Page 41 of Steel Heart Iron Claws

“I’m gladsomeone’shaving a good time,” Suri whispers to me when Kendan gets up to speak with a general. She subtly points her butter knife at the dance floor.

Folke and Ferra are among the couples, though unlike the graceful Corosian couples, their movements do not convey polite restraint.

Folke has one hand clasped firmly on the globe of Ferra’s ass beneath her feather-adorned gown, holding her so flush to his hips that I think we might be toasting a baby in nine months. Ferra’s long tresses are colored gold in honor of the coronation, and they boldly spill down her back in loose waves. Their giddy faces are red-cheeked, eyes glassy, feet stumbling as they catch one another.

“Looks like they partook of the wine early,” I observe. “And often.”

Suri muffles a laugh. “I’m just glad they made up. It’s like springtime with those two, isn’t it? A storm overnight, sunny skies by the afternoon. The next day, the same thing all over again.” She sighs, twirling her fork in a delicate waltz through the air. “It’s heartening to see a true love match.”

“Speaking of a match,” Lady Eleonora interjects from the other side of the table. “Now that you are crowned, Rian, it is time you find a queen.”

Rian sips wine with a wry, indulgent half-grin for his grandmother. “So eager for a great-grandchild?”

“Producing an heir is the duty of every king.” Lady Eleonora dabs at her wine-stained lips, and I have the uncanny feeling her wine intake began even before Ferra and Folke’s.

Hell, probably at dawn.

“To ensure the kingdom’s succession,” she continues. “Why, look at all the chaos caused when Joruun died without an heir. The Grand Cleric was within a god’s whisper of wearing that crown.”

“Mmm,” Rian observes, swirling his wine glass. “Speaking of, I can’t help but notice that our dear Grand Cleric Beneveto is not in attendance tonight.”

Suri sets down her water and pipes up, “The previous Castlekeep informed me that the Grand Cleric is unwell. Matron White, of the Convent of Immortal Iyre, is here on his behalf to represent the Red Church.”

My attention shifts to a dour woman sitting two tables away with a small gathering of Sisters, all dressed in stiff red cassocks. The Matron glares down her hooked nose like a hawk, her eyes as cold and stiff as a prayer stick.

The moment I lay eyes on her, my muscles tense like a bowstring drawn tight. An instinctive wave of revulsion surges through me, making my skin prickle, though I can’t place why.

“Thatold witch?” Rian slams down his glass and leans over his plate, his dark eyes spitting venom. “She must have the balls of Immortal Vale himself to show her face to me after what she did to Lady Sabine.”

I jolt at the name. My jaw clenches hard enough that I bite my tongue, the metallic taste of blood overwhelming my senses. I rub a hand over my face to hide the panic rising in my throat.

That old woman hurt Sabine? That’s what Rian is saying?

Even though I couldn’t tell you the color of Sabine Darrow’s eyes, I still woke this morning moaning her name.

She means something to me—something I can’t put my finger on.

Something that’s sliding into obsession.

Lady Eleonora snaps, “Do not speak that girl’s name. You’re a king now, Rian. Your former fiancée is a traitor. It doesn’t matter if Matron White tied her up for the vultures to pick clean. She’s none of your concern.”

For a few tense moments, they all pick at their peacock and feign interest in the harpist’s solo. I use the time to tune in my ears to the gossip circling around the Grand Hall.

At the end of the table, the army generals are discussing the movement of the troops they dispatched that afternoon. At the next table, a count and his wife are speculating about the real reason Grand Cleric Beneveto is absent.

“I heard he hasn’t been seen in Old Coros for weeks,” the countess whispers. “They say he is still plotting against Rian.”

“Nonsense. The truth is nothing so complicated. The crown was almost his,” the count says, “and he couldn’t bear to see his rival wearing it.”

“Lady Suri.” Rian cuts sharply into his peacock as he says matter-of-factly, “As much as Astagnon has greater concerns, my grandmother does have a point. I will need a queen soon to produce an heir. As Castlekeep, it falls to you to find me a match. I want you to locate the kingdom’s best women for me. Arrange a…parade, let’s say.”

Suri’s eyes simmer with indignation as she sputters, “Aparadeof women?”

Rian jabs the bite of peacock into his mouth and mutters around it, “For simplicity’s sake. I’d like to see them all together to compare their qualities.”

Suri’s dark cheeks positively catch fire. Her chest rises and falls in her bodice as she says tightly, “You forget that I was there when you sent the order for Sabine toparadenaked across half of Astagnon. I was the one who arrangedher hair to cover her body. I saw her trembling in the courtyard, trying to be brave. You think I would voluntarily encourage any woman to spend a lifetime with a man like you?”

The table falls so silent that I can hear the soft woosh of the candles’ flames.

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