Page 47 of The Iron Flower

NIGHTMARE

We hug the forest’s dark shadows straight up toward the livestock pens and rush to the back entrance of the main kitchen.

Tierney practically kicks the door open.

Yvan and Fernyllia are standing by the broad table, Fernyllia’s hands on a pile of dough. Both of their heads snap toward us as shock swiftly overtakes them.

Fernyllia cries out in Uriskal and abandons the dough she’s kneading as both she and Yvan rush forward.

Yvan catches Bleddyn before she goes limp and sweeps her up into his arms. “Clear the table,” he orders.

We hastily comply, grabbing piles of raw dough off the table’s broad surface. Yvan lays Bleddyn down as Fernyllia places a hastily folded kitchen towel under her head. Tierney hovers beside us, her face pale with worry.

“There are mobs of Gardnerians out in the city,” I breathlessly tell them, describing everything we witnessed as Yvan directs me to restrain Bleddyn’s limp hands. I curl my palms firmly around her wrists.

Yvan brings his hands to Bleddyn’s face and closes his eyes as if reading her wounds, his secret healing abilities a wide-open secret by now. A sudden thought spears through me, ratcheting my pulse higher, and I look to Fernyllia in panic. “Where’s Fern?”

“Inside,” Fernyllia says. She pauses in the act of pumping water into an iron pot and glances worriedly around.

“Are you sure?” I insist, my voice shrill. Alarm clamors in my mind. Little Fern cannot be outside in this. Shecannotbe caught by that mob.

“Grandma?” a small voice says from one of the kitchen’s side doors. Fern stands there, hugging her floppy cloth doll tight. “I heard a noise. What’s happening?”

“Oh, sweet Ancient One,” I breathe out. A staggering relief spreads through me at the sight of tiny Fern in her long-sleeved nightgown, pink braids hanging over her shoulders.

“Where’s Olilly?” Fernyllia asks Yvan, her tone urgent.

My lungs cinch in sudden panic. I spot Olilly’s small basket of colorful yarn on the counter, strands tied to the rails on the back of a wooden chair and partly woven into a bracelet. Patient, gentle Olilly has been teaching little Fern how to weave bracelets all week.

Before Yvan can answer, Bleddyn pulls in a hard breath, then several more in quick succession, and starts to struggle. I hold tight to her hands, bearing down as Yvan murmurs to her, keeping his hands firmly on her face, his right hand moving over her wounded eye.

“When did you last see Olilly?” Tierney demands of Fernyllia, a tempestuous cloud kicking up around her, sputtering small threads of white lightning.

Fernyllia’s voice is tight with fear. “I sent her out for nutmeg. Before the guildmarket closed.”

“The markets closed over an hour ago,” Tierney says, fierce worry filling her eyes.

Fernyllia seems momentarily frozen in a dawning nightmare.

“We need to get Trystan,” I say, thinking quickly. “He can go look for Olilly.”

“I’ll do it,” Tierney says. She pauses to take a deep breath, and the cloud around her slowly disappears. She seems to have pulled the storm into her eyes, her gaze practically spitting lightning. “If I can’t find him, I’ll go after Olilly myself.”

I hold her sparking gaze for a heartbeat, fully realizing the risk she’s taking. “Take care,” I say, my voice cracking.

Tierney nods and leaves.

Bleddyn stirs, her eyes fluttering open, and Yvan’s hands move to the sides of her head. Incredibly, the swelling around her eye is almost completely gone, her broken nose knit back into its proper shape. I release Bleddyn’s wrists as Yvan helps her sit up. Fernyllia dabs at the blood all over Bleddyn’s face and neck with a warm, moist rag, her expression full of anxiety.

Iris bursts through the back entrance, the door slamming shut behind her, her face wild. “They’re burning things! Attacking people!” She halts and takes in Bleddyn’s blood-streaked face. Then her eyes light on me, and her face twists into a vicious snarl. “Getout!” she cries, starting for me, her fists balled.

I step back, stopped by the table behind me.

“Iris, stop!” Bleddyn says, rising on unsteady feet to block her path.

Iris’s eyes swing to Bleddyn, wild with surprise. She points at me, her hand shaking. “She causedthis!”

Yvan throws Iris an incredulous look. “No, Iris. Shedidn’t.”

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