Page 183 of The Iron Flower

CHAPTER TWELVE

EALAIONTORA

I stumble through the night-darkened University streets toward the North Tower, the poison-wrought anvil in my head reduced to a fuzzy, rhythmic discomfort that keeps time with my heartbeat.

At the base of the long, sloping field, I slow to a stop as lightning flashes in cloud-muted bursts, but still no rain.

The field is empty.

The Vu Trin are gone from Verpacia, and the Gardnerian soldiers have been stationed elsewhere, their scattered detritus littering the muddied earth.

The North Tower’s cold, dark silhouette is stark against the night sky—empty and forgotten. On its door is painted a bloodred Gardnerian blessing star.

Sorrow lances through me at the sight of it. And a knife-sharp sense of violation.

I’ve seen this mark before. On places Gardnerians have marked as spiritually polluted. Places to avoid because of the stain of the Evil Ones.

Outrage pierces through me as Ipress on up the rocky central path, a chill wind kicking up and cutting into me. I reach the base of the North Tower and push my hand against the door, which is slightly ajar. The hinges squeak in protest at my intrusion.

I step inside, the hallway pitch-dark, with only the occasional flashes of lightning to illuminate the spiraling staircase. Navigating from memory, I’m halfway up the stairs when the sound of murmuring from upstairs catches my attention.

I freeze as fear snaps through my blood.

Who could possibly be here?

I hear the muffled voice again. A male voice. I can just make out the High Alfsigr inflection.

My heart leaps in my chest.Cael?

I quietly pad up the stairs and through the upstairs hall, speeding up as I draw near our lodging, becoming overwhelmingly certain that it’s Wynter’s brother I’m hearing.

I peer inside the room and shock jettisons through me.

Wynter is huddled limply in a corner, her eyes vacant, her wings wrapped tightly around herself. Ariel’s raven is perched on the rafter above her, and Ariel is crouched protectively in front of Wynter, hissing at Cael, who stands before them. Slender Rhys hovers nearby, his look of desolation taking me aback.

Everyone turns to look at me as a whirlwind of conflicting emotions explodes inside of me. Overwhelming joy to see them again rapidly gives way to staggering fear.

They can’t be here.Verpacia has fallen, and soon it will take on the laws of Gardneria—laws that now mandate the imprisonment of Icarals.

“What happened?” I ask Cael, my heart hammering. “Why in the Ancient One’s name are youhere? Cael, it’s not safe.”

Cael’s expression is ominously bleak. “My sister,” he says. “She has been shunned from Alfsigroth. All Icarals have been.”

I pull in a hard breath as Cael’s words crash home. I know what this means. If Wynter has been banned from Alfsigr lands, then she’ll be killed if she sets foot inside their borders.

“Our rulers are calling for a stricter adherence to our sacred texts,” Cael tells me. “And our sacred teachings call for the deaths of allDeargdul—the Winged Ones. Our High Priestess has always sounded the call for the casting out of my sister, but it was never acted upon until now. But with Realm-wide war on the horizon, our people grow superstitious. They have not only shunned my sister—they have also threatened to shun every Alfsigr who aids her. My parents and the rest of our kin have disowned her. It is like your people’s Banishment. I fear there will be a call for her to be hunted down.”

I feel myself blanching. “Sweet Ancient One... Cael...”

“If there is a formal call for her death,” Cael says, “they will send out the Marfoir.”

“The Marfoir?” I haltingly ask.

“Alfsigr assassins,” Cael says, stone hard.

My stomach quails as a dread-filled silence falls over the room. Cael looks around aimlessly, then sets his silver gaze back on me. “This is the only place we could think of where an Icaral could safely stay.” Cael’s brow creases, his words tinged with disgust. “I know your people will avoid coming to this ‘polluted’ place.”

Ariel shoots Cael an eviscerating look, completely missing the bitter sarcasm in his tone.

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