Heart of Iron

Lena’s gut clenched. For a thrall to break his or her contract meant execution. “They’ll find you.”

Adele’s shoulders slumped as if hearing the truth had stolen her last hope. “Then I’ll stay with Abagnale for as long as…as I can.”

It wasn’t fair. Lena had found her own sense of freedom, if she could convince the Norwegians to accept the treaty. But Adele hadn’t. And neither had any of the young women fanning themselves in the square, putting on airs as they tried desperately to attract a benefactor.

“Don’t accept him,” she said, tearing her glove off. Grabbing the ruby on her finger, she twisted it off and pressed it into Adele’s hand. “It’s got a concoction inside it that will incapacitate a blue blood. Here. Like this.” She swiftly flicked the tiny thorn out and showed Adele what to do. “It’ll give you a chance to get away if any one of them tries to hurt you again.”

A fierce light flashed through Adele’s eyes. Then faded. “And then what?”

Damn this world. Lena wanted to scream at the injustice of it. “If you need help you can come to me. Or to Leo. Tell him I sent you.” Sudden inspiration hit. A way to protect those like her, who didn’t have any way to fight back. “That’s what I’m going to do,” she whispered. “I’m going to open a house. A place for young women in trouble to come to, where no one can hurt them or force them to submit. A place they can stay as long as they want, until we can find a new life for them.”

Adele stared at her. “And how do they get away?”

“I’m going to start a new fashion,” she declared. “In ruby rings.”

Adele looked down, at the gem sparkling on her finger. “I like it,” she whispered and a tiny hint of hope returned to her expression.

“Adele!” Mrs. Hamilton snagged her by the other arm, shooting Lena a glance she might have given a stranger. “Come. Lord Abagnale wanted to admire your pretty new necklace.”

“Don’t make any decisions,” Lena pleaded. “Not yet.”

Then Adele was swallowed up by the crowd and Lena was left behind, with a new dream smoldering in her heart.

To do such a thing would mean going up against the blue bloods who liked their little game. It also meant surviving the next day. Forcing the prince consort to recognize what Will was doing and hold him to his pledge to change the laws.

Her determined gaze settled on the Norwegians.

They saw her coming, the grizzled old Fenrir’s eye narrowing on her. He’d made little concession to the event, still wearing his stark eye patch and wolf fur pinned over his shoulder. The pair of handsome young men at his side had cast off their own furs and wore matching navy uniforms, buttoned up the left breast, with gold frogging and epaulets. She recognized Eric, with his windswept golden hair and the queue of swarming ladies nearby.

Lena nodded to the Fenrir. “My lord.”

“So you survived,” he growled back.

“Indeed,” Lena replied, ignoring his rudeness.

Turning, she greeted the other members of the party. Lady Astrid wore a slight smile, her pale blond hair gleaming against the silvery ruff of fur over her shoulder.

“Considering how ill I was, I’m quite surprised at the swiftness of recovery. I feel in most excellent health,” Lena said.

“The initial fever is the only danger,” Astrid replied. “Your body’s attempts to repel the virus are what threatens you. Once the fever abates, the virus heals you rapidly.”

“Fast, furious, and rather violently passionate,” Lena mused. “Reminds me of someone I know.”

Astrid smiled. “It will take months yet for your full strength to settle in. You will find your moods erratic and yourself prone to emotional outbursts. You must learn to control these, for fear of hurting someone.”

“Even a woman suffers from such tempers?”

“Especially a woman,” Eric jested.

Astrid turned her quelling gaze on him. “Considering how many times you were dumped in the sea or chained in the cage, you are bold to talk.”

“Play nicely.” Magnus eased a hand on both their arms. His hungry gaze narrowed on someone. “We are being watched.”

The breeze stirred Lena’s skirts as she followed his gaze. The Warhammer watched them from across the courtyard. The Duchess of Casavian conversed with him, but that wasn’t what caught Lena’s attention. On the other side of him, the Duke of Lannister glared at her over a flute of champagne.

