The Iron Flower

by Laurie Forest

  Marina sits patiently by Wynter as we all wait, her seal-skin tied over her shoulder and glittering in the firelight along with her silver hair. Her face is tense, and I don’t think she’s eaten a bite all day.

  Just as dawn’s faint glow makes its first tentative appearance on the eastern horizon, Gareth returns.

  Marina and I jump up to greet him as he shrugs off his cloak, swirls of snow falling from it, instantly turning to tiny puddles on the floor. We press a cup of hot tea into his hands and give him a seat by the fire, which he gratefully takes.

  Gareth cuts right to the chase. “Your sister wasn’t there, Marina. But there was a woman there who recognized her.” Marina’s face fills with anguish, and he places a steadying hand on her arm.

  “What was it like?” I ask him softly. “What happened?”

  Gareth swallows hard before answering. “It was awful. They had some women...girls, really... They looked no older than sixteen... They had them dancing for the men.” He stops to shake his head, as if trying to clear away a repulsive thought.

  “They were dancing?” Marina says slowly.

  Gareth shoots her a concerned glance. “They were...unclothed.”

  Marina nods tightly in sickened understanding. Gut-heaving outrage sweeps through me.

  “They kept ushering in lines of girls and young women,” Gareth says. “They were clothed, though barely. They had them standing in a row for the men to look at. Like livestock at a fair. Most of them seemed scared. A few of them, especially the younger ones, looked completely traumatized.”

  He stops to take a breath, clearly upset. “The tavern keeper...he brought me over to them. Told me how much they cost. I chose an older woman. She had a strong, smart look to her—I thought there was a good chance she’d understand. I also picked out a very young girl who seemed deeply disturbed. I assumed she wouldn’t be able to help us, but I figured I could at least buy her a few hours of peace.”

  Gareth pauses to rub the bridge of his nose. Marina has gone very still, her face turning a paler shade of blue. “As soon as we were ushered into a private room,” Gareth continues, “the older woman started to take off her clothing. I think she was trying to divert my attention from the younger girl...protecting her the only way she could. The girl was curled up in a corner, staring at nothing, really, just trembling, terrified. The older woman went to undress me, but as soon as she got close to me, she stopped and froze.”

  He looks at Marina. “I could tell she was smelling me and figuring out that I was somehow...different. I pulled out the pictures, and she was very surprised. It took her a few minutes to get her bearings. I showed her all of the pictures and, at first, she was completely confused, but she seemed to catch on quickly. She grasped that I was there to help her, and that I’m...an ally.”

  “She knew that you are Selkie-kin,” Marina says, and he nods.

  “What happened next?” Diana asks.

  Gareth frowns. “The woman broke down weeping. She took the picture of the ocean and kept pointing at it, looking desperate. Then she went to the girl and tried to show her the pictures, especially the one of the ocean, but the girl was too terrified to register anything. We went over each picture of the planned escape in order several times, and I really think she understood. When our time was close to being up, she made a point of messing up the bed, of unbuttoning my shirt and undressing. About two seconds later, the tavern keeper arrived and told me I had to go.”

  “But the skins,” Marina interjects, her voice breaking into discordant tones as she momentarily loses control of her gills. She throws her palms over the sides of her neck. “What of the skins?”

  “I talked to the tavern keeper for a while when I first got there. Said I was concerned for my own safety. He told me they keep the skins in a locked trunk in a storage room. All the Selkie taverns have the same system—apparently, they streamlined things after one Selkie found her skin and murdered several people. The Amaz should have no trouble retrieving the skins from the storage rooms.”

  Gareth pauses, as if remembering something troubling. “The Mage Council is cracking down on the ownership of Selkies, so most of them have been quietly sold to the Selkie taverns.” Gareth turns to Marina. “If you were still with him...you’d be in one of those places soon, if not already.”

  Marina winces, and Gareth sets down his tea, taking her hand in his.

