Page 114 of The Iron Flower

“Oh.” An icy chill runs down my spine. “What happened next?”

“She returned weeks later, Farg Kyul’s head tied up with some leather twine and swinging behind her. She marched into this very hall and down the aisle, in full view of the queen. She threw the head of her father on the ground at her mother’s feet. I think she always believed that her mother was under the influence of some spell, and thatthiswas the thing that would finally break it, freeing her mother to heal and grow strong and finally able to become a warrior.”

“But she didn’t,” I say, my voice low.

“No,” Valasca says with a grim shake of her head. “Sala did something Alcippe never expected. She fell to her knees before the head of her dead husband and grieved for him.”

Shock jabs through me. “What did Alcippe do?”

“Something snapped inside her that day. She completely fell apart. She actually tried to take a knife to her own face, to cut away the resemblance to her father.”

“But she didn’t.”

Valasca shakes her head. “No. Skyleia managed to convince her otherwise.”

“Who’s Skyleia?” I ask.

“Her partner. The queen’s granddaughter. The woman to her right.”

The beautiful woman with the scarf dress and glowing-orb-decorated hair is sitting next to Alcippe, laughing and leaning over every so often to touch her on the shoulder or hand. Every time she does this, Alcippe’s expression momentarily softens.

“Skyleia,” Valasca goes on, “stayed with Alcippe day and night, never wavering in her devotion. They’d been friends ever since Alcippe arrived, but after that, they became inseparable lovers. Skyleia was the one who convinced Alcippe to tattoo her face so dramatically instead of disfiguring it. Skyleia herself applied the rune markings.”

I think of Ariel and her terrible struggles, and of Wynter’s understanding. Ariel often seems completely unlovable as well, but Wynter’s friendship and devotion never flags.

“I can imagine what you’re thinking,” Valasca says, smiling slightly. “How can two people who seem so different be together? I often wonder the same thing myself. But Skyleia sees something different than you and I see when she looks at Alcippe. She sees the twelve-year-old who carried her own mother for miles to safety. She sees the warrior with the heart of a mountain lion who would go through fire for her adopted people. She sees the person who, despite the fact that I have never once seen her smile, is a favorite of the children here.”

I give a disbelieving laugh. “That’s surprising. I’d have thought they’d run in fear from her.”

Valasca grins and shakes her head. “The children wrestle with her, cling to her arms. They bring her gifts, and Alcippe’s a patient weapons teacher with them. It’s like I said before—sometimes you have to look beneath the surface.” She gives me a sly smile.

It dawns on me that I have something in common with this huge, rune-scaled warrior woman who hates me on sight. Alcippe and I both look like cruel family members who wreaked havoc and destruction.

“What happened when the Urisk figured out that Alcippe killed one of their leaders?” I wonder.

Valasca shrugs, picking up her food bowl again. “They sent more than a few soldiers after us, but we killed them all. Their dragons, too.”

I wince, thinking of Naga. But those military dragons weren’t like Naga. They’d been broken.

But they were like her once.

“I can’t believe I’m actually feeling sympathy for Alcippe now,” I admit.

Valasca coughs out a laugh and throws me a look of caution. “Don’t let sympathy lead you to let down your guard around her,” she warns “She wants you dead.”

Fear needles at me. “But...the queen accepted me...”

Valasca shrugs as she eats. “That won’t deter Alcippe.” Seeing my aghast expression, she adds, “Did you honestly think it would besafefor you here?”

I’ve probably gone a shade paler, because Valasca cocks one eyebrow as she studies me. “Don’t worry,” she says reassuringly. “If you stay close to me, she’ll leave you alone.”

“What exactly do you do here?” I ask, casting about for some semblance of a reason why I should take comfort in this.

“Mostly goat herding,” she says, scooping up some more food.

I eye her dubiously, remembering how she unflinchingly faced down Alcippe. “Goat herding.”

Valasca smirks as she takes a long drink from her earthenware mug. “I like goats.”

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