Page 33 of The Iron Flower

Trystan’s gaze darkens. “I don’t know, Ren.” He shakes his head. “With the possibility of war with the Lupines on the horizon, I just don’t know.”

MAGE COUNCIL

RULING

#200

Aiding in the illegal movement of subland Smaragdalfar Elves into the upper Realmlands shall be punishable by execution. Any Smaragdalfar Elves found on Gardnerian land must be turned over to the Mage Guard immediately for transport to Alfsigroth.

CHAPTER NINE

FOUNDER’S DAY

Dim morning light filters through the windows of the University’s largest dining hall, the vast space gorgeously appointed for Founder’s Day. I shift slightly as I look around, keenly aware of the white wand concealed snugly in the side of my laced-up boot.

Rafe, Trystan, Wynter’s brother Cael, and his Elfin-second, Rhys, survey the dining hall as well, and seem every bit as appalled as I am.

The Gardnerians have completely taken over the event.

All the decorations are Yule-themed, even though we’re the only group at University that celebrates Yule. It’s spectacularly elegant, to be sure, and I have to struggle not to be entranced by it all. Pine boughs create a fragrant, false ceiling and grace the centerpieces around the room, and I can’t help but rapturously breathe in the cool, evergreen scent. Red glass lanterns hang from the boughs and are set on every table over scarlet tablecloths, the color representing Gardnerian blood spilled by the Evil Ones. Deep crimson curtains are draped around every diamond-paned window and spill down to the floor.

It all makes me feel deeply uncomfortable.

I’ve never been so painfully aware of how my people aggressively push aside the customs and beliefs of others as I am in this moment. I darkly imagine tipping over several lanterns to set the decorations on fire, certain all the pine strewn about would become a conflagration in the blink of an eye.

The morning sky is overcast, but the gloomy weather only heightens the beauty of the lanterns’ scarlet glow. Small groups of Gardnerians are beginning to dot the massive dining hall, and there’s a fantastic spread of food laid out on several broad tables—an entire roast boar, sliced thin, with a pronged serving fork stuck in its side; stewed fruits sprinkled with sugar-dusted flowers; a variety of hot drinks and warm breads paired with well-aged cheeses. Multiple Keltic, Verpacian, Elfhollen and Urisk workers from all the University kitchens, including Olilly and Fernyllia, are on hand to serve the many visitors.

I turn as both of the huge doors to the main dining hall abruptly swing open, hitting the walls behind them with a resoundingthud.

The Lupines stride into the hall with bold, predatory grace, and most of the hall’s occupants draw back with looks of surprise.

A huge, muscular man leads their group, and there’s no doubt that he’s the alpha. He has Diana’s fiery amber eyes, proud chin, dominating aura and golden hair, his beard shot through with gray at the sides. He radiates the most commanding presence I’ve ever witnessed, his charisma dwarfing even that of Kam Vin, the intimidating military commander of the local Vu Trin.

Close behind the man is a tall, lean woman who strongly resembles Jarod. There’s a worried, intellectual cast to her expression as she looks around the hall with a guarded reluctance. Beside her strides another Lupine female, this one with dark hair intermingled with bright red strands. Her skin is deep brown, and she has the radiant crimson eyes of the Northern Lupine pack. She’s holding a small boy with her same coloring and crimson eyes, but his ears are pointed and his hair is a mingling of purple and blue.

Flanking them are four strapping men in tight formation, one striding slightly ahead of the others. This man’s slate gray cheeks are marked with rune-tattoos like Andras’s and framed by steel-colored hair streaked with violet. I realize this must be Ferrin Sandulf—the man with Amaz ancestry Diana told all of us about. Her father’s beta, which makes him second-in-command.

Orbiting them all like a kinetic moon bounces an energetic girl of about ten. She can only be Kendra, Diana and Jarod’s little sister. She’s Diana all over again, only younger and shorter—and with a lot more frantic energy.

The men all have short hair and close-cropped beards and Diana’s mother’s hair is long and blond and pulled back with a tie. And they’re all dressed for movement, in loose earth-toned tunics over pants and sturdy boots—simple dress to allow for ease of the clothing’s removal so they can Change.

Everyone in the thinly populated hall grows silent and stilled.

As one, the Lupines make their way down the long center aisle.

Trystan and I exchange a glance tinged with alarm.

Rafe calmly watches them approach from where we all stand at the far end of the hall, a large turkey slung over his shoulder. He’s just returned from a morning hunt with Cael and Rhys, and the three of them are all still fully armed, bows slung over their shoulders and quivers strapped to their backs.

Diana enters the dining hall from a side door, her golden hair swishing behind her. She takes one look at her family and lets out a loud shriek of delight, her hands flying up as she breaks into a joyful sprint. Her father spots her, and his stern face lights up like the sun.

“Father!” Diana cries, exuberantly throwing her arms around Gunther Ulrich.

Gunther lets out a deep, rumbling laugh and hugs her tightly. “My fierce daughter! Oh, how I’ve missed you!”

Little Kendra jumps around them with joy-filled excitement, embracing Diana from behind.

Jarod, who’s come in behind his sister, strides over to the Lupines without so much as a glance in our direction. He’s been very distant since his painful encounter with Aislinn at the Yule Dance, eating most of his meals alone and spending much of his time hunting or studying by himself. Diana’s been increasingly worried about him, often venting to me about how useless her efforts have been to draw him back into our circle.

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