  “You need to let Wynter see your memories,” Marina tells him, keeping only partial control of her voice, her tones fracturing as they do when she’s upset. “Show them to her while they’re fresh in your mind so we can give these images to the Amaz.”

  Gareth nods, then gets up and goes to Wynter, sitting down on her bed in front of her. Wynter takes a deep breath, as if steeling herself, then places her hands on the sides of Gareth’s face and closes her eyes. She gives a hard flinch and draws away from him for a moment, then stiffens and settles in like a soldier going into battle. After sitting with him like that for a long while, Wynter begins to draw, pausing every so often to touch Gareth’s hand.

  I wander out into the hallway, feeling claustrophobic in the crowded room and frustrated with all of the waiting—and deeply troubled by what Gareth told us.

  I sit on the windowsill, upset and brooding, looking out at the hard blue edge of the dawn. A few cold stars still hang in the sky, and I watch the dawn’s blue edge lift higher for a good half hour.

  “Elloren.”

  I turn my head at the sound of Yvan’s voice and slide off my perch. “I’ve been waiting for you.”

  My fatigue makes it easy to throw off all hesitation. I embrace him, his own hands reaching around to hold me lightly. I can feel his distress in the way he’s holding himself, so stiff and coiled—all stress and troubled emotions, the fire inside of him knifing in random flares. I can tell that, like Gareth, this has taken a toll on him.

  “You smell strange,” I say, pulling away slightly. It’s like spirits mixed with smoke and something else...like sweat.

  “I smell rancid,” he replies harshly. “That place was horrifying.”

  “Gareth’s back, too,” I tell him. “But Rafe and Trystan aren’t. Not yet.”

  “I saw men I know there, Elloren. Resistance fighters. People who I thought cared about justice and freedom. But not for Marina’s kind, apparently.”

  His brow tightens. “More than a few are married. I know some of their wives, and I wonder what they’d make of this if they knew. When the men saw me...they welcomed me, like some long-lost relative...some initiate into this club of theirs...as if I was finally a real man, like them. It was disgusting. It was all I could do not to leave. I’m not a good actor, Elloren. You know that.”

  I do know that. His lack of artifice, so difficult to take when I first met him, is now one of the things I love best about him.

  “But Clive,” he goes on, “you should have seen him. Life of the party. By the end of the evening, he had everyone there—the tavern keeper included—completely falling-down drunk. But not before he got the tavern keeper to give us a tour of the place and a view of every single Selkie there. We both paid for time with multiple women...one right after the other. We tried to pick the ones who seemed the savviest...the ones who didn’t seem...broken.”

  “Gareth said the woman he was with...” I hesitate for a moment. “She tried to undress him.”

  “There was a bit of that,” Yvan admits uncomfortably, “but Wynter’s pictures...once they saw them, most of the women seemed to understand.”

  “Wynter will want to read your thoughts,” I tell him. “So she can draw more pictures for the Amaz.”

  “Of course,” he says, looking toward the door to my room, then back to me again, hesitating.

  That familiar ache I feel when I’m close to him rises up in me. A longing to be closer. To escape from the world in each other’s arms.

 
; “It’s equinox,” he says finally.

  So, it is. I’d completely forgotten. Time to gather the sweet tree sap for the maple festival—one of the few holidays celebrated by everyone in this part of Erthia. Time to make sugar and get ready for the coming spring.

  Everything seems so bleak. It’s hard to believe that soon the trees will bud and the robins will return.

  “Happy Equinox,” I tell him, my hand finding his. He clasps his fingers around mine.

  “I’m also nineteen today.”

  “It’s your birthday?”

  He nods. “My mother believed I would be safe and lucky, because it’s an auspicious day to be born on.” He smiles jadedly at this, as if it’s terribly ironic. “I think it was wishful thinking on her part. Defiance in the face of a rather unpleasant reality.”

  “Oh, I don’t know,” I tell him, swinging our hands a bit. “Maybe you are lucky. We wouldn’t have saved Marina if I hadn’t been following you that day...and Naga is free because of you...”

