Page 77 of Steel Heart Iron Claws

Patience, patience. I snuck in the tower window. Found the yellow bottle but could not reach it. Locked cabinet.

I sigh, biting back my disappointment.I’ll have to find another way in. Still, you upheld your end of the bargain as best you could, so I will, too.

The cloudfox bounds from one granite rainspout to the other, her long tongue lolling in excitement.My name?

Yes, little troublemaker. I’ve decided on it.I pause for dramatic effect.It’s Plume.

Her tail wags frantically, tossing off bits of cloud that dissipate in the air.

Plume?she repeats.What means this, Plume?

It can mean a feather, as you are feather-light.I reach out and scratch her under her downy chin.It can also mean a puff of cloud. Plus, the word’s sound reminds me of how you’re always bounding about.

Proving my point, she lands on the windowsill only to immediately spring back to the waterspout.

Plume, she tests out.Plume. I love it!

A smile breaks across my lips as I watch her turn a cartwheel in the air from the rainspout to a decorative ledge.

A knock comes at the door. “Highness?” the maid asks. “Everyone is gathered in the Hall of Vale.”

“Oh—one minute!” I shout.

I have to go, I tell Plume.When I need you again, I’ll call.

I pause in front of the mirror, tugging atthe fit of my gown. I made a bold choice—the obsidian-studded one with batwing sleeves. For the first time, I fastened pewter ear caps to the tops of my ears—though they pinch. I touch my cheeks, worried I applied too much blush powder.

This is all…new.

I’m seventeen years old. Freshly bathed in a barrel of frigid water. Sister Rose attacks the tangles in my ankle-length hair with a vengeance. Matron White adjusts my dress’s neckline, stuffing rags into my corset to shove up my breasts. No girl ever lured a wealthy husband with a flat chest, according to them.

The sky darkens outside, rain clouds rolling in to block the sun.

“This weather! It came out of nowhere,” Sister Rose observes, closing the shutters. Then, she frowns at me. “She looks half dead.”

“Indeed—that won’t do.” Matron White pinches my cheeks hard enough that tears fill my eyes as my blood vessels widen. “There. A touch of lady-like pink. It’s amazing what a little blood can do.”

I realize I’m fiddling with Basten’s twine ring and, for a brief moment, consider taking it off. It’s frayed. Dirty. It looks shabby against my other jeweled rings.

But then I squeeze it tightly.You might have forgotten me, but I haven’t forgotten you.

My pulse pounds as I stride into the Hall of Vale, hoping I look more confident than I feel. All eyes turn to me, taking in my fae regalia, and I tug at the uncomfortable right ear cap.

Is it supposed to pinch this hard?

The musicians begin a lively tempo, and to my relief, attention shifts away from me as dancers move to the floor. It’s a strangely beautiful melody that calls to mind the first stirrings of autumn chill. Laughter ripples across the room as partygoers play Basel on one of the dining tables, using fat green olives as gambling tokens.

“Highness!” Artain sweeps up and immediately shoves a heavy pewter mug in my hands. “Here. Ale. As much as you can drink, as fast as you can drink. That’s the game.”

“That’s the game?” I slide him a doubtful look. “I was told tonight would be a fae competition for showcasing your powers…not yourdrinkingprowess.”

“What can I say? Drinking is one of my many powers.” He places a hand on the small of my back to herd me toward the head table, where my father’s chair is empty, but Samaur, Iyre, and Woudix fill theirs.

I come to an abrupt halt, gaping up at the still-broken ceiling.

Dust and debris still cover the table, but that hasn’t stopped the revelry. Servants have simply placed new platters among the wreckage. Spilled raspberry jam still coats the back of Artain’s chair. Samaur fishes a hunk of bread out of the mess and dips it in spilled herbed oil. Woudix’s hound sniffs through the crumbs.

“You haven’t fixed the ceiling?” I exclaim. “It’s been days! You’re going to leave this mess?”

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