Heart of Iron

  “No one’s gonna talk about the door-slamming-shut thing back there?” Lenda asked. “Anyone?”

  “It is a glitch,” Di replied absently.

  Siege sat in the navigation chair—Jax’s chair—and whirled around to face the crew, crammed elbow to elbow into the tight space. “All right. We’re going after Ana. I’m not asking any of the other ships, so we’re going to be on our own. Anyone who doesn’t want to risk their lives can get off at the waystation and transfer to the Illumine or Scorpius with my highest regards.”

  The crew looked at one another, but no one objected.

  Talle took Siege’s hand and squeezed it tightly. Di had never noticed before how they looked at each other, as though the stars orbited around no one else.

  “Sunshine, my Sunshine,” Talle told Siege, “Ana’s our family. We don’t leave family.”

  “At least not without a fight,” Riggs added with a grin. “Wick would’ve wanted that.”

  “Barger, too.” Lenda agreed.

  The captain looked relieved. “All right. Di? Your new upgrade kept you fluent in communications?”

  “I believe so.”

  She jutted her chin toward Wick’s empty console. “Then would you mind?”

  Di opened and closed his mouth, not knowing what to say. “It . . . would be an honor,” he finally managed, and took his position at the console.

  Siege ordered the crew to go to their places, spinning back around in her chair. They needed to drop off the Valerio guards, restock their supplies, mend the sails, and somehow infiltrate the Iron Palace. But Siege said it with a grin, all teeth and daring courage, and it made Di want to ignore the 87.34 percent chance of failure.

  And that was a strange feeling, not to care about facts.

  Do not think about it, he thought, absently touching the port at the nape of his neck, feeling the indentations, wondering what parts of him were less Metal, less wires, less data, and more . . .

  More.

  Because Ana meant something. He felt it. Deep, burning, dawning like a sunrise. Ana meant something and he was not sure what to call it. But it was something, and it was expanding.

  It was a light.

  The sails billowed out with a thunderous roar, catching the winds. The starshield lit up with their destination, a waystation nearby where they would drop off the Valerio guards and mend the sails. In the meantime, Di pulled up the feeds to search for some way—any way—to infiltrate the Iron Palace.

  And survive.

  Robb

  He made his way through the palace toward Ana’s room, rubbing his aching wrist where his mother had pressed the tracking chip. She’d find a way to get Erik on the throne, even if it killed her.

  And Jax . . .

  His mother couldn’t have known what Jax meant to him—

  Could have meant, he corrected himself.

  He had screwed up more times than he cared to admit, and whatever he had felt on the Tsarina for Jax—whatever he had tasted in Jax’s words, felt against his lips—meant nothing if he could not fix this.

  His mother was not going to win. Not this time.

  As he hurried down the Messier-lined hallway, he began to form a plan. But it would take Ana’s help—if she ever forgave him.

  Ana’s royal bedchamber was at the farthest end of the South Tower, well away from the skeleton of the North one where her bedchamber—and those of the rest of the royal family—used to be. Yellow lanterns bobbed above him, floating through the air like rafts on a river.

  In the summers when he was a child, he’d run through the halls with the Armorov boys while their kid sister sat in her room, forbidden to run through the palace or dig in the garden. She was always separated from the rest of them. She was the Goddess—she wasn’t allowed to have a childhood.

  But on the Dossier, everyone embraced her with open arms. They loved her—unconditionally. Not because she was the Goddess . . .

  But because she was Ana.

  Two Messiers stood by a door at the end of the hallway, ignoring the poor Royal Captain banging on the door.

  “Your Grace!” Royal Captian Viera yelled. “I implore you to unlock the door!”

  Robb pocketed his hands. “Is there a problem, Vee?”

  Startled, the Royal Captain spun around to him—and scowled. “No, Lord Valerio. Everything is fine.”

  “Yeah it is, so shove off!” came Ana’s reply on the other side. “Both of you!”

  Robb couldn’t help but grin. “I see you have your hands full. I’ll come back some other time.”

