Heart of Iron (Heart of Iron #1)(69)

“Flattery is not something given lightly,” Machivalle lectured, discussing the proper decorum for interacting with other Ironbloods. “Keep it simple and straightforward—you never like a person that much. Your mother was the queen of flattery. Then again, she was also a Valerio . . . but she was the best of them.”

She glanced up from picking at a loose thread on her trousers. She didn’t feel like herself in dresses. And she couldn’t run in them if she needed to. “Did you know them? My parents?”

“Of course,” replied her tutor. “They were rare. They treated everyone with as much dignity and grace as they treated each other, you see. Some say it was why they never saw the Rebellion coming. They trusted too much.”

“They trusted Metals too much? Or someone else?”

Her tutor hesitated for a moment. “They had a dear friend who was a Metal, but he disappeared after the Rebellion.”

“Do you think he set the fire?”

Machivalle’s eyebrows furrowed, his jaw working, not sure what to say. But when he finally opened his mouth, another voice interrupted.

“May I come in, Lord Machivalle?”

Ana whipped around in her chair.

The Iron Adviser, Lord Rasovant, stood at her door, a glowing holo-pad in his grip. She hadn’t seen him since the throne room, the day the iron crown didn’t rust. It felt almost like a lifetime ago, although it had only been three days.

“Lord Adviser,” Lord Machivalle greeted Rasovant. “I didn’t realize I had run over time. I thought Lord Charone was her next tutor?” Her economics tutor.

“I’m afraid he is indisposed today,” the Adviser replied coolly.

“Indisposed or relieved?”

The Iron Adviser smiled politely. “He is sick.”

“He drank too much Ilidian brandy, eh? Ah, well, we all have our vices. Some of us are just better at hiding them.”

“Yes, well.” Rasovant blinked and then pressed a thin smile across his lips. “Pleasant day, is it not, Machivalle?”

Lord Machivalle leaned forward and whispered, “Take note of the forms of redirection,” with a wink, and closed his old leather tome and stood. “Don’t forget to practice your articulations, and I’ll see you tomorrow, Your Grace,” he said, and nodded to the Iron Adviser. “I hope you have Charone’s lessons for today. The burgeoning disadvantages of the Erosian economy thanks to the influx of Messiers will be quite a treat to talk about today, I feel.”

Then he left without so much as a glance at the Iron Adviser.

Such sass. Ana approved.

Until she realized she was alone with Rasovant, and her courage spiraled into a cold knot in the center of her stomach.

“Good afternoon, Your Grace,” Rasovant began, gliding toward her, and her skin crawled the closer he came. “We will not be going over your economic lessons today. Instead, I thought we could get to know each other a little better before your coronation on the Holy Conjunction. You need to know your duties.”

She stood as the Adviser approached, a wrongness settling in her stomach. His eyes reminded her of cut obsidian—shallow, stagnant. “What kind of duties?”

“I’m sure your other tutors have already said what’s expected of you. I am here as more of a spiritual Adviser, simply to remind you of your duties to the Cantos and the Iron Shrines. We are a kingdom of many, after all. We are of different planets and different beliefs, but we will all be stronger with an army under the Goddess.”

Ana’s brow furrowed. “What?”

“Once you are crowned, and with your blessing, we shall begin the acquisition of all remaining Metals by force—”

“What?” Her voice was louder, brittle. The Adviser gave her an impatient look. “You can’t just order innocent Metals—who have not broken the law—to be HIVE’d! What kind of army do we need?”

“In these dark times, we need to be united—”

“Dark times? Haven’t they always been dark? Look around you! We’re surrounded by space!”

“Metals cannot see the Goddess’s light. They will go astray. They have already. They have the Great Dark inside them. You of all people should know that. The Rebellion cost you everything you knew.”

“It’s a good thing those Metals died in the North Tower, then,” she replied, trying to keep her voice level.

“And if there are more?” asked Rasovant. “We are not safe until they are all HIVE’d.”

“Why did you create Metals to think, then? If you just wanted to control them?”

The edges of the old man’s lips twisted. “I was arrogant and young. I assure you, the HIVE does not hurt—”

“I said no,” she snapped, balling her hands into fists, trying hard not to punch the old man in his crackly old mug. “I will never be a part of that. Find a different Empress.”

She turned on her bare feet, because she refused to wear shoes in her own room, and left. Like a shadow, Royal Captain Viera pushed off from the wall and followed her out.

Why did Lord Rasovant insist that all Metals be HIVE’d when the ones who’d burned the North Tower had died? And why was the North Tower locked?

Because Rasovant lied about the Rebellion, and for once she hated that she’d been right.