Page 8 of The Iron Flower

My eyes widen with surprise as an intoxicating burst of energy twines through me, branching straight down to my toes. I inhale deeply, concentrating now, feeling a pattern of tendriling earth lines winding through me. But there’s also a new sensation—a delicious, prickling heat trailing alongside those lines.

Fire.

Something stirs in the tree behind my back, like the slight ripple on a lake, and a glimmer of fear from the tree fills me with a sudden disquiet. I move away and turn to glance warily at it, releasing the pendant.

What was that?

Men call out amiably to each other, and the sound tugs my attention back toward the street. Two blond Verpacian miller’s apprentices are hefting sack after sack of grain onto a broad wagon, their breath puffing smoke into the cold air. They both have white Vogel armbands around their arms, and I frown at the sight. Ever since the Gardnerians won control of Verpacia’s ruling council, many non-Gardnerians have begun showing this outward gesture of support for Vogel in an effort to appease the increasingly oppressive Gardnerian majority. No one wants to become a target.

A sizable grouping of Gardnerian soldiers chats jovially off to the side, all of them wearing armbands, as well. Like the soldiers’ tunics, the wagon being loaded is pitch-black and marked with a silver Erthia sphere. I scan the row of businesses and notice that Gardnerian flags are now hung from every storefront, whether they’re owned by Gardnerian shopkeepers or not.

I watch the soldiers, my expression darkening. Marcus Vogel’s massive restructuring of our Mage Guard is now complete, and large numbers of Fourth Division soldiers have returned to rebuild their nearby base under Lukas Grey’s command. As a result, there’s a marked increase in the number of soldiers present in Verpax City, since it’s the closest center of commerce to the base.

The Gardnerian soldiers seem like a foreign invading force to my eyes, dotting the streets in their smart, neatly pressed uniforms, their swords gleaming, their expensive wands in full view. And all around them, the ominous wanted postings flap in the harsh winter wind, a constant reminder that my friends and I are still being sought for the blow we dealt the Gardnerian forces.

I glare at the soldiers and anxiously bite at my lip.

I remember the stories Yvan told me about how Gardnerian soldiers set their dragons on the Kelts during the Realm War. How the soldiers wiped out entire villages and burned them to the ground. As I watch the square-jawed, black-haired young men and take in their smug expressions, I don’t doubt for one moment that they’ll do whatever is commanded of them.

Without stopping to question any of it.

My dark reverie is abruptly broken by the unexpected brush of warm lips against my neck. I jump back in shocked surprise and whirl around, my heart racing as indignation rises within me.

I suck in a breath as I realize who’s behind me.

Lukas Grey.

In all his black-haired, green-eyed military glory.

Memory never can do him justice.

He stands there grinning, handsome as sin, the edge of his dark cloak thrown rakishly over his shoulder. The hem of his uniform is marked with the five silver lines of a Level Five Mage and the additional thick silver band of a division commander. His wand rests loosely in its sheath, and the Fourth Division’s dragon insignia is pinned on his chest.

“Don’t sneak up on me like that,” I breathlessly demand, thrown by Lukas’s sudden presence and the way he’s smiling at me.

Lukas laughs, leans into the tree and gives me a suggestive once-over. I glance down at myself, suddenly keenly aware of my Kelt-style work clothes, my woolen cloak thrown loosely over them.

“Interesting outfit,” he says with a grin. “It won’t work, you know.” He leans in close. “You still look like your grandmother.”

The almost magnetic compulsion to be honest with him takes hold, embittered words escaping my lips. “That’s not why I’m dressed like this. I don’t feel comfortable wearing clothes made by Uriskslaves.”

“Itispossible to have clothing made by Verpacian tailors,” he calmly retorts, that ever-present feral gleam in his eyes. “Niceclothing.”

My traitorous heart deepens its rhythm in response to his alluring tone, his nearness. I look away, desperate to maintain some semblance of coherent thought around him.

You don’t know which side he’s on, Elloren. Be careful.

Lukas reaches up to hook his finger under the chain of my Snow Oak necklace. I swallow nervously as he gently teases the pendant out from under my tunic.

“You’re wearing it,” he croons, looking pleased, his fingers skimming along the chain. A prickling warmth stirs inside me in response to his touch. I reflexively reach up to clasp the pendant, and the amorphous heat coalesces into slender lines of fire deep within me.

My eyes widen. “What exactly is this necklace, Lukas?” The fiery sensation shimmers through me in a tingling rush. “When I touch it...it seems to awaken something inside me. Things I’ve never felt before.”

“The wood from the Snow Oak enhances magic,” Lukas says, his smile slow and languid. “That’s why I gave it to you. It coaxes affinity lines to life.”

A sudden surge of heat has me pulling in a shuddering breath, and Lukas’s smile inches wider. “Your affinities are quickening, Elloren. What have you been sensing?”

I swallow and look inward, tightening my grip on the pendant. “Lines of earth...like small branches flowing out. All over me. I’ve been feeling that for several days. And then today, just now...it feels like fire.”

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