  “Please do,” Viera ground out, her cold eyes following as he turned to retrace his steps down the hall.

  So, Ana had locked herself in her room, which meant either she wasn’t coming out—

  Or she was planning an escape.

  He needed to get to her before she tried that.

  The hallways were vacant as he made his way toward the kitchen, where he dismissed the lone chef busily prepping food for the Grand Duchess’s dinner. He took a large napkin from a drawer, piled it full of foods in his immediate reach, tossed in two napkins with silverware, and tied it tightly into a makeshift basket.

  Then he set off toward a small door hidden at the back of the kitchen. If he remembered correctly, the servants’ corridors led to all the suites in the palace.

  He pushed on it with his shoulder, and the door swung inward to a narrow and dark corridor. Dust hung in the air like slow-moving snowflakes as he felt his way through the darkness until he came to what he hoped was the right door. He pressed his back against it. The wall gave way, and the door swiveled around into the room—

  A pillow bounced off the wall beside him, clearly aimed for his head.

  “It’s me!” he called, holding up the basket in surrender. “I brought food!”

  Ana paused in the middle of reaching for another throw pillow from her bed—and threw it anyway.

  It nailed him in the face. He stumbled back. “Goddess, stop that!”

  “I’ll murder you!” she threatened. “You and your mother! You were her pawn this whole time—”

  “Her pawn,” he deadpanned, catching the third pillow out of the air. “Why does everyone think I like my mother?”

  “Because you’re like your mother.”

  “I don’t like anyone,” he snapped in reply, and paused, finally getting a good look at her. Her hair—the braid—was gone, her head shaved clean. It made her face look sharper, her golden-brown eyes brighter. Where she’d been soft edges before, she was broken glass now. Of course she didn’t wear any of the beautiful nightgowns in her wardrobe, but a simple pearl-colored tunic belted at the waist, and dark trousers.

  He held up the bag of food. “I deliver nutrients. So you don’t starve.”

  One look and she turned her nose up at it. “I’m not hungry.”

  Of course you are—you haven’t eaten since yesterday, he thought, annoyed. “Look, I’m not here to pick a fight, okay? We need to talk—”

  “I have nothing to say to you.”

  Pursing his lips, he moved around her to the balcony that looked out into the moon garden. It was a short drop, so he climbed over the railing.

  “What are you doing?” Ana asked, coming over. “Where are you going?”

  “For a walk. Isn’t it stuffy here?”

  “No. We’re on a balcony.”

  He gave her a pointed look. “Wouldn’t you like to stretch your legs?”

  “No.”

  He smiled tightly and mouthed, “Let’s talk privately.” Ana hesitated. He held up the cloth basket of food again. “And you have to be hungry.”

  “Well I’m not—”

  Her stomach grumbled. He raised an eyebrow.

  Embarrassed, she folded her arms over her middle. “I mean—I’m fine. I don’t need your charity.”

  “Believe me, it’s not charity,” he replied, and let go of the banister, dropping into the bushes below.

  “Wait!” she cried, rushi
ng up to the railing. “There’s a Messi—”

  When he landed, he whirled around and came face-to-face with a Messier in the bushes. He gave a start, leaping back, but it didn’t make a move to apprehend him. He slunk around it, out of the shrubbery, and its blue gaze followed him the whole way.

  He pulled a leaf from his curly hair and gave Ana a wave.

  “I can’t go down there!” She eyed the Messier.

  He rolled his eyes, stepping out onto a cobblestone path. “It’s not going to hurt you—it works for you. Now come on.”

  The palace’s moon garden wasn’t like his family’s garden in Astoria. There weren’t exotic flowers or mazes of thornbushes. The palace’s garden was simple, with topiary bushes in the shape of the Goddess and crescent moons and stars, and willow trees lining the edges. A stark black moondial stood in the middle of the garden, counting the rotation of Luna around Eros, and rising up from the edge of the garden was an Iron Shrine, its windows warm with candlelight.

  Most of the garden could be seen from the palace—except for a small grove near the East Tower. The eldest Armorov, Rhys, had shown him the spot years ago, although back then it had been used to get away from their tutors.

