Heart of Iron (Heart of Iron #1)(67)
The hair on the back of his neck stood on end—
“Well, look who I’ve found. The star-kisser.”
He glanced over his shoulder at the familiar voice. Erik Valerio smiled.
Robb
He made his way down a darkened hallway in the East Tower, back toward his room, when a voice caught his ears, low and quick, coming from around the corner. Erik.
Of course Erik had to be at the palace, too.
“So how do you do it, then?” asked his brother. “Do you suck blood? Sacrificial ritual?”
Who was he talking to? Cautiously, he peeked around the corner. Erik had Jax up against the sill of the window that looked out onto the moon garden, his fingers wrapped beneath the voxcollar. The Solani’s red-violet eyes snapped to Robb’s, first frantic—and then stone.
Erik went on coolly, “Admit it—you can’t do it. You’ll tell my mother the truth—”
“Leave him alone.” Robb stepped into the hallway.
Erik unraveled his fingers from around the collar. “Oh, look,” his brother drawled. “It’s the spare, on time to ruin my fun as usual.”
“Leave him alone, Erik.”
His mother wouldn’t let the Solani out of her sight unless she was indisposed.
Erik shrugged. “Why’re you so defensive? I simply found a friend in the hallway and decided to say hello—we are friends, aren’t we, star-kisser?”
The Solani glowered at him.
“Leave,” Robb said levelly.
Erik’s eyes sparked. “Ooh, I hit a nerve.”
“LEAVE!”
“I’m going, I’m going.” Erik raised his hands in defeat. As he passed Robb, he paused and bent close to whisper, “But you know I’ll always end up breaking your toys.”
Then his brother was gone, down the hallway and out of sight.
Jax
Robb was a terrible sight for sore eyes.
Jax tugged at his voxcollar, wiggling it back into a comfortable position from where that egomaniacal lord had messed it up. The collar was already rubbing a rash on his neck. He didn’t need permanent scarring, too.
Then—remembering—he glanced back into the garden, but the red eyes were gone. It couldn’t have been a trick of the light, could it?
“Are you okay?” Robb asked. “Did Erik hurt you?”
Jax turned a glare back to the insufferable Ironblood.
“Oh—right. You—the voxcollar. Listen, I . . .”
Jax waved his hand dismissively. He would rather not have pity. Groveling wasn’t all that attractive, anyway. Besides, Robb was the last person he wanted to see. If it were up to him, he’d toss the Ironblood out of the window, but then he was sure Lady Valerio wouldn’t keep him around. He wasn’t here for his own revenge fantasy, and remembering that made Robb a little more bearable.
Until, of course, Robb fell to his knees and pressed his head against the floor. “I’m sorry,” the boy said. “I’m so sorry. I’m going to get you out of here. As soon as I can. I’m going to—”
He was what?
Jax grabbed the Ironblood by the shoulders and dragged him to his feet again, glaring at him with all the hatred he could muster. “No,” he mouthed, “you won’t—”
The voxcollar zapped, and he flinched away from Robb. The sting went all the way down to his toes. He bit his tongue so he wouldn’t make a sound.
“Please,” Robb said desperately, “let me help.”
And ruin his plans? Oh, Darkness damn everything.
He shoved the Ironblood backward.
Robb stumbled but found his footing. His face fractured with hurt before he could reel his emotions in and hide them behind that charming stoic Valerio mask. Good—emotions didn’t look nice on Robbert Valerio, anyway.
“I will get you out of here,” he said with conviction. “I promise you. On iron and stars.”
About to shove the Ironblood away again, Jax froze. His hands began to tremble.
The door opened again and Lady Valerio stepped out, pausing when she noticed Robb in the hallway. Her eyebrows rose just a fraction. “Dear, did I not tell you to go to bed?”
A muscle in Robb’s jaw twitched. “Yes, Mother.” He bowed to her and left without another glance.
Jax watched him go, the sound of the unbreakable vow ringing in his head, sweet and strong, like a gold chain woven through strings of glass.
Ana
The next few days were filled with classes and lectures and learning. The gray-mustached steward from the other day rattled off her schedule while Mellifare poured a cup of morning tea. Ana hadn’t even gotten out of bed yet, her eyelashes still crusted with sleep. The steward seemed to think that she was as dumb as rocks. No, she’d never been to school before, but she was not illiterate.
The Dossier was where she’d learned. Her maths were made up of the perfect calibration for Riggs’s mechanical leg. Her words from pages and pages of Di’s favorite books and Wick’s word-scramble games. Her history lessons were learned in every world they visited, every city they slept in. Her decorum from every shore leave on Nevaeh, every waystation hustle.
The steward told Ana that she had to learn the proper history of the kingdom. No less was expected of a future Empress, as if everything she’d learned as an outlaw was inferior and dangerous. She needed to be taught. She needed to be groomed and polished, like silverware to set a table.