The stone platform above the Iron Forge is no longer bright white.
Blood pools around me where I crouch in the shadows, waiting in case my attack was detected and a legion of Hadrian’s followers is about to descend on me.
Three of his men lie dead at my feet.
I’ve taken a risk, attacking in an open location, but I need to see my brother Victor, and of all the entrances into the forge, the alcove behind me was my best choice.
For the last week, I’ve worked my way eastward across the Iron Kingdom.
I started with the Iron Towers nearest to both the bloodlands and the Ember Kingdom.
Not because I was following Maxim.
Not because I was fighting my instincts to protect my mother…
My reasons were far more rational. Or so I told myself.
The Iron Fae guarding the towers near Ember wear full-bodied suits with masks and hoods, necessary to protect against sandstorms swirling along the border.
Those garments can conceal my identity, especially because of the gauzy material that sits across my eyes, concealing the identifiable green color of my irises.
I stole multiple sets of clothing, along with iron daggers, weapon harnesses, and a satchel I’ve been slowly filling with wooden amulets.
For days, I’ve fought the impulse to attack Hadrian’s followers openly, to shed blood and splatter gore across his troops. For days, I’ve attacked in the shadows, identifying the warriors wearing Hadrian’s mark and taking them down one by one.
I’ve forced myself to be strategic, to kill using only iron daggers or my bare hands instead of my fangs so as not to give myself away.
The fact that Hadrian put a mere three guards on this particular platform—the platform that was once strictly formyuse—tells me he thinks I’m either dead or so consumed with vampyric poison that I can’t leave the bloodlands.
Now, I wait another heartbeat.
Tension grows in my muscles as I listen and watch for any sign that I’ve been spotted.
The silence continues.
I tell myself to move.Fucking move!
I had no choice but to come here at this late hour to ensure the forge would be empty of workers, but the timing means I don’t have long before I’ll be vulnerable.
Not because of the sun that will rise at dawn. I’ve tested my ability to walk in sunlight. I don’t suffer even a slight burn.
If only it were that simple.
Soon enough, my nightly torture will begin. A punishment I never could have predicted.
I will have to get myself back out of the forge and to safety before the agony begins.
Quickly, I search the fallen men for amulets. Only one is wearing a piece of the ashen-brown wood. From what I’ve discovered so far, Hadrian limits the amulets to more senior warriors. I imagine it’s because he doesn’t have enough to go around.
My task finished, I slip through the door into the alcove at the top of the forge, preparing to hurry down the deep stairwell into the forge itself.
There’s no light up here, but I don’t need it. My eyesight is stronger than ever before and my surroundings are crystal clear.
As I turn toward the stairs, I’m struck suddenly still by the sight of the protective suits hanging from hooks on the wall opposite the alcove door.
I’ve buttoned Thyra into one of those suits, my hands grazing her curves and sweeping down her thighs as I brazenly took my time securing the overly large material around her body.
She had an Oracle vision in this spot, although I didn’t know it then. She saw herself retrieving the hammer that forged the Dragonstone Blade.
