Page 55 of Steel Heart Iron Claws

It breaks me until I’m nothing but ash?—

—ash andanger.

Chapter 16

Sabine

I’m falling.

As I pinwheel my arms, my heart slams into my throat, lodging like a splinter. Cool air rushes past. I can’t think. Can’t breathe.

Then—impact.

My back hits hard, so hard I see stars. Broken boards crash into me. Pain shoots down every limb, and I gasp, clutching my ribs. My vision smears into swirling shades of gold and silver overhead, soft fabric beneath me, gleaming cutlery askew around me.

There’s something wet on my cheek—blood?

I jerk, touching my face, looking at my fingers.

No, wait…it has…seeds?

Raspberry jam.

I blink hard, trying to piece together the chaos. I'm in the Hall of Vale. Lying in the middle of the banquet table. Wine soaks through my shift’s hem, and a spilled tureen near my waist drips gravy onto an overturned boar flank. Above me, chandeliers sway, their danglingstrings of black pearls catching the light, casting eerie shadows across the room.

Everythingaches.

I force myself onto an elbow as I try to pull in air. Abruptly, the music stops, replaced by a tidal wave of disjointed chatter from hundreds of partygoers.

Squinting, I peer upward. The ceiling above me is shattered. Ashes and dust rain down like feathers, covering the table in a fine layer of filth.

Dimly, I realize:I fell through the ceiling onto the head banquet table.

Faces peer down from all directions. They’re strange faces. Familiar but not, like peering at a warped painting.

Then comes the scrape of a heavy chair.

A brilliant blue glow blinds me. I wince, shielding my eyes with a trembling hand as the light moves closer, casting bright lines like rippling water over the wrecked feast. I know that particular kind of light—it only comes from fey lines.

I part my lips, trying to speak Iyre’s name?—

But it isn’t Iyre towering over me.

Iyre sits near my feet.

The face staring down at me, looming from the pushed-back chair, is both King Rachillon’s and not.

Myfather’s…and not.

While the aquiline nose and heavy brow are the same, the grey in his beard gleams like quicksilver. There’s a vibrancy to him now that shines as brightly as molten gold fresh from the forge. Through his slightly parted lips, I can make out sharp incisors.

No.

This can’t be right. This can’t be happening.

My heart skips painfully in my chest. I try to push myself up, but my body is numb. I’m still sprawled among the wreckage, surrounded by four strange faces around the head table, whose supper I ruined. Their eyes lock onto me, piercing and dangerous.

My father.

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