Page 103 of Steel Heart Iron Claws

I’m alone. So, I don’t waste any time searching the shelves.

Bottles cover every shelf, every worktable. No two shapes or colors are alike. They are all unlabeled, so the best I can do is hold them up to the light and try to guess at their contents. Before coming here, I re-read The Tale of Iyre’s Memory Bottles in a borrowed copy of the Book of the Immortals, and now, the words come back to me.

“…in a time before time, Immortal Iyre kept her prized collection in the highest tower: Thousands of memories trapped in bottles, corked with bloodroot. As Goddess of Virtue, it was her divine duty. Purify mortals’ souls by stealing the memories of their most sinful experiences…”

Sinful? My memories of Sabine? More like fucking divine.

I rifle through the bottles, looking for the small, round, yellow one Sabine described before moving to a locked wall cabinet.

Finally, through the glass panels, I spot it. It’s the size of an apricot. Murky yellow glass. The only one that fits the description.

“How about this for a key,” I mutter under my breath. I wrap a cloth around my hand and smash it into the glass.

My heart pounds as I fish out the small bottle, which feels so slight in my hand. It’s half full of a dark, sloshing liquid. My skin prickles with goosebumps, and I suppress a shiver.

Are these really my memories?

Something about the thick liquid turns my stomach, but I uncork the bottle. I’ve come all this way. No chance in hell I’m not taking back what’s mine.

My hand shakes as I tip the bottle against my lips. After all this time.

I want to remember.

Gods, I want to remembereverything.

A bitter, room-temperature liquid fills my mouth. I immediately gag, doubling over. My tongue revolts, ordering me to spit out the liquid until I’m retching all over Iyre’s braided rug.

This is wrong.

I know that taste. I’ve tasted it a thousand times. On the air after each of my kills. Licked off my own busted knuckles.

Blood.

Gagging, I toss the bottle aside and, uneasy, tear through the rest of them. They each hold the same familiar smell. Blood. All of it human.

I stagger back, bumping up against the window. The wind’s chill slips through the cracks to spread frost up my spine.

No.

Desperate, I grab more bottles, but they’re all the same.

“Where are they?” I shout. “Where are myfuckingmemories?”

Before I can stop myself, I swing my fist into the bottles on the wall, letting out a roar.

Glass crashes, spilling blood that seeps through the floor cracks.

But I don’t stop.

I smash my fists into the bottles on the worktables. I wrench the locked cabinet off the wall and slam it down over my knee. Destroying everything. Like Iyre did to me.

A shard of glass slices into my thigh, making me hiss with pain.

But I like it.

Dammit, Ineedit.

I throw open the wardrobe door, determined to ruin everything and?—

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