Page 78 of The Iron Flower

“Make sure you hide your hair and pull down your hood,” Yvan cautions me, peering out through the trees and dense brush toward the horse market, his fingers still clasped around mine.

My face is already camouflaged by a dye Tierney mixed for me, the tone a ruddy Keltic coloring to hide the emerald glimmer of my skin, and my hair is mostly hidden by a long white linen scarf wrapped around my head.

I let go of Yvan’s hand and push every last strand of my jet-black hair under the scarf, drawing the hood of my cloak over it. Then I pull up my woolen scarf, hiding the lower half of my face.

“Do I still look like my grandmother?” I ask him, the wool of my scarf scratching against my lips as I speak.

“No,” Yvan says with an affectionate smile as he assesses me. “You look Keltic. I don’t think your grandmother would have been caught dead in clothing like that.” He holds out his elbow, and I thread my arm through his. “Just stay close to me until we find Andras.”

* * *

Activity swirls all around us as we enter the market. Multiple horse dealers show off steeds of every color and breed. Keltic men kneel next to the animals, studying them, running their hands down the animals’ legs to check for defects, bargaining for a good price.

The warm smell of horse droppings, fur and hay hangs heavy in the air. The pungent scent brings back good memories of caring for our own two horses at Uncle Edwin’s and happy times riding with my brothers.

Andras’s horses are by far the healthiest and best-looking of all the horses there, and he’s surrounded by a number of interested buyers. He catches sight of us and waves, then says something to the men around him and strides over to where we wait near the pasture’s gate.

“Hello, Andras,” Yvan says.

Andras nods in greeting and glances up at the Southern Spine. “I didn’t expect to see you two until much later. You made good time.”

“It was my extraordinary climbing abilities,” I nervously joke. “It was like I owned the Spine. I was getting a little tired of having to keep rescuing Yvan from falling to his death, though. It got oldrealfast.”

Andras cocks one black eyebrow at me in surprise as Yvan’s mouth lifts into a wry grin.

“Sorry,” I mutter. “I’m a bit on edge.”

Andras laughs and goes to fetch our mount, returning a few seconds later with a beautiful ebony mare, to the evident disappointment of the man who was assessing her.

The mare is already saddled up and ready to go, and I feel grateful for Andras’s attentiveness.

“You don’t have to hurry,” Andras tells us. “I’ll be here all day tomorrow. I’ll wait for you.”

Yvan takes a few minutes to pat the mare’s neck and mane to soothe her before easily swinging himself into the saddle. Andras helps me climb up behind Yvan before he makes his way back to his prospective buyers.

As I watch Andras’s broad back recede, I wrap my arms around Yvan’s waist and pull myself in tight against him. The muscles of his abdomen stiffen in response, but then he relaxes. It feels intimate, holding on to him like this. And more than a bit thrilling.

“So,” Yvan says, turning his head so he can peer back at me, his lips lifting in a teasing smile. “It sounds like I can count on you to help me back over the mountain tomorrow.”

“Only if you ask me very nicely,” I say enticingly, wrapping my arms a little tighter around him. “And say ‘please.’”

I rue the overly flirtatious words as soon as they’re said, acutely aware that we’re crossing too many boundaries with each other.

Yvan’s banked fire gives a hard flare, his eyebrows go up, a spot of color lighting his cheek.

“I’m sorry,” I backtrack. “I’m just...nervous.”

“It’s okay,” he says, smiling slightly, his hand coming up to caress mine, and my breathing turns erratic.

Yvan stiffens, as if he’s suddenly remembered himself, his hand falling away from mine. He makes a sharp clicking sound, jerks his heels in toward the horse, and we’re off.

CHAPTER TWO

THE SURGEON

For the next hour we travel through small Keltanian villages and farms, and a growing feeling of shame and dismay descends upon me.

I’ve never seen true, widespread poverty before, and I know that my people are largely to blame for the hardship that plagues Keltania. While the Gardnerians live in ornate towns and cities, feasting on food harvested from lush, fertile fields, this country is downtrodden and worn, its people weathered and subdued.

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