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“I take it your people are claiming they’re not responsible for the attack?” Lord Yorgin says, making me draw in a startled breath.

“Oh, I think there’s a good chance it was my people,” Ayan says. “But it wasn’tmypeople, if you know what I mean.”

“I don’t.”

Ayan glances at me, raising his brows as if to say, “Tough crowd.” With a sigh, he looks back at Yorgin, becoming solemn. “My family wasn’t behind the attack, nor will we condone the crime.”

Lord Yorgin nods, but he doesn’t look convinced. Relations between our people have been strained for too long to expect otherwise. Suddenly, the knight’s gaze falls on me.

“Clover!” he exclaims.

“Hello, Lord Yorgin,” I say with a grin.

“What are you doing here?”

That’s a hard question to answer. What am I doing here? I’m not a soldier, nor am I someone in a position of authority. I’m a once-lady-in-waiting who posed as a princess for a brief time. Now I’m just Lady Clover.

“She’s the ambassador in charge of High Vale relations,” Ayan says smoothly, as if there’s such a position. “You know how we elves are.”

Lord Yorgin doesn’t know what to make of it, so he smiles—sort of.

“The golem?” Henrik prods.

“Oh, yes.” Lord Yorgin shakes his head as if to clear it. “Follow me.”

I blink several times as we enter the building, my eyes trying to adjust from the bright morning to the sparse light in the belly of the fortress. There are a few windows, but they don’t offer much light in the cavernous hall, and the space is dim.

We follow Lord Yorgin into a back hallway, and down another hall after that. Eventually, we reach a guarded door. The man immediately opens it for the knight commander, and we step inside.

The golem lies on a table, its metal chest singed with black and curled up on itself like a piece of paper burned from the center out. Unlike the golems currently residing in the royal treasury, this metal soldier is a muted bronze color that actually looks like talvernum—all except for the plating on the cuirass, which has the same bright golden cast as the ones Caldwell delivered.

One leg is mangled, and the exterior as a whole bears significant dings and damage.

“The guards’ weapons were unable to penetrate the metal,” Lord Yorgin explains. “We’re not certain what type of material they used.”

“It’s a talvernum alloy,” Henrik says, scowling at the golem.

“This looks like the ones I saw in Revalane,” Ayan says, and then he motions to the soldier’s chest. “But…accessorized.”

“You said a High Vale ended up taking it down?” Colter asks.

Lord Yorgin nods.

“If the elf hadn’t been there, what would you have done?” I ask.

“We probably would have had to dig a pit in the street and lure him into it, but it would have taken far too long—and what a mess. It already created enough havoc on its own.”

“We saw the damage,” Henrik says.

“You said there are more of these in Heistone?” Lord Yorgin asks, crossing his arms.

Henrik nods. “If our source can be believed—”

“And that’s questionable,” Ayan interrupts.

“—there might be as many as a hundred or more in the city.”

“A hundred?” Lord Yorgin repeats softly, the idea almost unimaginable.