Page 197 of The Iron Flower

She’s screaming at an even louder volume, her green eyes huge in her face.

“Give me your cloak,” Yvan orders, his tone relentless and stiff.

I unfasten and shrug off my cloak, then toss it to Yvan, and he immediately begins tearing long strips from it.

Yvan tries to gently coax the child to calm down, but she’s completely hysterical.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs to her as he uses one strip to blindfold the girl and ties another around her mouth, cinching it tight behind her head, her cries now low and muffled. He wraps her whole body in a larger swath of fabric until she’s completely immobilized. Then he grabs the twine, picks the child up, stands and turns to me.

Every muscle in his body is tense and ready for a fight, his eyes blazing, as if he’s ready to take on an army to deliver all of us to safety.

“Tie her to my back.” He tosses me the twine and holds the little girl firmly against his back. I wrap the twine around his chest and shoulders and over the child again and again until the little girl, who is violently straining against her bonds, seems relatively secure.

“Now get Ariel,” Yvan orders.

Key ring in hand, I go to Ariel’s cell and unlock the door. It swings open with a rusty creak.

“Ariel,” I croon as I enter the cell. I place a hand on her thin shoulder, despairing for her. “You need to come with me, love.”

Her barely conscious head lazily turns to face me, her blackened smile widening. I wrap an arm around her frail body and help her rise from the bed.

Ariel looks over at the surgeon and the apothecary and starts to laugh, high and manic, as if she finds the sight of them funny. She turns back to me and gives me another wide, twisted grin.

“Elloren,” Yvan says, his voice harsh. “I’m going to pretend to take you hostage. I’m a traitorous guard you thought you could trust, but I’m really in league with the Evil Ones, hell-bent on rescuing Icarals. I’m going to be rough with you. If they don’t believe this, they’ll kill us.”

I struggle to calm my breathing, my emotions reeling but my mind grasping the details of his new plan.

“Hold tight to Ariel,” Yvan orders. “We’re getting out of here.”

* * *

“I order every one of you to stand down!” Yvan bellows as we burst out the front doors of the prison.

Yvan’s arms are rough around me as he holds his knife to my throat. I grasp Ariel’s bony arm while she giggles dazedly.

Initially, the guards do exactly the opposite of standing down. The archers in the towers nock arrows, and the sentries on the ground draw their broadswords—until it dawns on them who I am, and their weapons fall away.

“Make one move,” Yvan threatens, tightening his hold on me, “and I will kill her.”

The guards remain motionless, and Yvan wastes no time deliberating.

We hurry toward the exit gate, one guard yelling for it to be opened immediately.

“Stop!” a deep voice commands just as we reach the gate, the man’s voice so thick with authority that everyone freezes and turns.

A burly man in a lieutenant’s uniform with Level Four Mage stripes strides toward us, pointing accusingly. “They arenotwho they appear to be!”

Oh, sweet Ancient One, help us.

The other guards seem bewildered, their eyes flicking back and forth from us to the lieutenant, as if unsure what to do.

“Stay back!” Yvan yells, yanking my head back, his fist knotted in my hair, the sharp edge of his knife pressed to the skin of my throat.

“You are an impostor!” the lieutenant bellows at Yvan. He halts a few feet away from us and draws his wand. “I just received a missive from Mage Vyvian Damon. She’s on her way here as we speak to bring the Icaral, Ariel Haven, before the Mage Council for immediate execution.”

He points his sword at me. “Youare not Vyvian Damon.” His eyes track to Yvan. “And I’m willing to bet thatyouare not her chief guard, Isan Browen. Gardnerians, draw iron arrows!”

The archers raise their bows and point iron-tipped arrows straight at us.

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