  Behind him, he heard Ana land in the bushes and creep around the Messier. “Why isn’t it doing anything?”

  “What’s it supposed to do? You’re the heir, so the palace is yours. It’s not like it’s going to arrest you.”

  She caught up to him, picking a twig off her shirt. “I still don’t like it. Why couldn’t we talk in my room? What, it isn’t good enough for a spoiled-rotten Ironblood like you?”

  “It could be bugged. Someone could be listening. Can’t you trust me a little?”

  “Trust you? You lied to me. You led your mother straight to the Dossier! And now that I’m apparently royalty, you probably want to marry me so you can get the throne—”

  “We’re cousins, and you’re not my type.”

  The anger on her face dropped. “Cousins?”

  “Your mother was my aunt—my mother’s sister,” he confirmed, and ducked under a low-hanging willow branch and into the hidden grove. Small white buds sprouted from the ground, and he made sure not to step on them as he found a spot to sit.

  She stood stiffly at the edge of the grove. “I’m not a Valerio. I’m not like you. You killed my friends, my family—”

  “My mother did that,” he corrected under his breath, and then added louder, “Jax is alive.”

  The anger on her face fractured into hope. “He is?”

  “Yes, and he’s here. My mother won’t let him out of her sight. I don’t know why—” She spun to leave the grove. “Wait! What are you doing?”

  She threw a glare back at him. “I’m going to order her to release him.”

  “You can’t do that—”

  “Can’t? Or you don’t want me to?”

  He bit the inside of his cheek. A little of both. “If you bring attention to him, it’ll put a marker on his back for the rest of his life. A Solani protected by the Empress? He’ll be a walking target, I promise you.”

  “Then what do you expect me to do? Just sit here while your mother does who knows what with him?”

  No, but if Ana ordered his release, then his mother would know that he was talking with Ana; and if Ana did nothing, there was a very real chance that things would get worse for Jax—and that was the last thing he wanted.

  “Let me save him,” he heard himself saying before he realized what exactly he meant. Ana blinked, just as surprised.

  She scoffed. “Like how you saved me?”

  “My mother won’t suspect it coming from me. She doesn’t expect much from me at all, really.”

  She debated for a moment, shifting from one foot to the other.

  It was a look Robb had seen a hundred times before. In ballrooms. Parties. Framed in a window, leaning back, just before letting go.

  But you’re a Valerio, they all said.

  He unbuttoned the cuff of his right sleeve and bent back his hand to show her the dormant tracking chip. “This was how my mother found the Dossier. I didn’t tell her. It was activated just before the Grand Duchess made her announcement—my mother came looking for me.”

  “Then why didn’t you tell anyone about the tracker?”

  “I messed up.” It was the only answer he could give. “I—I didn’t know she’d come herself. I thought she’d send one of her commanders. And I knew you would throw me off the ship if I said anything. I had to find out what happened to my father. Believe me, if I could pry this from my wrist, I would, but if I did, it would cut the nerve endings in my sword arm.”

  And then I wouldn’t be able to fight off Erik, and the thought of being helpless against Erik made his chest tighten with panic.

  “Oh, forgive me if I don’t feel bad for your precious sword arm,” she snapped icily.

  “Please, Ana. I will get Jax out of here, you have my word. My mother has won her game a hundred times before, but she won’t win this one—I promise.”

  Ana hesitated, but he knew she was smarter than anyone gave her credit for. She knew he was right and came to sit down beside him. “I still don’t believe you, but I don’t have a choice.”

  He untied the basket of food, unwrapping the silverware, and studied her. “It’s more than just Jax, isn’t it?”

  She nodded. “Whatever took control of the Tsarina and killed Di is still out there. It knew my name—it might’ve known I was the heir to the kingdom, too.” She riffled through the food until she found a jar of olives, twisted it open, and popped one into her mouth. Empress Celene loved olives, too. “It told Di he should have let me burn. I think it was there the night of the Rebellion.”

