Page 196 of The Iron Flower

“Quite,” I reply, bile rising in my throat.

“We are of your same mind, Mage Damon,” he cloyingly simpers. “It’s a wonder that the Mage Council has insisted on keeping them alive for so long.” He shakes his head and clicks his tongue disapprovingly. “That will soon change, with blessed Vogel at the helm of our great Magedom, and with your courageous intervention. The Council needs to realize that killing Icarals is an act of kindness. There are those who have become squeamish about the idea of putting them out of their misery, full of romantic notions that their souls can yet be saved if their wings are removed. If they could labor but one day with these creatures, they would not hesitate to take a much harder line.”

“No doubt.” My heart beats high in my chest.

He smiles obsequiously. “You came here with a task at hand, and I digress into politics. My apologies.”

The little girl is screaming even louder as the woman goes about tying her up with the heavy twine, having to practically sit on her to do it.

“Where is Ariel Haven?” I ask, struggling to keep my voice icy calm.

He motions across the hallway. “There.”

I turn, and my heart leaps in my chest.

Ariel.Right in the cell behind me all this time.

Ariel is slumped down in the shadows of her cell, sitting listlessly on a hard wooden bed, her head resting against the stone wall.

It’s only been a few days, but she’s shockingly emaciated, her half-closed eyes recessed into hollowed-out sockets. Her gaze is unfocused, her mouth curled up at the edges into a numb, blissful grin.

A bowl half full of nilantyr berries is cradled under her arm.

Grief rocks through me.Ariel had won. She had broken free of the nightmare bonds of the drug.

And now they’ve destroyed her all over again.

An overpowering, volcanic rage flashes through me.

“I don’t think you’ll have any difficulty bringing it to the Council,” the surgeon idly comments. “Unlike the Icaral child, this one is more than happy to consume as much nilantyr as we’re willing to give it. In fact, I believe this one would kill itself if we simply gave it enough of the drug, thus saving the Council the trouble of having to execute it.”

My chest constricts, the rage mounting.

Ariel isn’t just sedated. She’s practically comatose. And, by the looks of things, the soldiers here had one hell of a time getting her to this point. She’s covered in bruises and lacerations, and one of her wings appears to be hanging at an odd angle, as if it’s been partially torn off, a trail of dark blood seeping from it. She’s wearing the same Elfin clothes she was dressed in when the Marfoir seized her, and they’re filthy and torn.

A crash sounds behind me, and the woman shrieks.

I wheel around. Yvan is standing over the surgeon and the apothecary, who are now cowering on the floor, their arms held up protectively in front of themselves. Yvan is grasping their wands in one fist, his other hand pointing his broadsword at them, his teeth bared.

“What are you doing?” I cry, frozen to the spot.

Yvan ignores me, keeping his eyes pinned on the surgeon and the apothecary. The little girl continues to scream her lungs out as she lies tied up on the floor, rolling back and forth in desperation.

“Eat the nilantyr!” Yvan orders the surgeon and the apothecary, gesturing sharply toward the bowl.

They nod compliantly, all color drained from their faces. The surgeon reaches for the bowl with a shaking hand. He grabs a handful of the berries and stuffs them into his mouth, then offers the bowl to the apothecary who fearfully does the same.

“Keep eating!” Yvan snarls at them. “Eat until you pass out, or I will kill you both!” He glances over his shoulder at me, a rigid set to his jaw. “We’re taking the child with us.”

I look to the terrified little girl who’s tied up and rolling around on the floor, screaming. Of course we’re getting her out of here. We can’t leave her here with these monsters.

“I want to save all of them,” Yvan says fiercely, “but we can’t. But wecansave her.”

I nod, my body breaking out into a cold sweat.

The surgeon and the apothecary have grown limp, their bodies slumping down against the stone wall and eventually falling over onto the floor, their limbs awkwardly draped over each other.

Yvan sheathes his sword, breaks their wands in his fist and throws the pieces off to the side. He kneels to check inside their mouths. Confident they’ve swallowed the nilantyr, Yvan grabs the twine the apothecary trussed the little girl up with and ties both the surgeon and the apothecary up in a similar way. Then he retrieves the surgeon’s ring of keys, takes hold of the little girl’s foot and unlocks her shackle. He tosses the brass keys to me and turns his attention back to the the child.

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