Page 84 of The Iron Flower

“Because an unbroken dragon would be a very useful weapon,” Clive adds. “I’d certainly like to get my hands on it.”

“That would be up to the dragon to decide,” Yvan says calmly, not meeting his piercing gaze.

“Well, then,” Clive says, “I would respectfully ask the dragon if it likes the idea of the Gardnerians taking over the entirety of Erthia, killing or breaking every dragon in existence.”

Yvan absently eyes the medicine shelves. “If I come across any dragons, I’ll relay the message.”

Clive lunges forward and grabs Yvan’s arm. “Be careful, Yvan. The Gardnerians are smarter than you think. You’re all out of your league. I would cease to be a friend to your mother if I didn’t warn you of this.”

Yvan glances down at Clive’s hand on his arm, then slowly looks back up at him, unintimidated. I remember the time Rafe grabbed Diana, and how she considered ripping his arm off. I’m struck by the certainty that Yvan, if he really wanted to, could do the same.

“We’ll be careful,” Yvan assures him.

Clive releases his arm. “Good.” His brow knits together as he glances toward me. “It was interesting meeting you, Elloren Gardner. I hope you don’t wind up getting yourself killed.” He turns back to Yvan. “Take care of yourself, Yvan. And good luck with your mother. You’re going to need it.”

CHAPTER THREE

DARK MAGIC

Yvan’s home comes into view just as the last of the day’s light is slipping below the horizon. The warm glow emanating from the cozy, well-kept cottage contrasts sharply with the cold dark outside.

Yvan signals to our mare, and she slows to an easy trot as we pass by his mother’s expansive gardens, covered up for the winter.

We dismount and enter a small, tidy barn, stabling the mare alongside a dappled gray horse that whinnies happily when it catches sight of Yvan. As I unsaddle our horse and prepare some grain for her, Yvan makes a point of spending a few minutes with the gray gelding, an animal, he tells me, that he grew up with and raised from a foal.

Then we make our way to his house, my heart pounding in anticipation.

Things will be all right, I tell myself.Yvan said his mother is fair-minded.

As we approach the cottage, Yvan seems to hesitate. I hug myself nervously, pulling my woolen cloak tight. The air is chill and damp, and it will only get colder now that the sun is down. I eye the fire-lit windows, yearning to go inside and get warm.

Yvan turns to me, looking unsure. “Perhaps you should wait here, Elloren. I’ll speak to her for a moment before I introduce you.”

“All right,” I agree, feeling increasingly apprehensive.

Yvan walks up to the door and knocks as I stand in the shadow of a large oak tree, like some unwanted thing in hiding. A woman who is obviously Yvan’s mother opens the door. She’s him, only older and female. They have the same angular, beautiful face, the same riveting green eyes and the same long, lanky build. Only their hair is different, hers a rich, shockingly vibrant red to his brown.

I wonder why Yvan told me he looks just like his father. It’s clear he takes after his mother completely.

Yvan’s mother gives a start when she spots him, her two slender, graceful hands flying up in delight. She throws her arms around him in a warm embrace.

I push back my cloak’s hood and start unwinding my scarf as I watch their joyful reunion. I shake out my hair as I prepare to introduce myself properly—my voice unmuffled by layers of fabric, my features unhidden, only the green glimmer of my skin still disguised. Yvan’s mother might as well see me for what I am right off. Best to get the shock over with.

I desperately want to make a good impression on this woman, even more so than I did with Diana’s family, and my stomach twists and clenches as I wait.

Yvan says something to his mother that I can’t fully make out, but I hear him mention my name. Her smile fades, replaced by a look of confusion. She turns her head in my direction, as if straining to peer into the darkness.

Taking this as my cue to approach, I emerge from the shadows, my heart pounding hard against my chest. As I step closer, the light from inside their house spills over me.

Yvan’s mother’s expression morphs into one of stunned horror, and she steps backward, almost losing her balance. “Yvan,” she gasps, one hand finding her throat, her eyes riveted on me. “What are you doing? Why is that...thinghere with you?”

Yvan glances over at me with confusion, as if to check that he and his mother are looking at the same person, so violent is her reaction. “She’s not athing,” he says, placing a steadying hand on his mother’s arm. “She’s my friend.”

Her head whirls around to face him. “Yourfriend?”

“She has a name, Mother. It’s Elloren.”

“Yvan, I must speak with you,” she says with frantic vehemence, her eyes darting toward me as if I’m an evil apparition, something terrifying back from the dead. “Alone.Now.”

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