Heart of Iron (Heart of Iron #1)(99)

The name did not belong to him. It was a mask. Dust knocked off his core.

He pulled his hood over his face to hide his hair, so no other Ironblood could spot him. He was clad in black, from his hood to his soft boots—better for mimicking shadows than the human D09 once strived to be.

Lord Rasovant finally finished the rites, reached forth for the crown. The tines could cut flesh with enough pressure. What an entertaining thought. The crown rusted red against the Adviser’s fingertips, staining his human flesh.

Above them, like the ticking of a great clock, the planets moved into position. The Goddess stared up at them, as if she had waited a thousand years to see them again.

His father placed the crown upon the girl’s head. “May the stars keep you steady and the iron keep you safe, Empress Ananke.”

The girl held out her candle and set it at the base of the Goddess’s feet, a thousand candles for a thousand years. For less than a second, the thousand candles flickered as if the shrine itself had sighed.

Now, the voice whispered.

The word filled him with purpose.

It made him yearn to impress.

As the crowd rose, erupting in applause, he leaped over the edge of the rafters and landed on top of a Royal Guard stationed by a statue. The human broke in multiple places, fingers twitching on the hilt of his lightsword.

He grabbed the sword, standing, as a guard a few feet away turned to shout for help. He shoved his sword through the guard’s throat. No one heard her gurgles over the applause. The guard’s blood hissed off the blade.

In his other hand, electricity sizzled against his fingertips. A gift, she had told him. Currents he could control, in exchange for his thoughts. He was a weapon. Weapons did not need to think.

Empress Ananke noticed him first as he prowled down the aisle. She took a step back before she stopped herself. Rose to stand tall.

Something in the corner of his processors spiked, but he shoved back the errant code. A girl kissing his Metal mouth. Honeysuckle vines. Soft lips. A smile.

Oh, what a pretty lie.

From under his hood, his eyes glowed a burning, brilliant red.

“Guards!” she called, but he wanted her to shut up.

He slashed at her.

She jumped out of his way, surprisingly quick for a human in a dress. The crown toppled off her head and clattered to the ground. He picked it up. Toyed with the idea of using it to scrape her face clean.

“It’s an assassin!” someone yelled.

“Why aren’t the Messiers doing anything?” cried another.

“Is the HIVE broken?”

The crowd erupted into chaos. They shrieked. The sounds rattled the rafters, shook the flames in the candles. Frightened Ironbloods clambered over each other, kicking away the dead guards, pushing open the doors, letting the sweet dawn light inside. Abandoning the Empress they seemed to love so much. He reveled in the chaos. The sound spurred him on, the voice in his head crooning sweet promises. He needed to kill her. It did not matter why.

“Save the Empress!” Rasovant cried as he ran with the other Ironbloods, as if he was worried for his own life.

But it was a ruse—scripted to make him seem innocent.

With Rasovant gone, he turned his gaze back to the Empress. Overturned candles set fire to the tapestries.

The Empress backed up against the altar, weaponless and alone.

This was no fun at all.

“You won’t kill me. Whoever you are—”

He grinned beneath his hood. “You should have burned, Empress.” He advanced, crown tight in his grip, tines pointed toward her.

“I . . . I know that voice,” she said in horror.

The crowd emptied out of the shrine like sand out of an hourglass. The HIVE warned him more Royal Guards were arriving—there were only fifty-seven in the palace, not including the Royal Captain. They spewed into the garden like rats from a hole, but their progress was slow against the tide of Ironbloods rushing to leave.

He lunged at her, raising the crown high over his head. A bullet ricocheted off one of its sharp tines and embedded itself into the floor. He glanced over his shoulder to the source.

“Robb Valerio,” he greeted the Ironblood, his lips twisting into a grin. “So you have finally joined the fray.”

“I won’t miss next time,” said the Ironblood, and pulled the hammer down on his pistol again.

Ignoring the Ironblood, he turned back to the Empress—

Another bullet clipped his fingers. Made him drop the crown. It landed on the steps with a heavy thud and rolled under the stone pews. Pain blossomed in his fingertips, a hiss escaped his lips. Involuntary. He looked at his metal-tipped fingers, the skin scraped away.

“Be patient,” he told the Valerio with a growl. “You are next.”

“No, he won’t be!” cried the Empress. When he turned back to her, she slammed the thousandth candle across his face.

He stumbled back, wiping the burning wax from his face, and his hood fell back to reveal his identity. “You little bitch.”

“Di,” she whispered. The betrayal in her eyes burned him to his core.

His grip on the lightsword faltered.

Kill her! What are you waiting for? Kill her! Kill her! the HIVE screamed. Louder and louder. Forcing code. Bright red bursts of pain. Splitting his processors, fingers curling around his hard drive, covering up something that was beginning to break through, this whisper he faintly remembered. Kill her!