The Heart of the Forge was empty. Wes and I could not have blown up the city quarter even if we had wanted to. Unless the heart had been there last night. When did this happen?
“I will not accuse you of deceiving me,” Yethyr said. “It is clear from Bonesong’s shock that something was supposed to be here.”
“Yes. There was.” Wes glared at the Prince.
“Don’t look at me! We haven’t looted the forge yet!”
“Then who could have done this? When could someone have done this?”
“You would know better than I. Who could have gotten through reinforced corpse iron with only that little dent as evidence?”
Wes and I made that dent ourselves. Whoever had gotten through had not damaged the metal at all.
Wes knew that. “I don’t think it was forced at all, which would mean my master emptied the heart himself or another steelsinger learned the song to lull it open instead. Which would be a betrayal of our master as severe as mine.”
“The heart?” Yethyr echoed. “This was the Heart of the Forge.”
“Among other things,” Wes said hastily, covering his casual attempt to kill us all. “But the firesongs that powered the forge were the primary thing kept here.”
“The forge still burns hot, as you can attest.” Yethyr nodded to Wesed’s still-cooling body. “It could not have happened that long ago.”
“That is true. Except…” Wes’ skeletal fingers began to fidget. “Master ordered the coal to be shoveled at five times the usual rate near the beginning of the siege. He said it was for Bonesong’s creation, but it is possible he was just covering for the heart’s absence, which would be…no. Could we have truly made Bonesong without the Heart of the Forge?”
Wes appeared to be awed by the thought.
“Regardless of when it was taken, the list of culprits must be small if it had to be one of your colleagues.”
Very small, for it would have to be one of the steelsingers that I didn’t kill myself. I tasted no hint of stealing the Heart from their memories.
“It does not necessarily have to be a steelsinger. The Horde Thief was working within Datrea’s walls after all.”
“Was he?” Yethyr was surprised.
“Yes. Within the first month of the siege.”
Yethyr calculated. The last known whereabouts of the Horde Thief was Cozzat two months ago, which meant he had long since left Datrea. The Prince frowned. “That heretic got past my blockade twice unnoticed and unchallenged.”
“Don’t take it personally, Deathsinger. He stole Domi’s master key song and robbed half the stonesingers on his way out.”
“Who’s Domi?”
“Domida Steelsinger. The best locksmith in Datrea. She made Bonesong’s filigree.” He glared at me. “And Bonesong killed her.”
I did. I remembered her deceptively dainty hands turning my hilt. I remembered cutting her down with Mona’s hand.
Her life and memory had been delicious and I was ashamed.
“My point is that if the master thief could steal a key song from Domida, it stands to reason he could steal the key song for the Forge’s Heart from my master.”
“Who else knew the song?”
“First Firesinger Infred, perhaps First Apprentice Zunad, but it was a closely guarded song.”
Yethyr hummed. He turned away from the empty vault. “It is worth looking into, but we will find no answers here.”
He stepped back out into the heat of the forge and Wes followed. They both looked down at the ruins of the corpse iron wall. Together, they had forced me to destroy it.
“Thank you,” Yethyr said suddenly. “You sang for me. I have always wanted to hear a steelsinger’s work.”
“That wasn’t steelsong.” Wes could not frown, not anymore, but you could hear it in his tone. “That was a bastardization unworthy of my Master’s halls.”
Demons below, that was the truth. I shuddered just thinking of that twisted lullaby screwing me in place.
“It sounded so wrong.” Wes shuddered too. “My throat is gone and with it my ability to reach the required frequency. I can still hear it, the metal, but I can no longer respond. I’m restricted to the frequency of the dead. Outside of Hell, I can never sing steelsong again,” he croaked with grief. “No metal can hear me anymore.”
“Bonesong responded.”
“Bonesong hears everything. Such is its strength; such is its weakness. It is the only steel in this whole forge that can hear me now.” Wes hardened. “And Bonesong will hardly answer me willingly. I could not have restrained it without you.”
He certainly couldn’t. This partnership between them was dangerous. Together, they could dominate me. I could not have a repeat of that despicable duet. I had to break them apart or find a way to counter them as soon as possible.
“You don’t need your voice for your songs. I don’t sing and yet dead hear me all the same. You did. You standing before me is proof of that.”
“The Brinn tradition of notating their music and having the subject sing it.”
“Yes. Exactly. It’s not hard to learn.”
“The Brinn have no tradition of steelsong.”
“No, we don’t. But I can show you how we do it with deathsong, and I’ll wager it can be modified to suit your needs.” Yethyr met Wes’ fiery gaze. “You are a steelsinger still. Do not despair.”
