Page 27

“Not a lot. I was chatting with Jordan Clemmings, the grocer on the corner down there.” He jerks his chin toward a sprawling building with a vegetable stand on the porch. “All of a sudden, people started screaming, and that Vallen monstrosity was making its way down the street.”

Henrik frowns, probably picturing it.

“This is where it was taken down.” The guard gestures to a nearby building. “The High Vale who runs the clock shop intervened when the guards had trouble stopping it.”

“Where did they take the golem?” Henrik asks him.

“To the fortress, commander.” The guard’s eyes wander to the wreckage. “If it weren’t for Lear, I don’t know how we would have stopped it.”

“It must be another made of the alloy your father created,” Ayan says to Henrik.

The commander’s face goes stony. To the guard, he says, “Thank you for your assistance.”

The man nods, taking that as his cue to return to his post.

We talk very little as we make our way toward Fortress Sorbin. It’s a tall stone building atop a hill, fortified like a small castle. We’re greeted before we even pass through the gates.

Several grooms hurry from the stable to see to our horses. The young man who takes my mare gives me a curious look, as if he somehow senses I’m not a guard despite my military-issued brigandine claiming otherwise.

“How are you feeling?” Henrik asks me quietly, drawing me to the side of the group. He reaches for my arm and then thinks better of it, letting his hand fall to his side. “It was a long night.”

“I’m tired,” I say, “but I’m fine.”

“Colter!” exclaims a knight commander when he emerges from the fortress’s main entrance, joined by several guards. He’s in his mid-forties, with salt and pepper hair and a sober expression.

“Hello, Lord Yorgin,” my brother says warmly.

Our father’s friend has graced our dinner table on more than one occasion.

“What brings you to Heistone?” the knight asks, though I’m certain he knows.

“Henrik is in charge,” Colter answers easily, nodding toward the commander and me. “I’ll let him explain.”

Yorgin turns to Henrik, just now noticing him. His entire demeanor changes. His shoulders ease, and his face slackens with sheer relief. “Henrik, I’m glad you’re here.”

My brother gives me a look, silently laughing at how easily he was dismissed. I shrug, offering him my condolences.

“We’ve received intel that several shipments of war golems were smuggled into the city,” Henrik says. “Lawrence has sent us to apprehend the culprits and seize control of the contraband. But just before we left Cabaranth, we heard there had been an attack.”

Yorgin lets out a heavy sigh, nodding. “We searched the area but never found any sign of the person who released the golem. How do you sneak a seven-foot metal soldier into the middle of the city?”

“May we see the golem?” Henrik asks.

“Of course, though it’s not in working order anymore.”

“The best state for a golem to be in,” Ayan says, joining the conversation.

Yorgin turns to the High Vale, suddenly wary.

“He’s a friend,” Henrik assures him. “Ayan, may I introduce you to Lord Yorgin Foadskor. Lord Yorgin, this is Ayanleon Woldervin.”

“You left out the best part,” Ayan says with a grin.

“He’s the new duke of Ferradelle,” Henrik adds dryly.

Lord Yorgin’s eyebrows fly up, and he offers his hand, though it’s obvious he’s not sure he wants to.

Ayan grasps it without hesitation, snorting under his breath with good humor.