Chapter 26
Two days before the Culling, Edith insisted on another trip out beyond the palace walls and into the city, where a night celebration was occurring.
“We can call it our Last Rites,” Calla said, smirking and fitting a fancy teal-and-green sash over her clothes. Quinn, who was lounging around while waiting on us to finish dressing, laughed and agreed.
I chose a warm, soft dress in a lovely dark blue that the Ambush Master had given me, its fabric heavy enough to ward off the evening chill.
Nelly and Thyme hunched over a board game in front of the fire, munching on roast pork buns. It was some sort of strategy game with animal glyphs across a board. Couscous sat upright on the couch, paw poised to swat the moving glyph-powered metal pieces that shifted and morphed.
“I eat you!” Nelly declared triumphantly.
Thyme frowned. “The cougar is stronger than the jackal.” A moment later, his piece lunged forward and devoured hers instead.
Over my dress, I fastened a gray cloak, the deep hood casting a shadow over my face as I pulled it up. Practical and unassuming. Calla took my hand in hers, and we filed into the hallway—still with no guards present—and out into the cold air.
The sun was sinking behind the towering spires of the palace, its dying light bleeding copper across the sky. Shadows stretched long over the palace grounds, slanting across the high iron gates and latticed bridges. The palace walls, covered in metal, shimmered in the fading light.
Beyond the gates, the city stirred. Lanterns flickered to life, casting pools of warm light onto the cobbled streets. A set of shifting metal gates re-formed themselves, locking into place like puzzle pieces overhead.
The cooling air carried the scent of smoke and steel.
I had never spent much time in Steel Haven before, and since the Bonding, I’d only ventured out for my second Zodiac.
The city’s splendor caught me off guard.
As I made my way toward the large central square where the celebration would be held, the cobblestones beneath my feet shimmered, inlaid with raw ore that pulsed faintly with stored energy from the vast network of metal veins that ran underneath the city.
The metal shifted subtly in response to the magnetic currents that thrummed beneath the surface.
Rickshaws glided past me, their frames sleek and burnished, floating effortlessly on invisible magnetic tracks.
Some were personal carriages, their metal casings reshaping themselves to accommodate their riders, while others were larger, cargo-laden platforms bearing shipments of weapons, raw ingots, and even freshly crafted armor.
Towering pavilions of black iron and burnished bronze loomed above.
An entire city run by glyphs and metal mages.
We slipped through the winding streets. The air still held the crisp bite of evening, but the glow of metalwork lanterns bathed the evening in warm light, casting shifting patterns across the walkways.
The closer we got to the central square, the more the energy in the air thickened. I stepped onto the enormous open plaza and exhaled in quiet wonder. The square was a marvel of living metal with towering statues of tygers at each corner.
“Seems like a bit much if you ask me,” Calla said—Quinn grunted in agreement—before she spotted a stall with vibrant fabrics, gestured with delight, and sprinted to it. I laughed as I followed behind her, slipping my arm into Edith’s now.
“It’s strange, isn’t it?” I asked her as we walked slowly down the street.
“What is?”
“All the food.”
Tonight, here in the capital at least, there was no sign of the hunger that had plagued our village. The food stalls were bursting with steaming dishes that sent mouthwatering scents curling through the cool air: savory dumplings, sweet red bean pastries, and stir-fried noodles that sizzled.
In one stall, ladles floated lazily through bubbling cauldrons, stirring thick congee without a cook’s hand. A vendor waved his hands over a platter, and skewers of grilled meat lifted from the counter and floated into waiting hands.
“It is like most places. Fraught with corruption. The haves and the have-nots. How strange it must be for you, my love,” she said quietly, touching my cheek, “to be a part of this world now. The great tygress rider. Water always finds its own level.”
I furrowed my brow. “What do you mean?”
Edith shrugged and avoided my eyes, but I didn’t press her.
The last few weeks, she had seemed older, more tired, her sharp edges dulled by something I couldn’t quite name.
Whenever I asked her about it, she’d wave me off with a huff.
Stop fussing, Rubi. But I saw the way she rubbed her temples when she thought no one was looking, the way her shoulders sagged just a little more each day.
