Page 168 of The Iron Flower

Tight-lipped, he hands me a rectangular block of parchment, still folded from its rune-hawk flight. A vein of lightning streaks across the sky as I unfold the letter with trembling hands.

My Dearest Niece,

I received word via rune-hawk of the dangerous situation unfolding at the University’s North Tower. As you know, I’ve been holding lodging for you in Bathe Hall for some time, so I am having you brought there immediately.

I have also been in touch with Lukas Grey. He has agreed to place you directly under his personal protection once he arrives. Until then, I have arranged for you to be under the close watch of two guards. They will accompany you everywhere until you are safely reunited with Lukas.

Your Devoted Aunt,

Vyvian

I refold the paper, my mind a cacophony of turmoil.

“You need to come with us now, Mage Gardner,” the bearded guard says, more forcefully this time.

Distraught and clearly out of options, I follow my new guards through the winding University streets, toward the very southern edge of the city.

Far away from the North Tower.

* * *

My new lodging is sumptuous, and in the newly segregated Gardnerian section of the University.

I follow my guards into the lavish Ironwood hall built in the traditional Mage style—no ivory Spine-stone, only wood and sanded trees and forest decor.

The lodging hall is mostly deserted—my guards and I pass only a few harried Gardnerian scholars who are bundled up and lugging travel trunks.

“What’s happening?” I ask the bearded guard.

“They’ve shut down the University, Mage,” comes the stern reply.

My guards unlock the door to my lodging and position themselves on either side of it. My hand trembling, I open the broad door, the dark wood exquisitely carved with flowing vines, and step into a cloakroom.

Velvet cushioned benches are set into the Ironwood walls on either side, and there’s a line of brand-new cloaks, each finer than the next, hanging from a row of iron hooks. One is lined with black fox fur. Another is fashioned entirely from ebony mink. A row of new boots sits under a bench, four pairs of new shoes under the other.

I pass under an archway of dark branches and step into a circular parlor with a lit fireplace. The logs crackle and spit up tiny, glittering sparks. More sanded Ironwood trees are set into the walls, with bookshelves placed between their expansive trunks, already stocked with new, leather-bound tomes with gilded lettering on their spines.

An entire apothecary library—one that rivals the selection in the Gardnerian Athenaeum.

Emerald velvet-cushioned chairs and a divan are arranged near the fireplace, as well as a table set with a steaming tea service, a tower of pastries and a vase of bloodred roses.

My aunt’s signature flower.

In a grief-muddled haze, I wander into the adjacent glass conservatory, each windowpane edged with a stained-glass Ironflower design. The conservatory looks out over the lodging hall’s central gardens, with a grove of Ironwood trees in the center.

Black-lacquered planters line the sills of the conservatory, full of living Ironflowers. The glowing blooms suffuse the storm-darkened conservatory with a sapphire glow, and even the rug beneath my feet is patterned with a torrent of Ironflower blossoms.

I test the locks on the windows, jiggling them as hard as I can as my sense of being under siege bears down on me.

No give.

Two unfamiliar Gardnerian soldiers suddenly appear down the garden path, through the grove of Ironwood trees. One of the soldiers catches my eye, and I can see by the gruff, watchful look he gives me that I have more guards than just the two outside my door.

My claustrophobic alarm mounts. Feeling horribly exposed, I flee the glass room and escape through the parlor into my windowless bedroom. As I cross the threshold, I freeze in astonishment.

On the canopied bed, laid out over its deep green quilt, are a series of brand-new tunic and skirt sets, each more luxurious than the next.

The black silk of one is outrageously awash with scarlet blessing stars embroidered in glistening thread. The stars are splayed over the silk like a ruddy constellation, rubies shimmering around the stars.

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