Don’t comfort him! I silently fumed. I can’t let you two become friendly!
Before Wes could say something disgustingly tender in response, the sound of a door slamming open rang through the forge.
Wes tilted his head. “I thought you said no one was looting the forge.”
“Not under my orders.”
They both jerkily went in the direction of the sound. There was the sound of footsteps in the hall beyond and Yethyr slipped to the side of the doorway, primed to strike.
Then that orange cat burst into the room and scurried off. Wes yelped and Yethyr cursed, ready to straighten when he heard heavier footsteps approaching.
I felt a tug at the sound. It was Jaetheiri; it had to be. Our bond allowed me to sense her approach. I was hardly going to tell Yethyr that. If he accidentally killed her…
Yethyr relaxed. “Jaethe. I’m in here.”
He knew immediately! Did I give it away? No, his mind was fixated on a soft familiar deathsong. Ah, the bone circlet that bound her hair. He would recognize its music anywhere.
This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.
Jaetheiri came into view, entering the heat of the forge warily. She visibly relaxed when she saw Yethyr. Her gaze went lower to my naked blade and I felt her naked hunger.
I buried my laughter.
Wes. Jaetheiri. Yethyr. The last of my wielders still standing. Together in the same room. All hungering for me. All pretending not to.
They were going to tear each other apart one day.
Yethyr did not notice. “How did you know to go here?”
“I followed the cat,” she said bluntly.
“Do not discount my expert contribution!” Flavrir coughed from behind her.
Ah, the other person still around who has touched me and pretends not to want me. Great! The more the merrier!
“Your expert opinion was to follow the cat,” Jaethe said drily.
“Well, it worked, did it not?” Yethyr’s mentor strode into the forge, his cheeks ruddy from the heat. He started at the sight of Wes. “Is that…your corpse thrall?”
“This is Wesed Steelsinger.”
Wes did not understand the Brinn tongue, but he recognized his name. “...Hello?”
Flavrir switched to Datrean. “Greetings. Smith of Datrea!”
Wes and I winced as one. I took it all back. Yethyr spoke Datrean with a charming accent next to the abomination that just came out of his mentor’s mouth.
“I’d rather not understand what you’re saying,” Wes admitted.
“So you found a smith to raise after all,” Flavrir said in Brinn, squinting at Wes. “You had to choose the one steelsinger that lost its muscles.”
“He’s the one who answered.”
“You insist corpse thralls would be too much effort and then you pick a body that would take the most amount of effort to puppet. It’s draining you even now.”
It was true. The strength that Yethyr had gained from using the dead of Datrea had faded. His steps were choppier than ever. I had to hold myself aloft again. Much of the choir in that porcelain pendant was now singing to keep Wes together, instead of moving the Prince himself.
“It’s a cost I wasn’t going to pay just for mindless guards,” Yethyr said flippantly, but I now knew the excuse for what it was. I remembered his shaking hands when forcing Wes’ bones directly. The immediate revulsion.
His aversion to making corpse thralls clearly had nothing to do with cost.
Flavrir approached and Wes hastily backed away from the scientific gleam in his eye.
“You’re even wasting more energy letting the bones move according to their own whim!”
“Master, leave him be,” Yethyr said. “Puppetting him directly would defeat the purpose.”
Flavrir shook his head. “You never choose easy bone manipulation projects.”
“I’ve never chosen any of my bone manipulation projects,” Yethyr said irritably.
“My prince?” Jaetheiri asked. “You returned from Hell, yes? Are you…well?”
Yethyr smiled. “Yes. We are all well.”
I wanted to laugh. Yethyr was almost trapped in Hell. Wes and I were actively trying to kill each other, but sure, Yethyr. Everything was swell.
“That was reckless, my prince,” Flavrir shook his finger.
“I know.”
“Just because you are stronger in Hell does not make you infallible. They are stronger there too.”
Yethyr remembered Z’krel taking over his body and shuddered. “I know.”
“Just because your father is being a fool doesn’t give you the liberty to be one as well.”
Yethyr frowned. “Call my father a fool with care, Master.”
Flavrir rolled his eyes. “I hear he’s sending you to hunt down the council instead of letting you focus on advancing our knowledge of songcraft by three hundred years! I’ll call him a fool if I choose!”
“Did you find out where the Council of Songs went?” Jaetheiri asked.
“I got some clues.” He looked to Wes and switched back to Datrean. “Steelsinger. Where does the Hellgate in the palace go?”
“The Council escaped through it?” Wes gasped.
“Yes.” Yethyr tilted his head. “Why does that surprise you?”