—
“It’s entirely too crowded,” Quinn said, his shoulders twitching as he shoved through the growing horde toward us. “I say we take the lot we’ve got and head back, ribbon girl.”
His arms were full of bags of fabric and small hanging containers of delicacies we wanted to try. Edith stepped forward with a nod, but something caught my ear, a musical performance.
“You go. I want to stay, just for a bit,” I said, ears straining to take in what I was sure was happening on the other side.
“If you’re sure, Rubi,” Edith sighed. “Be careful.”
I patted the hanging pocket of my dress where I’d stowed my ribbons. “Always am.”
She leaned up and kissed my cheek, patting it with her palm as she took Quinn’s offered forearm for her to walk.
I pulled my cloak tighter around me and stepped backward into the throng of people. Folks were dancing, I realized.
The music wrapped around me like a spell.
A harp stood at the center of the ensemble.
Runes pulsed along its frame, and as the mage guiding it flicked his fingers, the strings shimmered and plucked themselves, spilling out a lively melody.
Beside it, a drum’s wide bronze surface thrummed in perfect time.
With each strike, glyphs glowed along its rim, shifting with the rhythm.
My fingers twitched at my sides, my body thrumming with the urge to move.
The music wove through the square like a living thing, pulling people into its rhythm, sweeping them into motion.
Around me, revelers twirled and swayed, their laughter ringing through the crisp night air.
A couple spun past, the woman’s skirts flaring as the man lifted their giggling daughter onto his shoulders.
For one reckless second, I ached to be a part of it all. I wanted to be as happy as that small, beautiful family.
But then I looked closer.
The father was tall and broad-shouldered, moving with an easy, effortless strength.
Perched on his shoulders, the little girl grabbed at his hood with tiny hands, yanking it back in a playful tug.
The fabric slipped away, revealing a tousled sweep of his bronze hair, a sharp cut of his jaw, and a face I knew far too well.
Blake.
It couldn’t be.
“Is that the Ambush Master?” a voice asked, making my body jump.
I spun to glare at her.
“Calla,” I snipped, “you scared me.”
“Sorry.” She smirked, definitely not sorry at all. Her eyes went back toward where we were now spying. “I didn’t know Axefire had someone. All of the fine court ladies will be so disappointed.”
I stared, too, biting a little too hard on my tongue. The clench in my chest wasn’t jealousy.
Of course it wasn’t.
Just surprise. A deep, unsettling shock that lodged itself in my heart like a blade. I hadn’t expected the ever-controlled Ambush Master to have a secret family. That was all.
“She’s beautiful,” I said.
The woman at his side was young with soft rose gold hair braided over one shoulder and warm, lively eyes.
She wore a simple dress, the kind woven for comfort rather than courtly display, but it suited her.
She belonged here, in the gentle light of the festival, her arms loosely wrapped around his neck.
And their child had his eyes. That unmistakable ice blue, but without the weight of cynicism that too often shadowed Blake’s gaze. The little girl was bright and unburdened, clinging to his shoulders, eyes sparkling as she spotted a street performer.
“Yeah, cute family.” Calla shrugged. She looked at me carefully. “You don’t seem so good. Are you okay?”
I swallowed the lump in my throat. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
Tugging on Blake’s hair, the little girl pointed toward the bustling crowd at the edge of the square. With an easygoing shrug, Blake and his family drifted in that direction.
Pulling my hood lower, I shadowed them from a distance.
“What are you doing?” Calla hissed.
“I—don’t know. I just— You don’t need to come with me,” I sputtered.
“Like hell am I leaving you alone, Rubi.”
The street performer wielded a whip of living metal, its form shifting seamlessly between liquid and solid as he moved.
With a flick of his wrist, it snapped into a rigid staff, launching him into a spinning vault before liquefying midair and coiling around his arm.
The crowd gasped as he sent it slicing through floating metal rings, reshaping it with each strike.
In a final flourish, he cracked it forward, the weapon melting seamlessly into the city’s metal-veined streets before slithering back to his wrist, re-forming into a simple whip as he bowed.
