The Iron Flower

by Laurie Forest

  I swallow hard as I take in Alcippe’s lethal glare, my heart pounding as I pull in a deep breath to steady myself.

  Valasca slows to a stop as we reach the dais, and we come to a halt behind her. Queen Alkaia’s piercing gaze zeroes in on me. She raises a trembling, gnarled hand, and the troubled sounds throughout the hall die down, then disappear altogether.

  “Approach, travelers,” Queen Alkaia says, beckoning us forward.

  We step a bit closer, and I mirror Valasca’s example, dropping to my knees and bowing deeply. Marina follows suit beside me, and I catch her tense look as we press our foreheads to the carpeted floor.

  Diana and Ni Vin remain stolidly on their feet.

  “Well, well,” the queen says, her deep voice wizened and heavily accented. “This is a night of surprises. Can it be true? The granddaughter of Carnissa Gardner has come to petition the Queen of the Amaz for help?”

  “It is true, Queen Alkaia,” I say into the red-patterned rug. “I am Elloren Gardner, and we seek your aid.”

  Angry sounds erupt, filling the dome, and I stiffen in response. Eventually, the incensed noises recede, and I realize the queen must have motioned for silence. I venture a glance up at her.

  “Rise, travelers,” Queen Alkaia directs, a wry note to her tone. Marina, Valasca and I straighten, but remain on our knees.

  “Valasca,” Queen Alkaia says with amusement, her eyes lighting on our companion, “it was kind of you to agree to act as guard to these travelers.”

  Valasca rises to her feet, smiling broadly, and bows gracefully to the queen with a dramatic flourish. “I am at your service, Queen Alkaia, and happy to act as chaperone to our Gardnerian guest.”

  Queen Alkaia smirks. “Hmm. See that you don’t chaperone her too closely, Valasca. I do not need the entire Gardnerian military amassed on our border, intent on stealing back the granddaughter of the Black Witch.”

  Steal back? What is she talking about?

  “Elloren Gardner,” Queen Alkaia says, growing serious, “there are many here who remember what your grandmother did to our people. There is talk that you should be struck down, as your grandmother should have been, before her powers reached their zenith.”

  Murmurs of assent well up, and I slump down, alarmed.

  “I have no power,” I insist, my voice unsteady. “I’m no threat to any of you.”

  “And yet you have brought a most dangerous guard.” The queen looks at Diana, who is in her usual confident stance, completely at ease and unintimidated.

  “I am Diana Ulrich of the Gerwulf Pack.” I wait to hear her entire family tree, down to the last cousin, and am amazed when she stops there. Diana shoots me a smug look before turning back to Queen Alkaia. “Elloren Gardner is soon to be a sister to me, and I have come here as her bodyguard. She rescued Marina the Selkie from a vile man who should be slain immediately, and she wishes to raise an army to free the other Selkie women.”

  The hall breaks out into complete confusion. Marina, perhaps seeing this as her cue, hesitantly forces herself to her feet, her silver hair glinting in the rune-light.

  “Speak, Selkie,” Queen Alkaia orders, a hush once again falling over the room. “If it is, in fact, true that you can.”

  Marina pulls her gills in flat, her face determined. “We need your help, Queen Alkaia,” she says in an unsteady voice. “My people are being held prisoner by the Gardnerians, and their Mage Council is about to rule to have us slaughtered.”

  Shocked whispers fill the room. “So, it is true,” Queen Alkaia observes wonderingly. “The Selkie speaks.”

  After studying Marina for a long moment, the queen turns back to me, her eyes narrowing. “Elloren Gardner. Do you understand why the sorceress, Ni Vin, has been sent to guard you?”

  “There is a fear that I’m the Black Witch of Prophecy,” I say. “Since I resemble my grandmother.”

  “You look exactly like your grandmother,” Queen Alkaia puts in sharply.

  Vexation flares. “That may be true, but I am unlike her in many ways. And I have absolutely no access to magic.” I spare a brief glance at Ni Vin. “I don’t understand why you feel I need a Vu Trin guard, to tell you the truth.”