Colchester.

She didn’t realize she’d taken a step toward him until Astrid caught her arm. The sudden burning rage she felt almost choked her. He had threatened her, hunted her, and almost killed her. And then he’d tried to do the same to Adele. A shimmering red haze settled in her vision.

“You must breathe. Nice and slow,” Astrid cautioned her. “This is what I warn you of. This fury. This uncontrollable need. You must let it go.”

“I don’t want to.” With the fury coursing through her she felt powerful, invincible. Without it, she was afraid she would feel like she always had—a timid little mouse, scuttling away whilst Colchester stalked her.

“You would not reach him,” Astrid said. “They will cut you down, then turn on us. You know this to be true.”

A heavy hand settled on her shoulder. “Breathe,” the Fenrir commanded. The weight of his hand calmed her. “Breathe in.” As she complied, his hypnotic voice continued. “And as you breathe out, you must let it go.”

Colchester tipped his champagne flute toward her in a mocking salute.

Lena’s fists clenched. “I hate him. I hate him so much.”

“You must let it go,” Magnus commanded. “Breathe, Miss Todd. Here is your hotheaded young man.” He turned her toward the line of carriages. “What will he do if he sees you so upset?”

Will would rip Colchester to pieces. Lena sucked in a deep breath. She couldn’t allow that. “I’m sorry.”

“We understand,” Magnus replied. “More than most.” A brief smile crossed his hard features. “Let it go. Let your anger and your hate go. Let it wash through you. Like the wind. Cleansing you. Bringing you peace.”

Closing her eyes, Lena listened to the soothing timbre of his voice. The muscles in her shoulders relaxed.

“I think you had best take your hand off her,” Eric murmured. “Or risk an international incident.”

The warmth of his touch was gone. Lena opened her eyes to see Will bearing down on them with Blade and Honoria in tow.

He wore a brown leather waistcoat, the brass buttons riveted to the seam, and a gorgeous velvet long coat that at first glance appeared to be black. Only on close inspection did she realize it was so dark a navy as to look like midnight. The wind ruffled his tangled golden-brown hair as he strode across the yard toward her, scattering ladies and blue bloods alike.

Taking the stairs two at a time, he surged to her side. Lena couldn’t stop herself from looking down. Supple leather boots finished just above his knee, with a pair of brass, military-style spurs jangling on the marble tiles.

She couldn’t help herself. She had to touch him, brushing the backs of her fingers against his thigh. “Where did you get those from?”

“The boots? They was Blade’s little gift to me this mornin’.”

“I should have suspected his tastes,” she replied, eyeing the rest of him with appreciation. “The coat too?”

“I consider meself lucky its only velvet,” Will replied. His eyes were warm with heat and unspoken need.

Lena leaned toward him, then forced herself to stop. They had to behave impeccably today. No matter how much she wanted to grab his lapels and yank his face down to kiss her.

Blade guided Honoria up the stairs with a protective hand on the small of her back. Lena eyed the stark leather coat he wore, and the garish red waistcoat. “You’re right.” It could have been worse.

Honoria was all charm, greeting the Fenrir and his group with practiced ease. Ignoring their standoffish looks, Blade added his own greetings.

“This is your master?” Astrid murmured, eyeing Blade with open hostility.

Blade snorted. “When it suits ’im. When it don’t ’e just tells me to shove off.”

“I see,” Magnus murmured. “You’re not of the Echelon.” It wasn’t a question.

“Pasty-faced maggots.” Blade winked at Magnus and scanned the crowd with a slightly predatory air. “Watch ’em all coo and scuttle about now, like I was a cat thrown in with ’em. Let’s just say, me presence weren’t expected.”

Will leaned down toward her and whispered in her ear, “We’ve found the girl as took Charlie’s clockwork soldier and cut off a bit of his hair. It were one of his blood donors. Said as how a fancy lord paid her for it. Never saw his face though.”