“They should not have been able to. The palace Hellgate can only be opened with the aid of all four orders. They would have needed a steelsinger and my master staunchly opposed the plan. Cowardice. Selfishness. Treason, he called it, so he recalled us all to work on Bonesong. They had no steelsinger to help open the gate.”
It was gratifying to hear that my father and I were of one mind when it came to that treasonous council.
“Could Daened have overlooked one of his order?”
Wes shook his head. “All were accounted for when we sealed the forge. Everyone died there, except for Mona, but she never made it to the palace.”
“Your information could be incomplete—”
“No. I was the last smith alive when I fell. The Forge would have sounded different if anyone else still lived.”
“How so?”
“Because for the twenty or so minutes between Mona’s death and mine, the very walls heeded to me as the Principal Master of the Forge.” Wes could not hide the wonder in his voice. “I was the youngest of Steelsinger Daened’s apprentices. Everyone would have had to have died for me to achieve that seniority.”
Flavrir scoffed. “Not only did you get the hardest body to raise, but you also found the weakest steelsinger.”
“The most inexperienced smith of Daened is still a better blacksmith than anyone else we have,” Yethyr said tiredly.
Damn straight. I was trying to kill Wes and Wes was trying to kill me, but he was still one of my makers, and I would not have him be slandered.
Wes had not heard the slight, in Brinn as it was. “How could they have opened the gate then?” A thought flashed in his burning sockets. “Bonesong, you didn’t help them, did you?”
How was I supposed to know? You lot told me nothing upon my birth!
“Never mind how they did it,” Flavrir said in his grating, broken Datrean. “Where would they have gone?”
“I’m not sure. I believe it was pointed north?”
Yethyr perked up, already calculating. “They may be all we need. We found 46 bodies sacrificed to the demon Aztomag. I could not guess how she rates human life, but we cannot expect they could have gone more than 500 miles.”
It probably was a little less than that. One of those bodies would have been Acad, who I offered for passage through the Maze of Stone. Only 45 were for the Hellgate.
Yethyr wouldn’t know that.
“If they had gone south or east or west that could be anywhere, but there is only so far north they could go before they would end up on the shifting ice flows of Baella.”
Flavrir shrugged. “Who’s to say they aren’t there now?”
“Stonesinger Jezad.”
“You spoke to their archivist?” Flavrir said with envy. “What was he like?”
“Crazy,” Yethyr said simply. “Regardless, he said they would have gone to a secluded place to rebuild, one abundant in granite, volcanoes and starlings. If that’s north of us…”
“That’s sounding less like the ice flows and more like the Numa Mountains.”
“Exactly.”
Jaetheiri frowned. “That’s still an entire mountain chain.”
“Yes, but it’s a smaller area to search than ‘the world.’”
“If we’re going somewhere that cold, you might as well take what you have earned.” Jaetheiri rooted around in a knapsack. “We picked it up on the way down here.” She held out a robe of black leather and both Wes and I gasped.
Daened’s robe. Sleeveless to keep out of his work. It had obviously not been made for the cold. It had not been made for anyone by the First Steelsinger.
“You can’t wear that!” Wes voiced what we both were thinking.
“Why? Is it trapped?”
“...No.”
“Do you want it?”
Wes very rightly recoiled. “I wouldn’t dare!”
Yethyr had no such qualms. He took the robe. It was stitched with interlocking patterns of silver and black titanium. Yethyr didn’t even know what titanium was, ignorant Brinn that he was. He could not hear the intricate steelsong that laced every fiber. He was unworthy of even touching it, oblivious of the meaning, uncaring of the traditions.
He put it on and I wanted to kill him all over again.
Yethyr turned to Wes. “Steelsinger.”
“Deathsinger,” he said angrily.
“By the Fangs of Maethe!” Flavrir breathed and then switched to Datrean. “Be respectful of your betters. That Deathsinger raised you!”
“It’s not my fault he hasn’t told me what to call him!” Wes cried. “I always heard the dead puppets of deathsingers call their summoners by their title. Seemed right enough.”
“His title is ‘Prince.’”
“Prince?” Wes echoed the Brinn word. Yethyr thought it sounded oddly adorable in his heavy Datrean accent.
“That isn’t what you are supposed to call—"
“Master, enough.” Yethyr nodded to Wes. “Prince is fine. I take it your quarters are somewhere in this forge?”
“I do live here.” Wes paused. “Well, I mean I did live here.”
“Go then. Pack whatever you desire so long as it is reasonable to carry. I am not practiced enough at this to sustain you from afar. You will have to come with me on this hunt.”
“What are we hunting?”
“The Council of Songs.”
Thank you so much for reading! I really appreciate all the support I have gotten during the transition to move this story to Royal Road. Do tell me what you think! I love comments and often respond to them
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