  More unsettled murmuring ripples through the crowd. Queen Alkaia turns to stone-still Ni Vin and considers her speculatively. “And you, Sorceress? Do you believe this Gardnerian’s aims are what she says they are?”

  Ni Vin regards me thoughtfully. “I do,” she finally affirms. “She did a brave thing, freeing the Selkie. I believe she is like her grandmother in looks only.”

  The hall erupts into another wave of angry protest. Queen Alkaia waits patiently, as if carefully gauging the situation.

  “And where did you get your wounds, Sorceress?” Queen Alkaia asks Ni Vin when the crowd finally stills.

  Ni Vin stiffens. “At the hands of Carnissa Gardner.”

  There’s a fresh eruption of furious voices, and Ni Vin waits for the livid protests to subside before continuing. “It was during the Realm War,” she explains, devoid of emotion. “The Black Witch rained fire down on my people as she pushed east, and my sister’s home was hit by one of her fireballs. I lost my entire family that day, save my sister. I was cursed to live.”

  A wave of shame jettisons through me. I suspected that Ni Vin was wounded during the Realm War, but to hear her state it so plainly is devastating.

  “Yet you are willing to give this girl a chance?” Queen Alkaia asks.

  “I am, but only because of the Selkie.”

  Queen Alkaia sits back and relaxes her posture. “Then perhaps,” she suggests to everyone assembled, “we might follow your example, and at least give the Gardnerian an opportunity to tell her story. I, for one, am curious about how the granddaughter of the Black Witch has come to not only rescue a Selkie, but to befriend the daughter of a Lupine alpha.”

  Everyone’s heads turn in unison to look at me, none of their eyes friendly. It’s quiet as death, except for the restless cries of a few babies and small children.

  “Rise, then, Elloren Gardner,” the queen says, a note of challenge in her tone. “It seems as if the floor belongs to you.”

  I swallow hard, feeling slightly faint as my heart thunders in my chest. I take a deep breath and rise to my feet, bolstered by Marina’s eyes locked encouragingly on me.

  With a tremulous voice, I launch into my tale—close to the whole story, except for the parts about Naga, the white wand and the destruction of the military base. My nerves gradually smooth out, my voice steadying as I go on.

  When I’ve finished, I remain on my feet, with Diana, Marina, Valasca and Ni Vin beside me.

  “So, I am to believe,” Queen Alkaia says, “that the granddaughter of Carnissa Gardner—a girl who looks exactly like her grandmother—has befriended two Icarals and the children of a Lupine alpha, freed a Selkie and has a brother who is soon to become Lupine? All of this is true?”

  “Yes, Queen Alkaia.”

  The queen studies me for a long moment, and then she does something no one seems to expect.

  She breaks out into laughter.

  Eventually regaining her composure, Queen Alkaia turns to the rune-scaled warrior beside her. “May I suggest, Alcippe,” she says, “that if you wish to take revenge upon this girl’s family, the best way to do so would be by letting her live.”

  She turns back to me and smiles widely. “You are a troublemaker, Elloren Gardner. And for that reason alone, you are most welcome here. Come, join us.” She glances out over the crowd benevolently. “Make room for the Gardnerian and her companions.” She looks back down at me. “Eat. We will set a formal time for your appeal tomorrow morn, after everyone has been well-fed and well-rested. Hopefully, at that time, cooler heads will prevail.”

  I feel Valasca’s cautioning hand on my arm as Queen Alkaia turns her attention elsewhere, and conve
rsation and movement break out in the large room. The looks directed at me are still hostile, but now dampened, like a fire Queen Alkaia has sprinkled water on from her savvy, ancient hands.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  ALCIPPE

  Valasca ushers us to a section of the room that’s far away from Alcippe.

  Amaz around us are being handed food by smiling servers who chat with the women as they pass around steaming bowls of fragrant stew and flat, circular bread off of large, golden trays.

  Diana and I sit down on embroidered pillows as Valasca jauntily calls out to a woman serving food nearby, giving her a friendly smile and respectful nod. The blonde, Keltic-featured woman, returns the gesture and makes her way over to us, and I notice she has snake tattoos interspersed among her rune-tattoos, jewel-eyed serpent bracelets twined around her wrists and arms. Her expression turns chilly when she catches sight of Diana and me.