  And... I love you.

  The words are right on the tip of my tongue, and I wish I could say them out loud. Because isn’t love always lucky? Even if nothing can come of it?

  It has to be.

  He’s staring at me so intently, I find myself coloring. I take his ardent expression as an invitation and wrap my arms around him again, his own arms sliding around my waist, pulling me close, his fire ignoring the boundaries and flickering through my lines in a decadant rush that makes me shiver.

  I kiss his warm cheek and whisper into his ear. “Happy birthday, Yvan.”

  He tilts his head and looks down at me, his eyes suddenly glowing gold. His fire gives a hard surge, and I just know.

  He wants to kiss me.

  Everything stops, except for the insistent rhythm of my heart. Then Yvan forcibly banks his fire, his eyes blazing with a sudden frustration as he looks away, his mouth tensing, the moment shattering. A crushing disappointment rolls over me.

  “I should go see Wynter,” he says, his arms still loosely around me.

  I don’t say anything. I’m thrown off balance and suddenly miserable. He must sense it, since his face tightens with concern.

  “Elloren... I...”

  “No, stop,” I tell him, gently pulling out of his embrace. “You don’t need to explain. It’s just so easy sometimes...to forget everything.”

  He reaches up to caress the side of my face, and I can see in his fiery eyes that he’s tempted to ignore every danger in this. Just like I am.

  “Go to Wynter,” I prod, ignoring the sullen ache inside me. “Think of the Selkies. Not about us.”

  He nods tightly and goes to her.

  * * *

  Trystan returns next. He wears his usual unreadable expression, but I can see from the tension around his eyes that he’s deeply upset. He echoes a similar story very matter-of-factly and takes Yvan’s place in front of Wynter.

  Marina is staring out the window, standing between Diana and Gareth, the three of them speaking in hushed tones. Marina’s voice breaks down into grief-stricken notes, and both Gareth’s and Diana’s arms come up to embrace and comfort her.

  Yvan settles down next to me in front of the fire and he stares into it for a long moment. The horrific images they’ve all described play through my mind, and I’m finding it hard to contain my anger and sadness. When a hot tear skids down my cheek, Yvan’s arm slides around me, and my breath shudders. I sniff back my tears and let my head rest on his warm shoulder. We both quietly watch as Ariel makes little fireballs and hurls them into the hearth.

  Another hour passes, and Rafe finally returns.

  The moment I see my older brother, I know something’s very wrong. Even the way he shakes off his cloak is odd, his movements stiff and uncomfortable. Diana can sense it, too. She’s strangely alert as she moves toward him, studying him intently, almost sniffing the air around him.

  “Rafe, what’s wrong?” I ask. Yvan’s arm is still draped around my shoulder, his other hand absently petting one of Ariel’s sleeping chickens.

  Rafe shakes his head in reply, refusing to meet my eyes. He grabs a desk chair, drags it over to the fire and sits down, still not looking at any of us.

  “What happened?” Trystan asks him.

  Rafe presses the bridge of his nose between his fingers and shrugs. “They’ve got about forty of them. I spent time with two—they seemed to understand the message. The tavern keeper knows they’re not animals. He knows it, and he keeps them there anyway.”

  “How do you know that?” I ask.

  “He told me he won’t let the Selkies have water containers larger than a small bowl—that they can communicate if they get underwater together.” A tight fury lights Rafe’s eyes. “So, I said to him, ‘If they can talk to each other, does that mean they’re human?’ He said, ‘I don’t give a rat’s ass what they are. They sure can bring in the guilders.’”

  He glances over at Marina. “Marina, your sister’s there.”

  Marina seems to have stopped breathing. Gareth quickly takes hold of her arm to steady her.

  “I didn’t actually see her,” Rafe tells her, “but some of the other Selkies recognized her picture. They made it clear that she’s there.”

  Marina nods rigidly, too overwhelmed to speak. Gareth pulls her close, murmuring to her softly as he strokes her hair and she clings to him.

