His brow furrowed, the lines of his sensual mouth turning down. “Rubi?”
“Stop it, Axefire,” I snapped, hating the concern I could hear in his voice. I lowered my own and looked around, slightly paranoid. “I don’t need coddling.”
“What happened with Malissa today—it shouldn’t have happened at all. I should have—”
“Save it. There’s only so much you can do, and she is your princess.” I shrugged. “That is your duty.”
“Youare my duty,” he said. Blake’s frown deepened. “You are Flame’s chosen rider. One of my warriors. Therefore, I take responsibility for you, and for Malissa’s actions.”
I hated the sadness I felt at his duty-bound words. What had I expected? For him to kiss my wounds and tuck me into bed?
Nodding, I stepped back again. I whispered, “Can I go now?”
There was a long silence then, his body hovering over mine, so close I could feel his warmth despite not touching him. His hand rose slightly, almost like he might touch the area where my wound had been beneath my leathers.
But then he let out a resigned breath and stepped aside, head tilted down and eyes closed as if in pain.
I didn’t look back as I walked to my rooms, ignoring the pull toward him.
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.
