Page 2 of The Iron Flower

Yvan stiffens, his eyes widening as his lips part in evident surprise. “Iris...” He moves slightly away from her as a frustrated longing for him, so raw that it hurts, explodes inside me.

Suddenly, as if sensing my torrent of emotion, Yvan looks straight at me, his fiery green eyes locking hard on to mine with blazing recognition. And I know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that somehow, he can read the full intensity of my feelings for him.

Horror and humiliation cut through me. I drop the scrap buckets and run from the barn, out into the snowy night, nearly knocking over a very surprised Fernyllia as I sprint past, almost losing my footing on the snowy hill.

Tears stream down my face as I race into the kitchen and out through the empty dining hall, my breath coming in ragged gasps as I run down corridors and finally duck into a deserted lecture room, collapsing onto one of the many chairs in the dark space and crumpling onto the desk before me. I bury my head in my arms and break down into great, shuddering sobs that strain painfully at my ribs and choke the air from my lungs.

I’ve let myself fall for him. And he’ll never want me.

The pain of Yvan’s continued rejection is like a thundering ache, and I’m wholly unprepared for the force of it.

Lost in misery, I’m not aware of Fernyllia’s quiet presence until I glimpse her out of the corner of my eye and feel her calloused hand on my shoulder. The chair next to mine scrapes against the stone floor as she sits down beside me.

“You care for him, don’t you, child?” Fernyllia asks, her voice kind.

I squeeze my eyes tightly together and nod stiffly. She rubs my back gently, murmuring softly in Uriskal.

“I don’t want to be Gardnerian,” I finally manage, internally raging, not wanting to wear my black Gardnerian garb ever again. Not wanting the heinous white armband, an unspoken gesture of support for High Mage Marcus Vogel, around my arm. Not wanting any part of the cruel tyranny my people have inflicted on others.

Wanting to be free of all of it.

Wanting Yvan.

Fernyllia is quiet for a moment. “We don’t get to choose what we are,” she says finally, her voice low. “But we do get to choosewhowe are.”

I look up to find her staring at me intently. “Did you know I was married once?” Fernyllia asks with a slight, nostalgic smile. “Before the Realm War, that is.” Her face grows troubled, the wrinkles around her eyes tightening. “Then your people came and killed all our men. After it was over, they rounded up the survivors and put us to work for the Gardnerians.”

Fernyllia grows quiet for a moment. Then, in a whisper, she adds, “They took my young son down, as well.”

My breath catches in my throat.

“Life can be very unfair,” she says, her voice strained.

Shame ripples through me. My problems pale in comparison to Fernyllia’s. She’s been through so much, yet she’s still strong, still working to help others. And here I am, feeling sorry for myself. Chastened, I swallow back my tears, straighten and struggle to pull myself together.

“That’s it, Elloren Gardner,” Fernyllia says, her expression steely, but not unkind. “Buck up. My granddaughter, Fern... I want something more for her. More than being a servant to the Gardnerians and told she’s worth less than nothing. I want her to be free of mind and free of body, the former being the hardest part for any of us. They don’t have your mind, though—do they, Elloren?”

I meet her gaze squarely and shake my head.

“Good,” she says, pleased. “You make sure it stays that way. There’s much work to be done. A lot needs to change so that my Fern can have a good life.”

MAGE COUNCIL

RULING

#103

Any information regarding the seizure of an unbroken military dragon from the Gardnerian Fourth Division Base must be immediately reported to the Mage Council. Involvement in the theft of military dragons is punishable by execution.

CHAPTER ONE

OUTSIDER

“Vogel’s closed the Gardnerian border tight.”

Silence fills the kitchen’s sizable storeroom as Professor Kristian’s words sink in. He meets each of our eyes in turn, his hands clasped on the broad table before him.

Tierney and I exchange an anxious glance. Part of our Resistance group surrounds the wooden table, our exhausted faces lit by the guttering lamps. Yvan sits across from me, next to Iris, a tight line of tension between his eyes, and I struggle to resist the pull of my gaze toward him. Behind Yvan, Fernyllia leans against shelves stocked with preserves, her rose-hued eyes locked on Jules Kristian, her arms crossed in front of her stout body. Bleddyn Arterra hangs back in the shadows, glowering, her face cast deep green in the lambent light. Vice Chancellor Lucretia Quillen is perched primly beside Jules, her sharp face cool and composed.

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