Heart of Iron (Heart of Iron #1)(82)

The woman surveyed Jax. “I do not believe in magic, or superstitions, or some ‘Great Dark.’ I believe in what I can see. But my sons mean a great deal to me, and I aim to give them the best life I can. So, yes. Use whatever unholy power you have to read my future. To read my son’s legacy.”

Singular or plural? It was hard to tell.

He hesitated, clenching his fists, feeling the way his leather gloves tightened around his knuckles.

“That was our agreement, C’zar Taizu,” Lady Valerio reminded him.

“It was half of our agreement,” he said. “My half.”

The woman looked tired. “Of course. And that’s truly what you ask? That my son doesn’t come to harm? Do you think me a fool?”

“I think I want you to keep your end of the bargain.”

“Fine. I promise I will not let anyone harm Robbert—”

“No, the unbreakable way.”

Her lips pursed. “I promise on iron and stars, Solani.”

An unbreakable oath. He felt the pull of it, the sway of the stars at the promise, her words knotting together.

He took a deep breath and nodded. “All right.”

Kneeling in front of her, he peeled off his gloves and folded them neatly in front of him. His hands were pale in the dim light of the room. They were normal hands, long fingers and short nails. There was nothing special about them, but there didn’t need to be. It didn’t have to be his hands—a brush of an elbow, a bump of knees, a kiss—they all worked the same. But in his hands he could control his gift, feeling his way through the stars.

He asked her to lean forward.

She did, and closed her eyes.

He hadn’t purposely used his gift in ten years—Robb’s small tryst aside—not since he’d left his home on Iliad. Not since his father had forced him to read his stars—for the future of the Solani, his father had said. That same night, he kissed his mother good-bye because he refused to be used as a weapon. He would not flare and burn out.

But as his father said, one could not defy one’s stars.

He reached out and pressed his thumbs against the middle of Lady Valerio’s forehead. The contact sent a jolt through him. Searing. He concentrated as his father had taught him, focusing on the star-stuff inside this horrid Ironblood—the same star-stuff inside every person—his senses already spiraling up to the pinions of lights above them, past and futures stretching far, far, farther than eternity. He was one of the last Solani who could read them.

The very last, perhaps.

He sensed the glow, the warmth, of Lady Valerio’s stars.

And then he pressed the rest of his fingers against the Ironblood’s temples and drank in the sky. Whispers, mutterings, images so sharp they felt visceral—

A coronation, a thousand candles lighting the shrine, panic, a grating and horrid noise, a bloody crown, the muzzle of a pistol— He gasped, wrenching his hands away from her.

Lady Valerio opened her eyes. She studied him.

“I am going to die,” she inferred calmly.

“Yes,” he gasped, shaking. He had seen before how someone was going to die, but he’d never seen it so close. So thoroughly. The emotions leaked into his head, filling him to the brink. “Soon.”

“Very well,” she said, but there was a flicker, finally, in her cold eyes. She touched the remote to his collar again, a warm buzz filling his ears, and left the room.

Jax sank to his knees and pressed the palms of his bare hands against his eyes, the sting of tears fresh and scathing. Because of the promise they’d made. Because it was unbreakable.

A promise on iron and stars.





Ana


D09—her Di.

Robb said there was only one Metal stationed there that evening—the one her parents trusted. It was D09, and D09 had saved her, so he couldn’t have been the one to start the fire. And if he was the only Metal in the tower that night, then what Metals were Rasovant talking about when he said they set fire to the tower? And why had Robb’s father called the guards before the fire broke out?

Now she had more compelling proof than ever. Something had happened. Something that someone wanted to keep quiet—

“Ana . . .”

A chill curled down her spine. She quickly pocketed the note from Machivalle. “Hello?”

But no one answered.

Taking off her heels, she got to her feet, cocking her head to listen for the voice again. It was faint—and sounded like her name. Coming from the wall.

No, not the wall—the servants’ entrance.

She should go get Viera, but had she actually heard anything? It was so faint—what if it had been in her head?

Her fingers ran along the sides of the hidden door, feeling for the seams. She shoved against it, but it didn’t budge. She tried again—harder.

The wall swung open into a dark corridor.

“Anyone in here?” She nervously rubbed her pendant as she reached out her hand to skim the dusty wall, and felt her way through the darkness, so thick her eyes began to float with spots of color.

A soft, hushed breeze tickled her ear.

“Ana . . .”

She spun around—

“Who’s there?” she asked. “Where are you?”

The dark responded with the sound of pattering feet—running. Echoing down the long corridor, away from her.