  She hands Valasca a portion of fragrant stew, a cup of something milky and a piece of golden flatbread, then flashes Diana an unfriendly scowl and practically tosses a bowl of food at her, which Diana deftly catches. The woman then brusquely shoves another bowl into my hands, and I fumble as I accept it, the bowl dropping to the floor, stew spilling out onto the carpet.

  Valasca sends the woman an exasperated look and exclaims something in another language, but the woman just snaps something back at her and glares at me before stalking off.

  Marina, on the other hand, is being carefully tended to by a large group of women, who are plying her with plates of fish and peppering her with questions, their faces full of concern. I catch Marina’s eyes for a moment, her expression looking overwhelmed, and I nod encouragingly, trying to ignore the spilled food on the edge of my dark skirts.

  We’re here for Marina, I bolster myself, noting the belligerent looks sent my way from some of the women surrounding her. How they feel about me doesn’t matter, as long as they help the Selkies—and their reaction to Marina thus far is deeply heartening.

  Ni Vin is sitting just behind Marina, her quiet, shadowing presence and honed frame radiating latent power as she surveys Marina’s well-wishers.

  Diana picks at her stew, sniffing the pieces of cooked meat disdainfully before deigning to eat it as she glowers across the room at Alcippe, fully immersed in her newfound grudge. Alcippe glares back at Diana from the Queen’s dais, like a coal simmering hot, seemingly unaware of the beautiful, smiling young woman with spring-green skin who’s repeatedly touching her arm, trying to snag her attention. Alcippe’s companion has stiff deep green braids that frame her face in the shape of butterfly wings and are adorned with multicolored orbs of light, and her flowing attire is comprised of silken scarves of every color imaginable.

  I sigh and move to clean up the spilled stew, but Valasca has already beaten me to it. She mutters to herself as she cleans, then catches the eye of a gray-haired Urisk woman hovering close by, a food tray in her hands. This older woman has the rose-white skin of the Urisk’s lowest Uuril class, like Fern and Fernyllia and Alcippe. Unlike most of the women here, she’s unmarked by tattoos and dressed in a simple brown tunic and pants. When Valasca waves her over with a gentle smile, she approaches us submissively, her head bowed, her eyes on the ground.

  She kneels and holds out the tray of food and drink to me as if I’m royalty—and as if I might strike her down if she displeases me. I take a bowl of stew, a cup of milk and a circle of bread from the tray, my mind thrust into confusion at her behavior.

  She’s acting like she’s a slave.

  But Clive Soren said the Amaz can’t abide the abuse of women. How could they have an Uuril slave?

  The gray-haired woman is still kneeling before me, her head down, as if awaiting my verdict. Valasca taps my shoulder. “Touch her arm and say this...” She speaks a few words in Uriskal.

  I do as Valasca directs, and the woman looks up, relief washing through eyes the color of rose quartz. She’s smiling at me like a child who’s just been spared the cane.

  Anger starts a slow burn at the base of my neck as the woman bows to me over and over as she backs away. There are lash scars on her neck and face and arms, and there’s something not quite right about her, as if she’s suffered one too many blows to the head.

  I turn to Valasca, my face rigid with disgust. “So. You have Uuril slaves here?”

  Valasca only seems to be half listening to me as she scoops up her stew with a piece of bread. “Sala isn’t a slave,” she says flatly.

  What kind of fool does she take me for?

  My rage notches higher. “She’s running around serving and bowing as if she’ll be struck if she displeases any of you. It’s obvious she’s been beaten one too many times, and she doesn’t have the markings of your people.”

  “She’s Alcippe’s mother.”

  “What?”

  My eyes fly to the Queen’s dais, seeking out scale-tattooed Alcippe. The huge warrior is watching the Uuril serving woman, the hatred of her previous expression replaced by one of deep pain.

  I glance over at Sala. “But she doesn’t look anything like Alcippe,” I counter, shaking my head in disbelief. Alcippe is taller than Rafe and almost as muscular as Andras. This Uuril serving woman is frail and short; Alcippe’s complete opposite.