  Robb sliced up the bread and took a wedge of cheese from a small wheel. “But Rasovant said all the Metals who stormed the North Tower were destroyed—”

  “How can Rasovant be sure of that?”

  He shoved the piece of bread and cheese into his mouth. “He was the only survivor—until you.”

  She blinked.

  “On the night of the Rebellion, he was called to the North Tower when the Metals stationed there attacked—he said they wanted to kill the Goddess. Um, you. Then a fire broke out and everything went to shit. Rasovant barely made it out himself.”

  “Don’t you think it’s odd that he’s the only survivor? And all we have to go on is his word?”

  “Ana, he saved us from the Plague.” He’s a hero, one of the kingdom’s best. Why would he lie?”

  “Because he wasn’t a hero when he created the HIVE. If he just wanted to control Metals, why did he give them free will in the first place?”

  “Maybe he wished for the best?”

  “But not every Metal tried to kill me—”

  “Who’s to say the malware after you isn’t a Metal he created? If they were all HIVE’d, this wouldn’t be a problem.”

  She slammed down the jar of olives. “If they were all HIVE’d, then Di would have never existed.”

  He looked away, uncomfortable. “I’m sorry. You’re right.”

  She mumbled something under her breath and grabbed the bread knife, spearing a slice with a little too much force. He tried to imagine that it wasn’t his head, but it was hard to think of anything else. “Even though I can’t remember it, I need to find out what really happened the night of the Rebellion. So if you were going to investigate, where would you start?”

  “Probably the visitation logs from that day? You seem dead set on disbelieving the Iron Adviser, so we can check there first. Who came to the palace, who left—maybe we can pin down what happened that night and who met with the Emperor, and which Metals were in the Tower when they attacked. The palace’s libraries should have some sort of record-keeping archive.” He cocked his head. “I can start there.”

  She raised a single black eyebrow. “You?”

  “Yeah, me.” He met her gaze. “I want to know just as much as you. For some reason my father t
hought he had to run as far away from the palace as possible. I want to know why.”

  “So do I. I’ll start nosing around to find some info on Rasovant and your father, and you figure out a way to free Jax.” She outstretched her hand. He looked at it blankly. “Well? Are you with me or not, Valerio?”

  “To the end.” He took her hand, and they shook.

  She grinned, snagging another piece of cheese. “Don’t say things you don’t mean. . . .” Her words trailed off as Eros’s second moon drifted into view above them, casting a silvery light across the garden. And one by one, the small white buds around them bloomed to soak up the moonlight.

  Her lips parted in awe. “Moonlilies?”

  “They are the Goddess’s flower.”

  She plucked one and stuck it behind her ear. “What do you think? Do I look Goddess-like?”

  “You look—” The moonlight glinted against a pendant around her neck. It was slightly melted, a shadow of itself, but it was still there. A snake eating its own tail.

  His heart began to race. “Where . . . where did you get that? Around your neck?”

  “This?” She touched the pendant. “It’s my good-luck charm. I’ve had it as long as I can remember—”

  “Ananke?” an old, crackly voice called from across the garden. The Grand Duchess ducked beneath a low tree limb, eyes flickering across the grove. “Ah, it seems you have company.”

  Robb quickly scrambled to his feet and gave a low bow. “Your Grace. I was just—”

  “Enjoying the moonlilies, as we all are,” the Grand Duchess replied, and turned to Ana. “I am sorry for interrupting, but I was on my way to the shrine when I heard voices, and you sounded so much like your mother. . . .” She faltered. “Forgive me. I’ll leave—”

  “Wait.” Ana began to rise to her feet, but Robb snagged the edge of her tunic.

  “What are you doing?” he whispered.

  “If we’re going to find out about that fire, where do you think’s the best place to start?”

  Point.

  The Grand Duchess turned back, strangely curious. “Yes?”

  “Can I come with you?” Ana asked, swiping his hand away, and rose to her feet. “To the shrine?”

  “Of course!” The Grand Duchess looked pleased. Robb had never seen the old woman look anything besides dour. “It would be an honor, Ananke.”