But Julian was a part of that house. Born to be its leader.
And so was his father.
If this man could so easily use them for what they offered and then casually order their deaths, that meant his uncle was less concerned with what was best for their house and more interested in what was best for him.
“Julian,” his uncle said, tone incredulous as Julian was pushed to his knees before him. “Thank hammer and sword, you’re alive. I—”
“Save it,” Julian snapped.
“I don’t know what you think you’ve heard, son, but—”
“Don’t call me that,” Julian said, voice barely above a whisper. The worst part about all this was that he’d let it happen. Welcomed it, even. He’d been young and scared, and so he’d let this man take from him over and over again. Had been grateful for it.
Thank you, Uncle, for taking over the House of Iron.
Thank you, Uncle, for forcing me to be strong.
Thank you, Uncle, for turning me into a weapon… whether I wanted to be one or not.
He clenched his fists.
His uncle noticed but made no comment as he turned to one of his guard. “Did you check the room? And the rest on the floor?”
“I came alone,” Julian said.
Francis ignored him, keeping his attention on the guard, who confirmed it with a sharp nod. “We’re just checking the last of the rooms, Lord-Smith, but no sign of anyone else.”
Julian allowed himself a small moment of relief. If Wren got away, it meant not only that she was safe but that she could ensure that the truth of what was happening here didn’t remain inside this room. Julian was dubious that anyone from the Dominions gave a damn about him or his house, but they cared about Prince Leopold and the danger he might be in. And if they were smart, they’d see the bigger picture and send aid. Quickly.
His business taken care of, Francis reclaimed his seat in the high-backed chair by the fire.
He was a shrewd man, and like his Red Guard, he’d not bothered himself to get involved with the discovery of a spy in their midst, even though he was an ironsmith and more dangerous than all of them put together—except for the iron revenants. Julian didn’t know what they were truly capable of, but judging by the smashed door and their bruising grip, it would be fearsome to behold.
No, Francis was more than happy to let others do his dirty work. Julian had never seen that more plainly than he did now.
“So,” his uncle said, fingertips steepled together and all pretense at affection and concern gone. “You tricked Captain Royce and somehow got away unscathed. What of the girl?”
Julian lowered his brow. “Girl?”
He noticed the prince in the room for the first time—he was being held in the corner by two of the Red Guard but had shifted at the mention of Wren. His golden gaze flickered, and Julian knew the prince was listening closely for the answer.
“The bonesmith,” his uncle said impatiently. “The one Captain Royce said fell with you into some crevasse.”
“I expect she’s still there,” Julian said indifferently, “wherever her body landed.”
His uncle’s eyes fluttered closed, a spasm of anger flashing across his face.
Julian relished the sight. Let the man’s disappointment fuel his own emotions.
That’s right. All your planning, all your plotting, and you failed.
At least when it came to the present.
“Tell me why,” Julian said into the silence. His voice quivered with suppressed emotion.
“Come now, Julian, don’t be a fool. Don’t be like him.”
Don’t be like him.
All Julian’s life, his uncle had belittled his father. Called him kind but weak. Good but lost. He was a man to be pitied. Honored but never emulated.
Julian was lucky that his uncle had been there to pick up the slack. Fortunate that there had been someone competent to take the reins.
Julian had never questioned the story. His father, grief-stricken in the wake of his mother’s death and the catastrophe of the Breach, had allowed their house to fall into ruin. Even a marriage into a good ironsmith family and a second child had not been enough to save him. He’d marched bravely but recklessly on the front lines during the Uprising. And tragically, but not surprisingly, he’d never come home.
Julian had believed every word and sought to do better. To be better. To be smarter and braver and stronger. Always, it was about strength.
Little did he know, the weakest thing he’d ever done was listen to the man seated before him.
“Jonathan Knight was unfit to rule. He was a blight on our house and had to be removed. We were all but defeated when I stepped in, and now? We’re poised for a resurgence.”
“On the backs of undead monsters.”
“A bit poetic, don’t you think? The creatures that were meant to be our undoing bent to our will instead.”
“Her will, you mean. You certainly don’t command them on your own, do you, Uncle?”
“Like every good politician before me, I have cut deals, made plans, and built myself a network of allies. But in the end, I will reign supreme. Which is why, I’m sure you understand, you had to be removed as well. There can only be one head of the House of Iron, and it will be me.”
The words caused an icy drop of fear to cut through Julian’s burning anger. Because he wasn’t the sole heir to his house. He had a sister.
“And what of Becca? Your sister’s daughter? Do you intend to kill her, too?”
“Come now, boy. I’m not completely heartless. Rebecca’s future will be secured, as will mine. You’ll see. Or, well, I suppose you won’t.”
Julian wanted to believe him when he said Becca wouldn’t be harmed, but how could he trust anything the man said? And while his brain puzzled over what he meant when he said her “future will be secured,” all those worries fell by the wayside at the final words his uncle had spoken.
He attempted to wrench his arms free from the unforgiving hold of the iron revenants, but they held fast. “So you’ll kill me here and now, in cold blood?”
His uncle, who had stiffened at Julian’s abrupt movement, settled back in his chair and sighed. “I can tell you’ve not done much murder in your life, Julian, to use such a phrase. If I killed you in hot-blooded anger, would that make things better? Or worse? Your death will not be without meaning. Just because I have purpose does not make me cold. Quite the opposite. I kill because I must.”
Julian clenched his jaw in frustration, but before he could figure out what to say or how to reason with the man, one of his guards rushed in.
“Forgive me, my lord, but she’s here. Now. Waiting outside.”
“She’s what?” his uncle snapped, all arrogant superiority gone in an instant, his face pale.
Julian looked between them in shock, then laughed darkly, his nerves frayed beyond caring. “Speak of the devil,” he said, smiling savagely. He had long abhorred the idea of this Corpse Queen and the way she haunted his people, but if she was powerful enough to make his uncle sweat, he couldn’t help but be glad for her existence. “What was that you said about reigning supreme? Your master beckons. Better not keep her waiting.”
His uncle’s mouth tightened in anger. “Gag him. Both of them,” he said, speaking to one of his guards before turning to the one who had delivered the message. “Tell her I’ll be down at once.”