Page 45 of The Iron Flower

The bearded, disheveled-looking apothecary is busy pulverizing a dragon’s talon into black powder with a mortar and pestle as we approach him nervously, hoping that he’ll just assume we need the ingredients for a class project. He hardly seems to notice what we’re buying as he pivots toward his transaction ledger, not even bothering to look up at us as he impatiently manages our purchase.

Thankful for the Mage’s distracted air and lack of curiosity, Tierney and I pack the supplies into our sacks, fasten our cloaks tightly and hastily leave the shop. The cold bites into our exposed skin and our breath fogs the air as soon as we step out into the frigid night. We hunker down against the chill wind and start back toward the University.

“Down that alley,” Tierney directs as we walk, pointing across the cobbled Spine-stone street. “That’s the way I always take.”

We move hurriedly in that direction, weaving behind a slow-moving wagon stocked with wooden barrels and stepping around a knot of Alfsigr Elves. I hastily follow Tierney as she makes for the alley, eagerly anticipating a blessed break from the wind.

A single lantern hangs from a small iron hook, illuminating the alley with a welcoming golden glow. But when we step into the narrow corridor, both Tierney and I freeze, aghast.

There are words scrawled all over the stone walls in dripping, bloodred paint.

REAP THE EVIL ONES

ERTHIA FOR GARDNERIANS

TAKE BACK THE WESTERN REALM

A mammoth, five-pointed blessing star is scrawled beside the last words, one point for each of the five Gardnerian affinities—earth, fire, water, air, light.

Tierney and I stare, unmoving. Ice crackles straight through my spine, and it’s not from the wintry cold. I glare at the wretched words, each line a cruel, well-aimed punch thrown at all of the people I care about.

“Ancient One,” I breathe, and look to Tierney, who has paled to a sickly, shimmering gray green.

Tierney swallows hard, her eyes transfixed by the bludgeoning wall of words, fear stark on her face. “It’s all spiraling completely out of control. Faster than we could have imagined.”

She’s right. Acts like this have become more and more common as the new Gardnerian majority on the Verpacian Council has approved increasingly alarming new policies. It’s had a chilling effect on the University—segregation is now formally allowed and even encouraged for housing and classes, and the archives are being purged of any texts the Council deems “hostile to Gardneria or Alfsigroth.” Some University newsprintings were initially critical of the new Verpacian Council edicts, but they’ve now been shut down, their writers expelled from the University.

And emboldened by the rapidly shifting political landscape, nighttime mob attacks have started, making the streets increasingly dangerous after sunset.

“Just today, they caught those Urisk who attacked the Gardnerian farmer,” Tierney tells me, her eyes bolted to the bloody words. “Those four young women were abused by that farmer for years. It doesn’t look good for them, though. The Verpacian Council wants to make an example out of them. They decide their fate tomorrow. I think that’s prompting some of this—”

There’s a crash in the distance. A woman’s cry. Incoherent shouting. Our heads whip toward each other, and my heart kicks like a spooked horse.

More crashing, this time at the far end of the alley.

“We have to get out of here,” Tierney says, her voice quavering, but her warning comes too late.

A mob of cloaked and hooded Gardnerians sweeps into the alley, and I inhale sharply when I see that their wands are drawn. The silver stripes on their dark cloaks range from Level Two to Level Four, and they all sport white armbands that blare their support for High Mage Marcus Vogel.

Tierney and I reflexively step back. I’m closest to the approaching mob, so I grab Tierney’s arm and pull her slightly out of view behind me, scared she might inadvertently reveal her Fae power.

The men’s angry eyes home in on us, like raptors spotting prey. I can see them quickly assessing us, registering us as Gardnerian and taking in our white Vogel armbands. Two of the men nod to us, as if actively sparing us from grievous harm. Then the mob stomps past us, through the alley and onto the street.

More screams echo in the distance. Crashing. Shouting from both ends of the alley. Then a sudden flurry of snow.

I look up to find a dark, fitful storm cloud only a few hand spans above us. Alarm blasts through me as I swing around to face Tierney. She’s backed up against the wall, her whole body trembling.

I place a bolstering hand on her arm. “Tierney. Listen to me.” I glance up at the cloud.Oh, sweet Ancient One. They cannot discover she’s Water Fae.“Youhaveto get a hold of yourself. I know it’s hard, but try to think about something pleasant—do you hear me?”

She nods jerkily, eyes wide as moons.

“Take a deep breath. Think about a beautiful lake in the Noi lands.” I struggle to keep my voice calm and soothing. “Gentle waves lapping. No problems anywhere. Can you do that for me? Can you concentrateonlyon that?”

Tierney nods again, her breathing now forcefully measured as she closes her eyes. Soon the snow stops, and the dark cloud dissipates into a smoky, swirling mist.

“Good,” I encourage her, letting out a relieved breath. A group of young, shouting Gardnerian men run past the alley.

I turn back to Tierney. “We need to get back to the University as fast as we can.”

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