Page 8 of Steel Heart Iron Claws

“Hurry, Eloisa,”a mother says to her teenage daughter.“Bring the candlesticks. Your father wants us out of Duren by midday.”

“Is Immortal Iyre truly awake, Mama? The servants said she stole Wolf Bowborn’s memories.”

“Hush now. That’s only gossip.” The mother hurries her daughter to the wagon.“But we all knew the Lone Wolf and the Winged Lady story would end in tragedy.”

I jolt at the sound of my own name.

My stomach tightens, threading unease throughout my body.

“Lone Wolf and the Winged Lady?” I repeat aloud in a murmur, confused.

There’s something familiar about the story’s name, but I can’t summon it to mind. I remember standing in Duren’s arena, hearing the crowd chant for me:Lone Wolf! Lone Wolf!

But who’s the Winged Lady?

“You don’t remember the story, do you?” a voice says from behind me.

I snap into a defensive stance, unnerved that my senses didn’t pick up on someone approaching.

I’m still hazy. Not myself.

Lady Runa Valvere leans in the door frame, toying with a ribbon on her satin gown’s plunging neckline. Rian’s deceitful cousin. Or, rather,mycousin. It's hard to wrap my head around the fact that I’m actually a Valvere by birth.

Honestly? I think I was better off as a street rat.

I unball my fists, but my muscles remain tightly coiled, wary of danger from this soft-skinned viper.

“The Lone Wolf and the Winged Lady,” she repeats, sauntering over to Rian’s desk. “It’s a story that the people of Duren made up about you and Lady Sabine. They called her that because she had the godkissed ability to speak to animals. I suppose, when Iyre took your memories of her, everything related to her vanished, too. Do you remember escorting her here from Bremcote?”

My right eye twitches. “I remember making the journey from Bremcote. Alone except for a damn stubborn mare.”

Runa smiles as she drags her index finger over the desk, then rubs away imaginary dust between her fingers. “The story of the Lone Wolf and the Winged Lady is based on a story from the Book of the Immortals. The Tale of the Fated Lovers. Do you know it?”

“I haven’t voluntarily read a page of the Book of the Immortals in my life.”

Runa plucks a quill from the golden holder, twirling the feather lazily. “In a time before time, a handmaid from Golath and a baker boy from Spezia dreamed about one another every night, though they had never met. Aria would fall asleep at midnight after a long day polishing her mistress’s jewels, when she was charmed by nightly visionsof a handsome boy. He was dusted with sand, surrounded by an open fire, with eyes like molten gold. Aron, who rose at midnight to begin the day’s baking, was equally tormented by dreams of a beautiful girl surrounded by jewels, with hair like spun gold and emerald eyes.

“Aria thought her mystery man was a desert warrior. Aron thought his mystery woman was a high-born lady. Immortal Alessantha toyed with the two strangers, besieging them with dreams of the other until they thought they would go mad from longing. Only then—in a typical bout of fae capriciousness—Alessantha drew their paths together at the Dramaine festival. Aria’s mistress had brought her to help with her dress’s train. Aron was there to deliver the ceremonial bread loaves.”

I shift from foot to foot, tapping my toe with impatience, but Runa remains indifferent as she runs the quill’s feathered tip against her chin.

“The fated lovers met at the Dramaine,” she continues. “Aron wasn’t a desert warrior covered in sand—he was merely a baker boy dusted with flour. Aria wasn’t a high-born lady bedecked with her own jewels—only a handmaiden tasked with polishing them. Still, the lovers recognized each other instantly. Time held its breath, and for once, the gods smiled upon mere mortals. For the rest of their lives, they lived happily.”

Runa drags the feather down the ample curve of her bosom, tickling the tops of her breasts in coy indifference as she leans back against the hard edge of Rian’s desk.

“Bullshit.” I grab an apple from the basket on Rian’s desk. “The gods don’t give happy endings.”

I take a large bite that drips juice onto my bare chest.

Runa arches an eyebrow as her attention sinks to thatdrop like she wants to lick it off. “Perhaps. In any case, the people of Duren thought you and Sabine were the same: Alessantha’s Fated Lovers reborn.”

My hand freezes, the apple still clutched in my fist.

“Say her name again.” Though my voice is deep, we both hear the edge of begging. “That…woman’s. The Winged Lady’s.”

Runa gives a lupine smile as she makes the gesture of locking her lips and throwing away the key.

Anger simmers deep in my chest, driving me to grab this viper by her long neck and throw her out—but she’s royalty.

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