Page 106 of Steel Heart Iron Claws

A chicken pecks at some loose straw on the floor, bobbing her head to me as I pass.

Ahead, I smell the scent of boar on the rotisserie, as well as rich roasting garlic and rosemary. The chatter of kitchen maids—broken by laughter—spills down the hallway.

Here. the mouse tugs on my skirt. She points her nose toward another storage room.Wait inside. I’ll be back soon.

More questions perch on my lips, but a maid might come down the hall any moment, so I duck inside and close the door.

It’s pitch black—no windows, no lanterns, and I didn’t think to bring a match.

But one whiff, and I don’t need Basten’s senses to know where I am: the castle confectionary.

My stomach growls at the aroma of freshly baked honey cakes. The bakers must have stored the extra wedding treats here. I step backward and accidentally kick over a sack—the tight space fills with a cloud of powdered sugar.

I pat the air until I find shelves, feeling in the dark around crockery pots containing the most amazing-smelling vanilla beans, nutmeg, and cinnamon. I lift the lid off a glass jar, and the rich, buttery scent of caramel sends my mouth watering.

I’m dipping in a finger for a taste when the door creaks open.

I shove the jar back on the shelf, quickly sucking my finger clean, when the forest mouse appears in the crack.

Oh.I let out an exhale.It’s you.

The door opens wider, and Basten’s broad shoulders fill the space.

“Oh!” I cry. “It’syou.”

I pull in a breath laced with the rich sweetness of powdered sugar. I have the briefest glimpse at his handsome face—his hair raked back into a bun at his crown, his velvet-brown eyes simmering—before he closes the door to plunge us back into darkness.

“Sabine.” His voice comes out of the void. “I asked the mouse to find a way to meet. We need to talk about how to get back to Astagnon.” His boots scrape on the floor, stirring up more spilled sugar. “Your father will broker the deal with Kendan Valvere over the next few days. Then, he’ll expect me to leave for Old Coros. I want you to come with me—if you’re willing.”

I blink at the deluge of information, landing on my first question. “Wait. Wait. Youaskedthe mouse?”

A silence stretches, and he huffs a small laugh. When he speaks again, it’s more gentle. “You’d be amazed by how friendly I’ve become with animals since my early days of wanting to stomp on them.” A warmth bleeds into his voice—a teasing that’s so damn familiar I grip the nearest shelf to keep steady.

He continues, “I learned that Tòrr can spell things out with his hoof. It made me think I might be able to communicate with other animals. I showed the mouse your portrait in a locket, and she understood.”

She. It’s the first time I’ve heard Basten refer to any of my animal friends as something other than “it,” and I’m not prepared for how it makes my heart sing.

“Basten, if we’re caught planning to leave together…” I don’t have to finish the sentence.

His heavy boots scuff as he approaches in the dark. My breath lodges in my throat. I know that he can see every detail of the confectionary—of me—as clearly as if we were in daylight.

A shelf groans as he leans over me, bracing his arm, his body heat licking me up and down until my toes curl.

“Are you frightened?” There’s a beat before he adds, “Of being discovered together? I can go.”

“No!” I suck in a cloud of powdered sugar. It dulls my mind, makes me think only of hunger. Makes me wonder if the sugar in the air would make his skin taste sweet, too.

“We’ve been caught before,” I whisper. “And we’re both still standing.”

His bicep tenses as it brushes against my temple. He breathes in, a hitch there that makes my heart thrum.

“You don’t remember.” My voice is soft, trying to hide my disappointment. “The altar at Lord Berolt’s funeral, when...” I trail off. “Never mind. You’ll remember everything when we get your memories back.”

He thieves another inch closer, his steps echoing. The fabric of his pants rustles as he shifts from foot to foot, and my stomach tightens, sensing something is wrong.

“About that.” His voice is deep. Strangely hollow. “I confronted Iyre. I found the bottle you spoke of, but it contained only blood.” He pauses. “There’s nothing in that tower room but pain. Paz? Her acolyte? His cadaver is there, drained of blood. The Tale of Iyre’s Memory Bottles is a lie. She doesn’t keep stolen memories bottled. She consumes them just like blood.” A hitch sticks in his throat. “My memories are gone. Our past—it’s gone.”

I feel for the shelves behind me, clinging to their sturdiness.

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