Yvan and Iris.
Yvan’s expression is serious, as is hers, their eyes intent on each other. And they’re standing close together—too close.
“They’re going to start iron-testing everyone,” Iris says to Yvan in a quavering voice. “You know they will. I have to get out. I have to get out now.”
My thoughts spin into confusion as the meaning of her words sweeps through me.
Iris is... Fae?
I struggle to remember even one time I’ve seen Iris touch iron in the kitchen and realize that, unlike Yvan, she never goes near the iron pots or the stove. She’s always preparing pastries and bread.
Always.
If she’s so afraid of being iron-tested... Iris might be full-blooded Fae. Glamoured, just like Tierney.
Iris begins to cry as she looks up at Yvan imploringly. He pulls her into a gentle embrace, murmuring softly to her as his strong arms hold her close, bending his head down over her shoulder, his tousled brown hair mingling with strands of her golden locks.
A stinging ache rushes through me, along with the unbidden and thoroughly selfish desire to be the one encircled by Yvan’s arms—and the sudden, fierce wish to not look exactly like my cursed grandmother. Maybe then Yvan would want me instead.
You’ve no right to feel this way, I rage against myself. He’s not yours.
Iris tilts her head and kisses Yvan’s neck, nuzzling against him with a soft moan.
Yvan stiffens, his eyes widening as his lips part in evident surprise. “Iris...” He moves slightly away from her as a frustrated longing for him, so raw that it hurts, explodes inside me.
Suddenly, as if sensing my torrent of emotion, Yvan looks straight at me, his fiery green eyes locking hard onto mine with blazing recognition. And I know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that somehow, he can read the full intensity of my feelings for him.
Horror and humiliation cut through me. I drop the scrap buckets and run from the barn, out into the snowy night, nearly knocking over a very surprised Fernyllia as I sprint past, almost losing my footing on the snowy hill.
Tears stream down my face as I race into the kitchen and out through the empty dining hall, my breath coming in ragged gasps as I run down corridors and finally duck into a deserted lecture room, collapsing onto one of the many chairs in the dark space. I bury my head in my arms and break down into great, shuddering sobs that strain painfully at my ribs and choke the air from my lungs.
I’ve let myself fall for him. And he’ll never want me.
The pain of Yvan’s continued rejection is like a thundering ache, and I’m wholly unprepared for the force of it.
Lost in misery, I’m not aware of Fernyllia’s quiet presence until I glimpse her out of the corner of my eye and feel her calloused hand on my shoulder. The chair next to mine scrapes against the stone floor as she sits down beside me.
“You care for him, don’t you, child?” Fernyllia asks, her voice kind.
I squeeze my eyes tightly together and nod stiffly. She rubs my back gently, murmuring softly in Uriskal.
“I don’t want to be Gardnerian,” I finally manage, internally raging, not wanting to wear my black Gardnerian garb ever again. Not wanting the heinous Vogel armband around my arm. Not wanting any part of the cruel tyranny my people have inflicted on others.
Wanting to be free of all of it.
Wanting Yvan.
Fernyllia is quiet for a moment. “We don’t get to choose what we are,” she says finally, her voice low. “But we do get to choose who we are.”
I look up to find her staring at me intently. “Did you know I was married once?” Fernyllia asks with a slight, nostalgic smile. “Before the Realm War, that is.” Her face grows troubled, the wrinkles around her eyes tightening. “Then your people came and killed all the men. After it was over, they rounded up the survivors and put us to work for the Gardnerians.”
Fernyllia grows quiet for a moment. Then, in a whisper, she adds, “They took my young son down as well.”
My breath catches in my throat.
“Life can be very unfair,” she says, her voice strained.
Shame ripples through me. My problems pale in comparison to Fernyllia’s. She’s been through so much, yet she’s still strong, still working to help others. And here I am, feeling sorry for myself. Chastened, I swallow back my tears, straighten and struggle to pull myself together.
“That’s it, Elloren Gardner,” Fernyllia says, her expression determined, but not unkind. “Buck up. My granddaughter, Fern... I want something more for her. More than being a servant to the Gardnerians and told she’s worth less than nothing. I want her to be free of mind and free of body, the former being the hardest part for any of us. They don’t have your mind, though—do they, Elloren?”
I meet her gaze squarely and shake my head.
“Good,” she says, pleased. “You make sure it stays that way. There’s much work to be done. A lot needs to change so that my Fern can have a good life.”
Copyright © 2018 by Laurie Forest
ISBN-13: 9781488099380
Light Mage
Copyright © 2018 by Laurie Forest
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Light Mage (The Black Witch Chronicles) Page 31