  “Alcippe resembles her father,” Valasca explains around the food in her mouth. “Ever heard of Farg Kyul?”

  Farg Kyul. One of the strongest and most ruthless Urisk commanders during the Realm War—and one of the few lower-class Urisk to be granted dragonlord status.

  “He was Alcippe’s father?” I ask, incredulous. “How did she wind up here?”

  Valasca swallows and wipes her mouth with the back of her hand. “She came here with her mother when she was twelve. Her father was monstrously cruel, and they escaped from him.”

  I try to picture weak, abused Sala spiriting Alcippe away from a life with Farg Kyul. “Impossible,” I counter with an emphatic shake of my head. “There’s no way that woman ever rescued her daughter from a dragonlord.”

  Valasca fixes me with a level glance. “Sala didn’t rescue her daughter. Alcippe rescued her.”

  I gape at her, and Valasca sets her bowl down, resting her hands on her crossed legs. “It’s a long story,” she cautions.

  “I’m not going anywhere for a while.”

  Valasca regards me appraisingly before relenting. “Sala was one of Farg Kyul’s four wives. She never bore him a son and lost what beauty she had soon after giving birth to Alcippe, her only child. Because of this, Sala was despised and often beaten by the dragonlord. She was also badly mistreated by the other wives.”

  Valasca’s eyes flit toward Alcippe.

  “But Sala loved her daughter a great deal and did her best to shelter her from the abuse directed at her, as well. Alcippe grew quickly, and by the time she was ten, she was courageously throwing herself between her mother and father to try and protect her mother from his angry blows, some so fierce that her mother was already deaf in one ear.”

  Valasca’s brow furrows, and her eyes briefly flick toward Sala, who is on her knees again, offering up food to another group of women across the hall. “When Alcippe was twelve, she returned from tending their livestock and found her mother unconscious on the floor. Blood was streaming out of her mother’s nose and ear, and her eyes were swollen shut. Alcippe quickly gathered some food, bundled them both up, then waited until dark and left, carrying her mother over her shoulder.

  “She traveled on foot for two months straight until she reached our lands, both mother and daughter half-starved. Alcippe used her last reserves of strength to gently lower her mother to the ground before us. She had one request before she herself collapsed from exhaustion.”

  “What was it?”

  “She said, ‘Turn my mother into a warrior.’”

  I glance again at Alcippe’s mother, hard at wo
rk serving and bowing. I watch as she places a bowl into the hands of a Smaragdalfar woman, the woman’s gray hair streaked with green, her emerald-patterned skin shimmering in the rune-lamp light. The woman grasps Sala’s arm affectionately, smiles at her and murmurs something kindly. Then she gently cups Sala’s submissively downturned chin in her hand, raises her head and bows respectfully to her. Sala smiles sheepishly and quickly scurries away.

  “But her mother never did become a warrior, did she?” I ask, rattled by Sala’s obviously broken spirit.

  Valasca shakes her head grimly. “Sala never completely recovered after her last beating. Our physicians tried to tell Alcippe this, but she refused to believe it, insisting that her mother would get better with time. She threw all her energy into learning our ways and becoming a warrior herself. She kept trying to teach her mother what she learned, guiding her hands around a bow, coaxing her to grasp a spear. But her mother would always grow afraid and run back to the kitchens, back to the tasks she had been required to do for the Kyul family.”

  Her brow furrows as she watches Sala. “Time passed, and Alcippe became one of the fiercest, most powerful soldiers we’ve ever had. When she was eighteen, she received her warrior marks and her new name from the queen. Then she got on her horse and rode off, rune-axe in hand.”

  “Where did she go?”

  Valasca narrows her eyes at me. “To pay a visit to her father.”

  “Oh.” An icy chill runs down my spine. “What happened next?”

  “She returned weeks later, Farg Kyul’s head tied up with some leather twine and swinging behind her. She marched into this very hall and down the aisle, in full view of the queen. She threw the head of her father on the ground at her mother’s feet. I think she always believed that her mother was under the influence of some spell, and that this was the thing that would finally break it, freeing her mother to heal and grow strong and finally able to become a warrior.”

  “But she didn’t,” I say, my voice low.