets of cookies the Gaffneys would send over every Harvest and Yule. “You break them.”

Jarod’s brow tightens as tray after tray of the cookies are brought into the hall, the snapping of the wings sounding like pelting rain. I wince, every snap an imaginary tear at Ariel’s wings. At Wynter’s.

My people will conquer the Western Realm, I lament. As easily as they break these cookies.

“What’s the significance of the Ironflowers?” Jarod asks. “They’re everywhere.”

“There’s a story in our holy book,” I distractedly reply. “A famous prophetess, Galliana, saved my people long ago. The Mages were fleeing from demonic forces and were completely outnumbered. Galliana used the demon-slaying powers of Ironflowers as well as the White Wand to fight back. She’s often called the Iron Flower for that reason.”

“How did she do it?”

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