Relief flooded through her. “She’s no threat?”

His gaze hardened. “Not anymore. Charlie’s drinkin’ his blood cold from now on and I put the fear of God into her.”

“Better that than dead.”

“Aye.” Taking a deep breath, he turned to the Fenrir. “I’ve an apology to make. I lost me temper the other night. I should never have forced me way into your home or made such demands of you. I’m sorry.”

Magnus stared at him for a long time. “In my homeland, if one of the Fenrisúlfr—this verwulfen that you call us—lost control in such a manner, we would cage him and he would be whipped. It is necessary. To learn to control the berserkergang, the fury. The only time we show leniency is during spring rites, when a warrior chooses his mate. Such times are trying. Our instincts overwhelm what we know we must do.” He nodded slowly. “You have no apology to make. This once, I grant you leniency, for you yourself suffer such spring madness.”

“Once,” Eric repeated. “He means this.”

“I threw you across the room,” Will said, uneasy with the man’s good nature. In his place, Will would have been at his throat.

“I should not have reached for your woman.” Eric shrugged. “All is well. I am not a man to hold a grudge.” Shadows darkened his blue eyes. “And I understand how you feel.”

Horns sounded. Conversation lulled as everyone turned toward the tower entrance, prepared for the signing.

“Time to watch this foolery,” Magnus growled.

Astrid caught Lena’s arm. “Might I have a word, Miss Todd? I should like to speak with you and your man.”

The trio of Norwegians froze.

“Astrid?” Magnus arched a brow.

“Go ahead.” She waved them toward the door. “I will be only a moment.”

***

Circling the colonnade, Astrid stared out over the rail, the wind whipping her blond curls back like a banner. “My uncle is old,” she said suddenly. “A traditionalist. He remembers when we fought the blue bloods and I fear in his heart, he cannot accept this treaty.”

Will leaned back against the rail, crossing his arms over his chest. His heart was pounding. Lena could hear it over the beat of her own.

“Why’re you tellin’ us?” he asked.

“You have a personal stake in this matter,” Astrid replied. “But I appreciate your honesty. You have never once tried to manipulate us. I trust this. I trust you. And I need honest answers right now.”

Inside, the majority of the Echelon had gathered in the Grand Hall, prepared to watch the historic episode. The prince consort and queen had not yet arrived, but the Council of Dukes was gathering. Will needed to work fast, but Lena knew his answer before he mouthed it.

“You’ll have ’em.”

He was too loyal, too honest for this work. It was one of the reasons he would not last long in this world alone. And yet she held her breath as Astrid nodded. If he had tried to play them false, would the churlish Norwegians have ever accepted him?

“Can your prince consort be trusted? Can your Council of Dukes?” Astrid asked.

For this he looked to Lena. “I don’t trust ’em as a whole. But my opinion against ’em’s not wholly rational. Lena knows more.”

Lena considered the question. “The prince consort… No. No, I don’t think so. As for the Council, they oppose him in some matters, but not all. He has several of them in his pocket, but each of them has their own agenda. There are some few you can trust. Leo is one. The Duke of Goethe. Maybe the Duke of Malloryn. And the Duchess of Casavian’s motives are entirely opaque. I don’t know what game she’s playing, if any.”

“The Swedish ambassador intends to accept this treaty. I am trapped in a hard place. If we do not accept, we become caught between two powerful empires. The Swedes have long since wanted to destroy the last of our clans, and with the British on their side, we have no allies. If we do accept, we become the minority in this treaty. To involve us is a gesture, nothing more.” Astrid frowned. “I must find an ally for my people. There are none on the Continent. The Hapsburg Empire leash their verwulfen for their armies, and the French are incited with this newfound Illumination cult. The only place I have to search is here. In London.” ns class="adsbygoogle" style="display:block" data-ad-client="ca-pub-7451196230453695" data-ad-slot="9930101810" data-ad-format="auto" data-full-width-responsive="true">