Page 46 of The Iron Flower

Tierney nods, angry defiance rapidly sweeping back into her gaze. We rush down the alley, out into the road, and come to an abrupt, skidding halt.

In the center of the small plaza is a Gardnerian blessing star, big as a miller’s wheel, made entirely of sputtering flame. It hangs suspended in the air a few hand spans above the ground, wrought with Mage-fire and throwing off sparks in the buffeting, wintry winds.

A large crowd of Gardnerians, mostly young men, are massed around the star, all of them wearing white Vogel armbands and raucously shouting. Laughing. Some of the Mages are holding their wands aloft, torch-like red fire shooting up from the wand tips to create more fiery stars hovering around the square and singed onto storefronts.

With horror, I notice that flames are spreading over several buildings, rapidly consuming the panes of multiple storefront windows. The targeted buildings look to be owned by non-Gardnerian merchants, all of them lacking Gardnerian guild banners.

Grim-faced, Tierney and I skirt around the crowd, keeping our heads down with breathless urgency as we hug the shadows of the plaza. Cruel eyes sweep over us as we pass, assessing. Sparing us. We slip down a side street and find another yelling mob of Gardnerians pushing an elderly Keltic merchant onto the ground. One of the Mages has his wand out and is drawing a flaming blessing star on the window of the man’s bookstore.

Panicked, I glance across the cobbled street and spot an Urisk woman slumped over in a deserted alley. I can just make out her green skin and long emerald hair. I gasp as I recognize the looping embroidery on the edges of her moss-colored tunic.

“Tierney,” I whisper coarsely, “I think that’s Bleddyn over there!”

Tierney squints across the street. “Holy gods. She can’t be out here right now.”

Our eyes meet in joint resolve, and we hurry toward her, dodging the Gardnerians and studiously avoiding eye contact with the rabid crowd.

Ducking into the alley, we’re quickly enveloped by its shadows. Bleddyn is listing to the side, propped up against the wall behind her. There’s blood all over her face, and one of her eyes is swollen completely shut. I push back my sickened outrage as Tierney and I snap into apothecary mode, drop to our knees and each take hold of one of Bleddyn’s arms.

I jostle Bleddyn’s arm gently in an attempt to rouse her. “Bleddyn...”

She’s only semiconscious, her unswollen eye unfocused. I shake her again, a bit more firmly, and she stirs slightly this time. Sudden clarity washes over her face as her gaze zeroes in on me. She jerks her whole body violently away, her expression twisting into a desperate snarl.

“Don’t touch me, youRoach! Get away from me!”

“Bleddyn, it’s me,” I plead, stubbornly holding on to her. “It’s Elloren. We need to get you out of here.”

A man’s pained cry echoes behind us as the mob continues their jeering threats.

“Fae-blooded bastard!”

“This isMageland!”

Startled, Bleddyn tries to shake us off again, but her balance gives way, and she tilts forward. Tierney and I tighten our grip on her.

“You’re coming with us,” Tierney insists fiercely. “Right now. Do you hear me, Bleddyn?Right. Now.”

Bleddyn’s head seems to clear once again as she focuses on Tierney. Her gaze flickers toward me again, then back to Tierney, stark comprehension igniting in her large, emerald eye, and she stops struggling.

We take full advantage of her hesitation.

“Put this on.” I hastily slide my cloak off my shoulders.

We help Bleddyn get to her feet, and Tierney supports her as I wrap my cloak around her shoulders, the frigid cold immediately seeping into me. I pull the cloak’s hood down over Bleddyn’s pointed ears and quickly push her long green hair underneath, then fasten the cloak from top to bottom. Then I kneel and rip down the hem at the bottom to lengthen it, so it will fully hide Bleddyn’s non-Gardnerian garb.

I stand again, and Tierney and I both link arms with Bleddyn. “Keep your headdown!” Tierney orders frantically.

Bleddyn nods, looking dazed. We hasten through the city streets, my teeth chattering from the onslaught of cold air as the three of us try to avoid the notice of the wild-eyed Gardnerians passing by. There are flaming stars all over the city. People running. Cries in the distance.

A group of Vu Trin ride past on horseback, shouting at a fleeing mob. Elfhollen soldiers run toward Mistress Roslyn’s dress shop, where a huge blessing star is steadily burning. Shock knifes through me at the sight of it, the flames rapidly consuming the storefront window and spreading to the colorful Keltic clothing inside.

When we reach the University archway, we guide a stumbling Bleddyn under it and slip into a grove of trees, hiding under their sheltering branches.

“The kitchens,” Tierney says, panting. “We can bring her there. It’s not much farther.”

I nod grimly and send up a prayer as we trudge forward, desperately hoping that safety lies ahead.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

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