Page 79 of The Iron Flower

I remember reading about what happened during the Realm War—how the Gardnerian forces drove the Kelts off the most fertile farmland, drastically shrinking the country’s borders and uprooting families who had worked the same fields for generations. I can almost hear Lukas’s voice in my mind, smugly reminding me that the Kelts treated the Fae in much the same fashion. But as I survey the scenes around me, I’m more certain than ever that it’s past time to find a better way.

Late afternoon descends, the day growing increasingly cold and overcast as dark clouds gather in the sky. Yvan and I stop briefly outside a small tavern to tend to our horse and eat. Andras has packed bread, cheese and dried fruit for our trip, and I fish the food eagerly out of one of the saddlebags as Yvan ties the mare’s reins to a hitching post.

People come and go about their business, their horses blowing out steam from warm noses as they pass.

As Yvan sets some food out for our horse, a muscular, elderly man spots him from across the wide dirt road and yells his name. The man’s snow-white beard pokes out from under his scarf and his warm brown eyes are full of delight.

Yvan straightens as he approaches.

“Yvan, my boy,” the man beams, reaching up to squeeze Yvan’s arm. “Let me have a look at you, lad. It’s been a good, long while, it has. You’re turning into quite the tall young fellow, aren’t you now?” He looks to me with rosy-cheeked good humor. “And who’s this you have here with you? A lady friend?” His eyes twinkle at Yvan, full of mischief. “And not Miss Iris, by the looks of it.”

“No,” Yvan says, his voice level. “This is Ren. Ren, this is Phinneas Tarrin, a longtime friend of my family.”

It surprises me, his calling me Ren. That’s something only my brothers and Gareth call me, but I realize immediately how smart this is. Like a fake name, but one I can easily remember.

“Ah, so it’s Ren now, is it?” Phinneas chides Yvan, his tone full of suggestion.

“It never was Iris,” Yvan replies evenly.

“Not if she had any say in it, lad!” Phinneas chortles, slapping Yvan on the back. “You playing hard to get all the time! Poor Miss Iris. Ah, well, such is the fickleness of youth. Pretty eyes, this one has.” He leans in toward Yvan, as if about to tell him an important secret. “Better not let Miss Ren here get away.”

“I won’t.”

His promise both surprises and warms me.

“You don’t want to end up a lonely old coot like me,” Phinneas jokes, eyes twinkling mischievously. His gaze turns wistful. “Exactly two years and twelve days since the missus passed away. Ah, well, I’ll be joining her soon enough, if the Gardnerians have any say in the matter. All of us will, no doubt. No match for their Mages and dragons, the whole lot of us. But no matter. Better to go down fighting, I say.”

Phinneas winks at Yvan, then wraps an arm around my shoulder. “Be careful of this young man, lass. Hangs with a dangerous crowd, he does. Lot of revolutionaries, every last one of ’em. Stays out of trouble these days, though, off at that University of his.” He shoots Yvan a look of mock disapproval. “All that study taking the fight out of you. Ach, it’s just as well. Wouldn’t want to scare off your lady here. Seems a quiet one, she does.”

“She avoids trouble at all costs,” Yvan tells him soberly, and it takes all of my self-control to suppress a laugh.

“Best be avoidin’ you, then, lad,” Phinneas says, chuckling to himself.

“That’s good advice, actually,” Yvan says, an edge of seriousness to his tone now.

Phinneas peers at Yvan for a brief second, as if momentarily thrown by the comment, then leans in to reassure me. “I’m only joking, Miss Ren. Yvan here, he’s a fine young man. Known him most of his life. You’d be hard-pressed to find anyone better.” He gives my shoulder one last squeeze before releasing me and patting Yvan’s arm. “I best be leaving you two to be on your way. You take good care of Miss Ren, here.”

“I will,” Yvan replies with conviction.

“All right then,” Phinneas says, regarding us warmly. “I’ll be off. Give my best to that fine mother of yours.”

* * *

After Phinneas leaves, Yvan and I share the food, eating in silence. I wonder—rather unhappily—about his long history with Iris, and what Phinneas would have said if I’d removed all my wrappings to reveal I’m not only a Gardnerian, but Carnissa Gardner’s granddaughter.

And I also wonder, as I surreptitiously glance at Yvan, what he meant when he told Phinneas he wouldn’t let me get away.

“I’m going to get some water for all of us,” Yvan says, finishing his food and wiping crumbs off his clothing. “I’ll be only a minute or so. Stay with the mare. Horse thievery is pretty rampant here.”

I warily scan the crowd as he disappears into the tavern, hoping there won’t be any trouble. The threat of thievery is disconcerting, but I can understand how the impoverished people here could be driven to desperate acts to feed themselves and their families.

Yvan is quick about his task, but when he returns with a jug of water, he looks stunned, as if he’s just seen a ghost.

“What’s wrong?” I ask him.

He waves my question off, his face stricken. “Just more bad news about the Gardnerians. Sometimes there are things that are...difficult to hear.”

“Did something happen?” I ask gently.

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