Page 34 of Steel Heart Iron Claws

No sooner have her fingers closed around the clattering iron keys than a sudden crash of metal from outside makes everyone jump. It comes again, clanging louder than that damn Valor Bell.

A fine layer of dust rains down from the wooden ceiling joists as the ancient foundation groans.

Suri shrieks, and Kendan sweeps forward to offer her a steadying arm. She gazes up at him with round-eyed appreciation. Lady Eleonora nearly loses her balance, too, but no one rushes toheraid.

A sense of foreboding snakes over my skin as I turn toward the great brass doors.

The crash comes again, followed by an unearthly shriek like a thousand banshees.

“What,” a pale-faced Kendan enunciates, “isthat?”

Just visible through the open double doors inscribed with BRAVERY and FORTITUDE, the monoceros’s prison rattles the chains lashing it to the wagon as Tòrr slams his metal hooves against the walls, hard enough to dent iron.

“That,” Rian says proudly, his velvet-brown eyes simmering with dark delight, “ismyprize.”

Chapter 10

Sabine

Warm tendrils of sunlight caress my cheek, and I blink awake with a start.

It takes a moment for my eyes to adjust. Everything is blurry until I shade my face from the direct, mid-morning rays cutting through an arched window.

Holy gods.I’m in the strangest bed chamber I’ve ever seen.

The heavy wooden furnishings feel swathed in shadows, even with morning light at the window and candles flickering in sconces. There’s a mineral smell in the air reminiscent of ancient stone. Gnarled vines push through chinks in the mortar to climb in intricate patterns up the walls, their vibrant, maroon blooms taking the place of any artwork or tapestries.

The four-poster bed seems to have been carved from one giant tree trunk. Fur pelts drape over crisp satin sheets. The bed’s canopy is sewn to mimic papery dried leaves.

All together, it gives the feeling that nature hasovertaken the room and yet, at the same time, exists in a perfect balance.

As I sit upright, my clothes rustle loudly.

Alarmed, I look down to find I’m no longer wearing the dirty, tattered velvet dress from Lord Berolt’s funeral. Someone has dressed me in a fresh gown of heavy obsidian silk with a plunging neckline, dark crystal beads, bat-winged sleeves, and a serpentine lace corset.

Even worse? They’ve also bathed me.

The dirt is scrubbed from my nails. My feet are buffed to soft perfection. My hair is freshly washed, dried, and twisted into what feels like an intricate fae crown braid.

Panic grips me as I run my hands down my body, trying to recall who did this. Who touched me. Where there should be a memory of someone getting me dressed, there is only a void.

My lungs seize up, unable to pull in a deep enough breath, and I fight with the coverings to scramble out of the massive bed.

This terrible void…is this what Basten felt when Iyre took his memories?

With a pang of longing, I frantically twirl the twine ring on my finger.

Thinking of him causes the room to spin, and I rush to the window, shoving open the hinged wooden lattice. The air is fresh, with a trace of an unfamiliar floral incense. An eventide chant floats through the air, calling to me strangely, like a siren’s song. It isn’t exactly soothing…more like an intoxication. I find myself leaning out over the sill, closing my eyes, breathing in deeply.

When I open my eyes, Norhelm unrolls beneath me.

There’s an eerie sense of barely-tamed wilderness to thecapital city. Mountain cliffs flank both sides of the valley, dotted with gnarled, wind-blown trees. Enormous elms shade the buildings, and a natural system of streams weaves among the streets like a tapestry. They feed into a raging river that surrounds Drahallen Hall on three sides. The castle itself juts out over the rocky river valley on a promontory.

If I were to fall? I’d crash down sixty feet to jagged rocks.

Still, despite the dramatic setting, the small city has a bustling charm. I don’t quite know what I expected from Norhelm. Perhaps haunting, shadow-laced spires. A city the rest of the world has forgotten. From the looks of it, Norhelmisall those things—but also much more.

Like the villages we passed on our journey, there is no obvious sign of squalor in the streets. Carriages rumble down cobble-lined lanes, and residents greet one another with waves. I spot a market beside the river, packed with customers jostling to peruse an unbelievable bounty of fresh fish, as though the fishermen simply whistled and salmon jumped into their nets.

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