Enne handed Roy the practice knife once more. She readied her stance. “Again,” she ordered, hyperaware of Mansi’s eyes on her. Mansi might’ve already agreed to convince the others to follow her, but Enne didn’t want the Scarhands’ desperation—she wanted their respect.
Roy shot a wary glance at Grace. “I don’t think—”
“Again,”Enne repeated.
He sighed and raised the blade.
Enne still saw Jac Mardlin in the glint of the metal, and perhaps she always would.
But Enne hadn’t killed him—Vianca had.
Even though the donna was dead, dozens of other enemies remained. And if Enne hesitated again, any one of her friends would die next.
She delivered a swift punch to Roy’s wrist, snatched the knife, and held it to his throat.
“I win,” Enne breathed.
LEVI
Levi Glaisyer awoke late and hungover. An empty bottle of whiskey stood on his end table, resting overtop an envelope he’d torn open last night deep into his drinking hours, the time of day after business had ended—the business of keeping his remaining friends alive. So was his new routine. The moment the Iron Lord was no longer needed, he retreated to his bedroom in the renovated Royal Art Museum and dowsed himself like a flame snuffing out.
He clung to one of the wrought iron bars of his bed frame and pulled himself into a sitting position. His head spun like a roulette wheel.
“You got sick last night,” Tock Ridley told him. She perched on the edge of his desk, wearing her usual military-grade combat boots. She was Levi’s age, eighteen, with light brown skin, a curvy build, and black hair chopped short and uneven. “You can’t let the rest of the Irons see you like that.”
Levi didn’t answer and squinted at the peeks of light shining through his curtains.
“Are you listening to me?” she hissed.
He staggered as he rose from the bed, and he looked down to realize he still wore the same clothes from yesterday. They smelled like vomit.
“You’re still drunk.”
“It’s only been one week.” One week since St. Morse. One week since his best friend had died. And because Jac’s body had ended up in the hands of Harvey Gabbiano and Bryce Balfour, enemies far too dangerous to approach, Levi hadn’t even gotten to say a proper goodbye.
“That doesn’t give you permission to drink yourself to death.” Tock threw open the drawers of Levi’s dresser and rooted around for fresh clothes. “It doesn’t give you permission to fall apart when there are still people depending on you.”
Levi’s anger kindled in his stomach with the residual alcohol. He’d heard a speech like this from her before. “No one has been working harder than me to keep the Irons safe, and—”
“I’m not accusing you of not caring.” Tock thrust the clothes into his arms, crinkling her nose as she got a whiff of him. “I’m accusing you of not thinking. There’s no turning off, Levi. You don’t stop being lord the second your door is closed. You don’t get to poison yourself with whiskey and leave the rest of us to hang.”
She grabbed the envelope off the end table, sending the liquor bottle on it crashing to the floor and shattering. The noise ricocheted painfully around his skull, and Levi cursed.
He reached for the envelope, but he lost his balance and toppled back onto his bed. He remembered opening the letter but not reading it. It’d come late last night by private messenger, long after business hours.
Tock ripped out the contents. “Levi,” she read hotly. He suspected she’d raised her voice to purposefully summon a headache. “This should come as no surprise—Chancellor Fenice wishes to meet with you, Erienne Scordata, and Bryce Balfour.”
Levi’s stomach turned. He hadn’t just been expecting this—he’d beendreadingthis. Like him, the City of Sin had been in a state of shock since the events at St. Morse. But the crimes of that night demanded punishment...and their reckoning was coming.
“‘This is not a threat or a trap,’” Tock continued, as though the writer had predicted Levi’s thoughts. “‘Fenice only wishes to discuss peace, and I would not have agreed to send you this message if I didn’t believe her. A similar message is being sent to Bryce, and I’d hoped you would communicate with Séance on our behalf. You’re all to come to the Capitol tomorrow at 10 a.m. Come discreetly and separately. I cannot convey my sincerity enough that I hope you will attend. Best regards, Senator Harrison Augustine.’” Tock scoffed. “I see he’s already signing asSenator. He doesn’t waste time, does he?”
The remnants of Levi’s anger dissipated, instead replaced by guilt. He’d never received such an important letter in his life, but he forgot opening it. His enemies wouldn’t wait to attack until he’d sobered up.
He closed his eyes and leaned into Tock’s side. “I’m not trying to poison myself.”
“I know you’re not,” she said softly. She reached to his end table and handed him a full glass of water, one she’d likely given him last night and that he’d ignored. “I’m not your nurse. I’m your third.”
Levi sucked in his breath. Now that Jac was gone, Tock was rightfully his second. Any other gangster would’ve immediately claimed the title—much like Harrison had swiftly claimed his. But Tock wasn’t just his third; she was also his friend. And she knew what the words meant to him. That Jac’s story wouldn’t be written over.
