Heart of Iron (Heart of Iron #1)(103)

“You do not have a choice,” his father had replied. “You are a powerful asset to the Solani legacy—”

“I’m not a weapon!” he had cried.

That night, Jax left.

He didn’t know what would have happened if he had stayed. Would he have died before now? Would it have been slow, in his sleep under the stars, with the taste of his mother’s cider still on his tongue?

How boring that sounded.

Lenda’s voice rose, frantic, from the comms chair. “Jax! I—I think there’s a missile—”

He reached out to the lever commanding the sails and grabbed ahold of it tightly. If he drew the sails back into the ship, they’d only have their inertia to coast with, and they weren’t yet out of the moon’s gravity.

So, obviously, what went up must go down.

He was counting on it.

“Hold on!” he cried, pulling the lever.

The sails sucked into the sides of the Dossier with a sharp noise, and the Dossier slowed out of speed with a sharp jerk. The Messier fighters went screaming past them, missiles exploding in a sharp blast. The blowback knocked the Dossier backward, and with an excited cry, Jax let gravity wrap its fingers around the old girl and pull her—like a meteor—toward the ground.





Hive


His father slid, like a melting piece of iron, to the Empress’s feet. And did not stir again.

As he watched, a tremor went through him, the voice in the back of his head screaming, so loud even the song could not block it out. It made him advance quicker, it made the song sweeter. It no longer felt like a minor chord in a major key, but an accompaniment, a sorrow that ached in a place he had long since forgotten. His father—his father was dead, both the voice and the song wailed.

He gave a cry, clutching his lightsword, and charged the Empress.

A moment before he swung, she looked up and ducked, scrambling out of the way. He slashed again with reckless abandon, carving a glowing mark down the wall. She stumbled on her dress, fleeing.

But there was nowhere she could run where he would not follow.

The HIVE’s song roared in his thoughts, prickling the back of his neck like splinters. The Empress had killed him. She’d killed Father. He gripped the hilt of his sword tightly.

Kill her! the song cried, and he agreed.

He stepped over the corpse of his father, the dagger embedded in the man’s stomach. The old man’s yellowing eyes found his face. He reached up a bloodied hand, mouth forming words, but no sound came out.

There is not time for this, the red song screamed. Go after her!

But he did not want to leave Father. He did not—

The song spiked, puncturing any sorrow, any separate thoughts. He placed a hand on his father’s neck and squeezed. The man gave a gurgle, gasping, before his hand fell limp against the bloody floor.

After her, the song sang, and he obeyed. The Empress could not hide.

A group of guards rounded the corner to stop him, but he felt his way into the communicators inside their lapels and overheated them. They exploded, leaving gaping holes carved into the guards’ chests. They dropped with barely a scream.

Their Messier counterparts watched. Good statues.

He stepped over the bloody bodies, his lightsword humming hungrily in his grip. He could follow her to the ends of the cosmos without tiring.

He would follow her until she was dead.

It did not take long for her to reach the end of the hall. She did not know the palace well enough, and humans made the most foolish mistakes. She stopped in front of the closed doors to the North Tower. There were new chains locking it shut.

She turned around. Her face imperfect. Illogical.

He advanced slowly.

There was no need to rush. Moments like these were to be savored.

“Snap out of it,” she said, pressing her back against the door. He could hear her heart thrumming, the pump of a fleshy organ in a brittle cage. “I know you’re still in there. I know you are—”

“You ruined me. Do you remember? I did not want to go onto the Tsarina, but you did not care.”

“You said you would go anywhere with me.” Her voice was barely more than a whisper.

“But then, last night. You could have come away with me. You could have saved me. You could have been my home.” The hurt on her face deepened with every word, how it made the scars seem sharper. “But you did not love me enough to try.”

“I love you more than iron and stars, Di,” she whispered.

Di. Yes, she would die. He would be her death.

But he was not her Di.

Ana shook with a sob. Tears. She often woke up with those. Streaming down her cheeks.

You are mine, the HIVE sang.

“You’re my best friend,” she said.

He faltered. Blinked. “Friend?” He pressed his free hand against his forehead. “I—I think—Ana . . .”

“Di?” Her voice sounded hopeful.

He lowered his lightsword. It hummed, hummed, ready and waiting. She took a hesitant step forward.

“Di? Are you—is it you?” she asked, and when he looked back to her, he knew his eyes were moonlight. It was so easy to change their color. Her face broke into a smile, and she took another step forward. Then another. He helped close the distance. The HIVE, sweet and soft, sang like the whisper he had once heard a lifetime ago. “Di—Di it’s you, I’m so sorry I—”