Blake applauded as eagerly as the rest of the crowd, his grin wide and unguarded, that cursed dimple flashing. I struggled to reconcile the man I knew with the one standing before me.
He looked different. Younger. Lighter. Beneath his plain cloak, he was dressed like a commoner, in a cotton tunic and worn leather boots.
But it wasn’t just the clothes. It was the way he carried himself, the effortless ease in his stance.
There were no weapons strapped to his back, no sharp-edged calculation in his expression.
This man seemed gentle and loving, tenderness in his eyes as he ruffled his daughter’s hair. It was a lighter shade than his but unmistakably bronze.
This Blake was so appealing, he took my breath away. It couldn’t be the same man. Could this be his twin brother, Zayden? Had Zayden somehow survived?
I started creeping closer for a better—
The ground buckled, a violent tremor ripping through the city. The faces of the crowd froze in terror for one breathless moment before everything detonated into chaos.
I turned toward Calla, shouting, “Go to Quinn! Make sure Edith is safe!”
“But, Rubi—”
“I’ll be fine, Calla. Please,” I begged. “Go!”
She hesitated again, staring at me with a frustrated pull in her brow, before she huffed and took off running full speed through the panicking crowd.
A deafening crack split the air as metal groaned and shattered, the enchanted filigree woven into the streets fracturing like broken glass.
The pulse of magic beneath my feet stuttered, then surged in a wild, uncontrolled burst, sending shock waves through the square.
Screams tore through the revelry as people stumbled, some thrown to the ground by the force of the quake.
“It’s the Ironstorm!” a few voices shouted, mixing with others as they yelled, “Rebel attack! Run!”
Lanterns swung wildly overhead, casting jagged, erratic shadows as chunks of stone and metal wrenched free from buildings, crashing down in a hail of destruction.
The scent of fire and scorched iron filled the air, and in the heart of it all, something darker, something immense, stirred beneath the surface.
Blake’s cloak hit the ground, discarded in a heartbeat. A thundervein dagger shimmered in his grip, crackling with latent power. His face was a mask of lethal intent.
This was the Blake I knew.
The woman yanked their daughter behind her. “How could you,” she said, her voice trailing off in pain. “There are innocents—”
“This isn’t my doing,” he bit out. “Yvonne, get Poppy home. Now.”
She hesitated, searching his face, then gave a sharp nod. “We’re close by. Go. Find out who’s behind this.”
Blake sprinted toward the heart of the chaos.
The ground trembled beneath his feet. The veins of metal running beneath the city had ruptured, leaving jagged shards jutting from the streets like serrated teeth.
Shrapnel was everywhere. Blood slicked the stone.
Cries of pain and panic filled the air. Bodies lay in the street.
Masked men, their arms wrapped in rebel bands, wove through the carnage, striking with ruthless efficiency. Their blades flashed as they cut down Silvers, the elite now reduced to desperate fighters.
Blake leapt into the fray.
What he didn’t see was the group of demons spilling out from the park, moving like ink bleeding into the world. They didn’t charge. They slithered, silent at first, spreading through the unsuspecting crowd Blake had left behind.
I caught sight of Yvonne. She had Poppy in her arms, her face white with terror as she ran. But then she skidded to a stop so fast it nearly sent her sprawling.
A Thirst demon blocked her path.
I recognized it instantly from the training we’d started on demons, learning how best to defend against and defeat each type—or at least the ones we knew enough of.
It was round and squat but dense, its flesh pulsing with veins like something barely contained inside its own skin.
Its appendages were short and clawed, made only for rending.
And its mouth—goddess, its mouth was too large for its face, unhinged and ringed with row upon row of needled teeth, black drool dripping from its gullet.
Its tiny eyes glowed, slitted and red, soulless in their hunger.
Poppy screamed. A high, broken wail that cut through the night like a knife.
Yvonne clutched her tighter, her knuckles white, her breath coming in short, ragged gasps. She was frozen, caught in the primal kind of terror that roots you in place.
The demon twitched, tensing.
I didn’t think. I just moved.