  “Damion Bane was there, as well,” Rafe says.

  Yvan stiffens at the sound of Damion’s name, and my own stomach tightens with revulsion.

  “He’s got some nerve, that one,” Rafe says. “Acted almost glad to see me. Raised his glass to me, even. I saw him again later in the evening, just as the door to his room was closing. I spotted the two Selkies in the room with him. They were...horribly altered.” Rafe stops, as if he can’t quite figure out how to phrase the next part. “They’ve destroyed their skins.”

  A collective gasp goes up from all of us. Marina’s gills burst open, and her hand flies to her mouth. Gareth’s hold tightens on her.

  Rafe’s face takes on a remote, haunted expression as he stares into the fire. “Their eyes... They were opaque...like they were the walking dead. That’s who Damion was with. Those two Selkies. He actually smiled at me as he shut the door.”

  Marina starts to weep. Rafe looks away, and we’re all silent for a moment, struggling with this new horror.

  Eventually, my brother turns to Wynter. “I know we need to give the Amaz as many details as we can, but...if you don’t want to see...”

  Wynter’s face is wan but determined as she answers. “I’ll be all right.” She pats the bed beside her. “Here, come sit by me.”

  * * *

  Diana, Marina, Wynter and I journey for Amaz lands after we’ve all snatched a few hours of rest.

  There’s no need for Andras to guide us this time. Like a migrating bird, Diana only has to be shown a path through the woods once to remember the way forever.

  This time, we’re met at the border by Freyja and two other soldiers who escort us to Cyme quickly and efficiently, bringing us straight to the Queenhall.

  When we arrive, Queen Alkaia takes her time examining each of Wynter’s pictures, then passes them around to the other members of her council. All of the women listen intently to Wynter’s vivid descriptions of the Selkie taverns.

  Alcippe stands just to the Queen’s left, glowering at Diana and me, but she also appears deeply interested in what Wynter and Marina have to say. Valasca is there as well, dressed as casually and unadorned as she was the last time I saw her, silently watching the proceedings.

  Our eyes meet once in unspoken solidarity.

  After thoroughly looking everything over, Queen Alkaia sits back in her chair and meets the eyes of each of her councillors in turn. The other women nod to her in silent agreement.

&nbs
p; “It is decided,” Queen Alkaia announces, hands clasped before her. “We will free the Selkies just after the full moon.”

  “It’s dangerous to wait much longer,” I caution her. “It’s only a matter of time before the Mage Council votes to have all the Selkies executed.”

  “The full moon is a few days prior to their next meeting,” she tells me. “On the night of that full moon, more Selkies could be drawn up from the sea and captured. If we wait until after the full moon, we’ll be able to free those Selkies along with the others and return all of them to their ocean home.”

  CHAPTER TEN

  VALASCA AND ALDER

  Three days before the Amaz are poised to do what will surely be seen as a declaration of war on the Gardnerians, Diana, Tierney and I are ensconced in the North Tower, staring at our books and frantically trying to catch up with our classwork.

  I glance out our lodging’s large window. It’s late, but the western edge of evening sky is still tinted blue, the days lengthening as spring begins its tentative hold on the land, snow increasingly disappearing into earth. Soon, the Western Realm’s famously stormy spring weather will move in.

  I struggle to focus on the page before me. It’s difficult to study, knowing what’s coming, especially with Marina gone. She remained behind in Cyme, preparing for the rescue, and we all feel her absence acutely.

  Diana looks up from her thick medical text, her head tilted, nostrils flaring. “Someone’s coming,” she says, sniffing the air. “Amaz. Two of them.”

  Abruptly vigilant, Tierney and I move to the large circular window and peer down. There are two horses tethered to the old hitching post at the rear of the North Tower. I recognize the black horse with the reddish mane.

  It belongs to Valasca.

  Heavy footsteps clomp up the stone stairs, followed by a firm knock at the door. Tierney and I exchange a glance of curiosity.