Page 20 of Steel Heart Iron Claws

“Honey.”

“How like a bear,” she chuckles. She sets her empty bowl in the grass at her side and sits cross-legged, too, then pulls around her braid to start to unwind it. “You may call me Tati, by the way. All my friends do.”

I snort. Because wearen’tfriends.

I wipe the remnants of my stew with my bread, savoring the flaky crust. Finally, feeling a little mellowed, I clear my throat. “Do you really believe you’re rescuing me?”

Her eyebrows rise as though it’s obvious. “Of course, Highness. Your father is the king. In Norhelm, you’ll be granted all the luxuries that a princess of your station deserves. You’ll have gowns threaded with silver and gold. A bed draped in the finest furs. You’ll dine on the rarest delicacies.”

I look away. “Can’t say I care about that—except maybe the food.”

A knowing smile creeps over Captain Tatarin’s face. “You’ll have safety, too. The protection of gods and kings alike. Not to mention freedom. In Volkany, women are not locked away or sold as unwilling brides to the highest bidder. We can choose our lovers. We can hunt or serve in the army.” She taps her captain’s rank brooch. “And you’ll be with your family, that’s the most important thing. Your father.”

The most important thing? I toe the dirt as I think back to Charlin Darrow, who I once considered a father.

A soft snow falls on the Mistlemas tree by the convent’s gate. I’ve been sitting here for hours, by the road, my little muscles stiff. A bundle at my side filled with the meagerMistlemas presents I’ve been able to craft in my evenings: A bookmark made out of bark for my father. A candle made from leftover beeswax for the servants. Kitchen scraps for our barn’s animals.

The snow grows heavier.

I wait all day, but my father doesn’t come to pick me up.

“He isn’t coming.” Matron White jerks her head for me to come back inside. “Probably hit the bottle too hard. In any case, myself and the Sisters can’t delay our trip to Old Coros for the holiday. You weren’t supposed to still be here.”

“I—I’m sorry, Matron White.” A tear rolls down my cheek, landing in the snow.

She mutters under her breath, “Can’t leave you to traipse around the place on your own, eh? Have you poking around through all our things? Pilfering the kitchen?”

As my teardrops fall, I realize the sky has stilled. I look up, marveling. “The snow—look! It stopped! That means Father will be here at any moment!”

She scowls up at the calm sky, darting a suspicious glance at me as though I had something to do with it. Briefly, she confers with the Sisters, who have their wagon loaded and are throwing impatient looks at the rising moon.

“Too late. Snow or not, we have to leave. Come with me.” Matron White returns to grab my ear, dragging me to the cellar beneath the apple barn, where the trap door is open. “Down.”

I climb down the ladder, and the Sisters drag it up after me. Matron White throws down a blanket. “You have a water barrel in there and apples. We’ll be back in a fortnight.”

She slams the trap door. I’m alone—again.

“Highness? Come with me.”

I snap back to the present to find Iyre standingbehind me with an empty chalice in hand. Both the cup’s rim and her lips are stained in a dark red liquid that looks too thick to be wine.

My stomach tightens with a bad feeling.

She passes the empty cup to one of the field cooks.

I realize my hands are so tightly balled that my fingernails have carved into my palms. As my anger simmers, I turn back to the campfire. “I’ll pass.”

“It wasn’t a request. We can talk in my carriage.” Iyre clicks her long red nails together, and I sigh heavily before pushing to my feet—she always holds the threat of stealing my memories of Basten away from me if I don’t behave.

I toss Tati the rest of my bread as I follow Iyre to her carriage, which rests on the ground now while Six, the goldenclaw who carries it, snores softly beside it. I ruffle his metallic fur as Iyre opens the carriage door.

She snaps, “Paz. Out.”

A handsome soldier with dark brown skin slinks out, buttoning his open shirt hastily. “Yes, Lady Iyre.” He presses a kiss to Iyre’s waiting hand before grabbing up his baldric belt and sword and heading off toward the infantry tents.

I crane my neck at Iyre. “Patron goddess of chastity, huh?”

“I don’t fuck Paz, if that’s what you’re wondering. He’s useful in other ways.” She smiles wolfishly. “Now get in.”

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