Heart of Iron (Heart of Iron #1)(66)

“I love her,” Ana said, wishing she could go back in time and apologize for yelling at Siege outside the infirmary. Instead, Ana would have let the captain hug her, and cried into her shoulder. She would have apologized, over and over, until her voice went hoarse. “She raised me and she loved me—”

“She did not love you,” the old woman replied, her voice lower, quieter. “She probably knew who you were. That was why she kept you hidden. As ransom, or bait, or—”

“She wouldn’t do that. She’s my family—”

“I am your family, Ananke.”

A flash of anger lit inside Ana. She jerked to her feet. “I’m not Ananke.”

“You are the first daughter born to the Armorov bloodline in a thousand years,” said the old woman, and the gleam of the candle lights showed the desperation in her eyes. “You are most important—and you are the one who survived. You will fight the Great Dark.”

“The Great Dark doesn’t exist,” Ana argued. “It’s just a story.”

“All stories are built from the bones of something true. You are the daughter of iron and stars. You are the symbol of hope in a time when light only shines from things that burn.”

Ana gritted her teeth. “The Armorovs burned. So are you saying that was hope? That they burned?”

“It was a tragedy I will forever mourn, but we finally saw those Metals as the heartless beasts they are—”

“Metals are not heartless,” Ana snapped.

“Do you truly believe that when you look at your face, my darling?” asked the Grand Duchess, raising a hand to Ana’s scarred cheek.

Ana slapped her hand away. “I’m going to bed. Good night.” Then she turned out of the shrine, but she couldn’t escape the Grand Duchess’s words quickly enough. Metals were not heartless.

She knew it firsthand.

Di was not evil.

Somehow, she found her way to the great hall, and the gilded doors she had come through earlier that day. Beyond them was the courtyard, and then the gates, then freedom—it seemed so far away.

Two Messiers stood on either side of the door. They turned their heads toward her, watching, as she approached. Guarding.

But this was her palace. If she was the the heir, she could go wherever she wished—anywhere in the kingdom.

She reached to open the doors when one of the Messiers grabbed her wrist. Not harshly, but just to stop her.

“It is not safe outside,” it said, and let go of her wrist.

The other one added, “It is best you stay inside.”

“But I want to leave,” she argued.

“It is best you stay inside,” the same Messier repeated. “It is pleasant inside the palace.”

She took a step back. Then another, a knot forming in her throat.

Robb was mistaken. The Messiers were not here to guard her. They were here to keep her inside. To keep her prisoner. They didn’t report to her at all, but she was certain who they did report to—Rasovant.

While she was inside this palace, she was a sitting target for the malware from the Tsarina—and whoever was truly behind the Rebellion seven years ago.





Jax


Jax stood in a hallway in the East Tower, positively lost. He hadn’t moved since Lady Valerio told him to stay put, but still he was lost. There were too many hallways, and too many rooms. He leaned against a window that looked out onto the moon garden, tapping his gloved finger impatiently on his forearm. A few moments ago, Ana had fled the shrine, and he watched as the Grand Duchess followed, as slow and steady as a funeral procession.

A Messier stood like a statue outside the room Lady Valerio went into—she was meeting with Lord Rasovant. She tried to keep it a secret, but honestly, he was a prisoner, not stupid.

The Messier’s blue eyes didn’t flicker as it stared straight ahead. Even Di’s eyes flickered.

He tugged at his voxcollar.

Of all the ideas his pretty little brain could come up with, this was the best he could do? Offer to read Lady Valerio’s stars in exchange for . . . Oh, it didn’t matter now.

“However, I do not trust you’ll keep your word,” Lady Valerio had said. “I knew your father, after all, so to ensure your end of the bargain, I will agree on one condition.”

He had not thought that condition would be to wear a voxcollar and be at the lady’s personal beck and call.

With a silent sigh, he leaned farther out of the window, to soak in as much starlight as he could. It made him feel better. The palace was cold and drafty—downright spooky, really. Eros loomed outside the window like a monstrous shadow, a ring of light surrounding it, shifting shadows across the hallway.

If he closed his eyes, he could feel the stars rotating, spiraling, across the great black expanse. And if he concentrated further, he could feel the blackness itself. Encroaching.

Ah ba’tha nazu mah, the Darkness whispered, like a sigh. Ah ba’tha nazu morah.

I am coming from the edges, it translated from the Old Language. I am coming from the end.

The call was stronger tonight. It was stronger than it had ever been. Was it that close already—how could he not have heard it?

Because you never wanted to, he thought bitterly, clenching and unclenching his gloved hands into fists.

When he opened his eyes again, something in the moon garden caught his eye. A distinct, bright flicker of red. A pair of eyes.