Page 59 of Crown of Iron
Twenty-One
The moment I walk into the house, three bodies fling themselves at me.
“I'm so glad you're home.”
“Did you get to fight the Stigians?”
“Are you giving up on rescuing Papa?”
I hug each of my siblings, and with a laugh, say, “I'm glad to be home. Let's save my stories of run-ins with the Stigians for another time.” I bend and place my palms on Ansley's round cheeks. “And I will never give up on rescuing Papa.”
She glares up at Rowan and Salone. “I told you she didn't give up.”
A lump of emotion catches in my throat. My siblings believed I abandoned my quest. They trusted me to bring Papa home, and I failed them. It's a blow to my self-confidence to have my own blood doubt me. I just have to remind myself it's not over. I'm still fighting.
I swallow down the wave of regret and ruffle Ansley's red curls. With a smile that's too wide and my voice a pitch too high, I say, “I believe we all have a dinner party to attend tonight. Go get ready.”
I absorb the little details of being home, like the scent of warm bread and Ansley's hand-drawn pictures of our family sitting in frames on the fireplace mantle. Mother's knitting needles and yarn rest on the rocking chair where she cradled each of us to sleep as babies. Wildflowers, pinecones, andbeautifully molded iron complement the rustic decor and create a welcoming atmosphere. I missed it all.
I trudge up the stairs, the old wood creaking under my weight, and Rowan wedges in beside me. “What do you mean you're not giving up?” he asks. “Do you have another plan to get Papa back?”
“There are things in the works,” I answer.
Salone matches my footsteps, her front pressed to my back as she whispers, “They won't let you go back, Raelle. I overheard Borin and Mama. They plan to move you into the palace in the next couple of days. You’ll be under lock and key.”
The revelation sends a jolt of sadness and excitement through me. I despise the thought of moving out of my childhood home but living in the palace is perfect. No one will think twice about me wandering around if this is where I'm supposed to be. Perhaps I’ll find the answers I need sooner than I thought.
I mask my emotion with indifference and say, “I know I'm not going back, and I expected them to move me there eventually.”
“Then how?—”
I hold my finger up to stop Rowan. “You are both going to have to trust me and back off with the questions.” My siblings nod as we reach the landing, and I turn my full attention to Salone. “I suppose since this dinner is for me, I’ll need to look presentable.”
A grin replaces her curiosity. She rubs her hands together and slips into my room.
I follow her, and Rowan scowls. “Come on, you could at least answer my question about the Stigians.”
“Live vicariously through someone else, little brother.”
“You get to have all the fun,” he mumbles as I close the door.
If he only understood the horrors I saw on the battlefield and the faces of dead Stigians who will haunt me for the rest of my life, then he wouldn't be so eager for me to recount the events.
Hours later, the driver of our carriage stops in front of the palace and a footman opens the door, helping my sisters and mother out. I use the few seconds alone to steady my breathing and prepare to resume the duties I abandoned. I'm not ready to leave behind what I found at Basecamp, but I need to push through the loss if our plan is to work.
Taking the footman's hand, I step onto the cobblestone path leadingto the entrance of the palace. Lanterns hang along the tall outer wall, flickering against the gray stone. Every window in the five tall towers glows, signaling to the kingdom that all are welcome in the king's home. We enter the grand foyer where a crystal chandelier hangs over the black and gold marble rendering of the Lucent insignia on the floor. The same ebony stone covers the steps of the imperial staircase while the rest of the room is an immaculate white with subtle black accents.
We follow our guide to the west wing where the double doors to the dining room stand open, and the hum of chatter and soft sound of music played on strings flows through the air. I pause and straighten the jeweled belt of my golden floor-length dress. Salone checks my hair, making sure the messy twists and curls are exactly how she wants them, and my delicate gold and iron tiara is secure.
“Remember, you spent the past months on the coast, a carefree holiday before you take on the responsibilities as heir to the crown,” Salone says.
I nod and clasp my trembling hands in front of me. It’s not like I can forget the story my loved ones fabricated to explain
my absence at court.
The calming scent of lavender fills my nostrils as Salone rubs her hands up and down my bare arms. “Are you ready?”
“I suppose I have to be,” I reply.
