Page 88 of Steel Heart Iron Claws

Vale holds out his hand, and my heartbeat stumbles before I take it. He lifts our joined hands high, showing me off to the audience.

He commands in a ribald cry, “Bring the Meden Cup—if you can find it under a beaver’s ass!”

Drunken laughter rips through the air until the chandeliers’ crystals tremble. Servants, their grinning faces and wine-sweet breath revealing they've indulged as much as the courtiers, clear the head table.

They nudge a mallard off the gravy tureen. Gently dump a half dozen mice out of the breadbasket. All the while, dragonflies pinwheel overhead to the music.

I’m swept deeper into the chaos by Samaur on one side and Artain on the other, who wrap their arms around my back as they usher me to the table’s opposite side. A dovealights from a half-finished plate, nearly crashing into my head, and I barely duck in time.

My head doesn’t seem to be entirely in sync with my body. I list to the left, leaning into Samaur’s shoulder to steady myself.

He laughs as he tweaks my cheek. “You hold your alcohol about as well as a suckling pig, Highness.”

My tongue feels thick as I fumble for a retort. The thing is, alcohol isn’t what’s making my head whirl like a top. Well—not alcoholalone. I’ve never felt such a heady intoxicant as this wonderous place. Fae gods. A symphony of wings overhead. A serenade of tails at my feet.

A father whose eyes shine with pride.

It’s a strange harmony that makes my chest ache for something I’ve never had.

Blinking, I realize servants have cleared the table in record time. It’s now covered with a fresh velvet tablecloth and, on that, a single piece of black silk.

Artain lifts the simple scrap of silk. “Before she sips from Meden’s prize…”

The crowd yells out the rest of the chant. “…a blindfold shall cover her eyes!”

Before I know which way is up, Woudix appears behind me, fastening the fabric around my eyes. His cold fingers brush my temple as he knots the blindfold in the back, making goosebumps lift along my skin. He’s the Ender, after all. Whose knees wouldn’t go weak?

I press my palms against the smooth black silk.

“Why do I need a blindfold?” I ask with a high note of worry.

Instead of an answer, I’m jostled from one god toanother as Samaur leads me back to the dance floor among the crowd’s tipsy giggles.

Let’s be real—I’m nottotallyblindfolded. I could ask the animals to tell me what’s happening. Plus, I can peek out the bottom. Still, a part of me doesn’t want to ruin the surprise. I never had a chance to play games as a child. No Blindman’s Bluff with farm girls. No hopscotch with other lord’s daughters.

Samaur takes both my hands in his as he shouts to the musicians, “Play ‘In the Meadow of Dreamers’!”

A quick-paced tune springs to life as Samaur spins me in dizzying circles until I’m stumbling over my own feet.

“Before she sips, twelve times she’ll spin…” he recites, and the audience immediately responds in a chant, “…to lose her way before the win!”

My sense of balance tilts off-kilter as Samaur catches me, holding me steady as my head spins.

“Thisis the prize?” I whisper. “Getting me dizzy enough to puke?”

He chuckles in my ear.

I peek out from the bottom of the blindfold as Samaur leads me back to the head table. The fabric is thin enough for me to make out vague outlines, and it looks like the servants have delivered a new, large platter.

Samaur guides me to my place, and then Woudix’s cool fingers brush my bare shoulders.

My ears perk up at the sound of someone uncorking a bottle. The audience is doing a poor job of containing their snorts and giggles. From the blindfold’s narrow bottom gap, I can peek at a suspiciously bare curve of tanned skin on the table.

Thosemuscles? Yeah, only one god has brawn like that.

Vale takes over the chant, reciting in his rasp, “Now comes the time for all to hush…”

The crowd laughingly answers, “…for the Meden Cup shall make one blush!”

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