Nine hundred and ninety-nine candles burned low in the Iron Shrine.
He sat in the rafters of the shrine, a hood pulled low over his brow, chewing on his thumbnail as he waited.
Ironbloods fanned themselves, waiting impatiently for the princess’s entrance. They sweated in their satins and starched collars like pigs in a hot pen, speaking with wet and smacking words. He crinkled his nose at their smell. Meat trying to mimic flowers. What fleshy things. One tipped candle and they would all burn.
The shrine was dimly lit. News drones circled in the rafters and around the Goddess’s outstretched arms. One of them turned a prying lens to him—that would not do. He caught its information stream and slithered inside. The camera glitched, and slowly buzzed away.
The Grand Duchess was old enough to only want humans present during the ceremony, so the HIVE lined its Messiers outside. They would not be of much assistance, however.
In fact, he was sure they would not even move.
Ananke Armorov knelt in front of Rasovant, the thousandth candle lit in her hands. She was the last surviving member of a lost bloodline, presumed dead, pieces and parts of what the kingdom wanted her to be, stuck together.
It would be a relief to pry her apart.
Can I yet? he asked, the dirt under his nail tasting like ash.
“Patience, brother.”
For how long?
“Until she takes her vows,” the voice in his head cooed. Gentle, sweet, like a song.
Why?
“Because that is what we want. Listen harder, brother.”
He shifted, impatient. If he listened harder, he could have come to the conclusion himself, but he was still adjusting. When he rebooted last night, she told him it would take time. He only needed to listen. Listening became easier the longer he did it.
“Blood of the Moon and Sun,” Lord Rasovant droned on, “and blood of the Iron Kingdom, the first daughter in a thousand years, it gives me great honor to pass this holy privilege to you . . .”
Lying in wait, he was bored. His fingers twitched, eyes roaming the shrine. On the ceiling, the painted murals told the story of the kingdom of shadow and the daughter of light.
Far above the crown of stars . . .
He had heard that before. Sitting two in a cramped cockpit. Braiding dark hair. Warm eyes. The sound of—
“Listen!” she hissed.
A knife of pain sliced through his head. He winced. I was. I am. I—
The command was a strike of red in his processors; it was a shift of prompts. When at one moment his thoughts ran one way, she twisted them like readjusting a cog, and suddenly he understood her wholly. And there was no more pain.
Yes. I will listen, he replied.
“Good,” she cooed.
Lord Rasovant droned on.
He surveyed the room. In the front row, Lady Valerio stood beside her sons. They matched the princess in white tuxedos, although the youngest Valerio’s crimson bow tie was crooked from pulling at it uncomfortably.
In the rafters, he blinked, watching. He must have stared too long, because the young Valerio glanced up—and saw him.
The human’s eyes went wide. Shock morphed into recognition. Robb Valerio’s lips formed a name. One syllable, two letters.
The name did not belong to him. It was a mask. Dust knocked off his core.
He pulled his hood over his face to hide his hair, so no other Ironblood could spot him. He was clad in black, from his hood to his soft boots—better for mimicking shadows than the human D09 once strived to be.
Lord Rasovant finally finished the rites, reached forth for the crown. The tines could cut flesh with enough pressure. What an entertaining thought. The crown rusted red against the Adviser’s fingertips, staining his human flesh.
Above them, like the ticking of a great clock, the planets moved into position. The Goddess stared up at them, as if she had waited a thousand years to see them again.
His father placed the crown upon the girl’s head. “May the stars keep you steady and the iron keep you safe, Empress Ananke.”
The girl held out her candle and set it at the base of the Goddess’s feet, a thousand candles for a thousand years. For less than a second, the thousand candles flickered as if the shrine itself had sighed.
Now, the voice whispered.
The word filled him with purpose.
It made him yearn to impress.
As the crowd rose, erupting in applause, he leaped over the edge of the rafters and landed on top of a Royal Guard stationed by a statue. The human broke in multiple places, fingers twitching on the hilt of his lightsword.
He grabbed the sword, standing, as a guard a few feet away turned to shout for help. He shoved his sword through the guard’s throat. No one heard her gurgles over the applause. The guard’s blood hissed off the blade.
In his other hand, electricity sizzled against his fingertips. A gift, she had told him. Currents he could control, in exchange for his thoughts. He was a weapon. Weapons did not need to think.
Empress Ananke noticed him first as he prowled down the aisle. She took a step back before she stopped herself. Rose to stand tall.
Something in the corner of his processors spiked, but he shoved back the errant code. A girl kissing his Metal mouth. Honeysuckle vines. Soft lips. A smile.
Oh, what a pretty lie.
From under his hood, his eyes glowed a burning, brilliant red.
“Guards!” she called, but he wanted her to shut up.
He slashed at her.
She jumped out of his way, surprisingly quick for a human in a dress. The crown toppled off her head and clattered to the ground. He picked it up. Toyed with the idea of using it to scrape her face clean.
“It’s an assassin!” someone yelled.
“Why aren’t the Messiers doing anything?” cried another.
“Is the HIVE broken?”
The crowd erupted into chaos. They shrieked. The sounds rattled the rafters, shook the flames in the candles. Frightened Ironbloods clambered over each other, kicking away the dead guards, pushing open the doors, letting the sweet dawn light inside. Abandoning the Empress they seemed to love so much. He reveled in the chaos. The sound spurred him on, the voice in his head crooning sweet promises. He needed to kill her. It did not matter why.
“Save the Empress!” Rasovant cried as he ran with the other Ironbloods, as if he was worried for his own life.
But it was a ruse—scripted to make him seem innocent.
With Rasovant gone, he turned his gaze back to the Empress. Overturned candles set fire to the tapestries.
The Empress backed up against the altar, weaponless and alone.
This was no fun at all.
“You won’t kill me. Whoever you are—”
He grinned beneath his hood. “You should have burned, Empress.” He advanced, crown tight in his grip, tines pointed toward her.
“I . . . I know that voice,” she said in horror.
The crowd emptied out of the shrine like sand out of an hourglass. The HIVE warned him more Royal Guards were arriving—there were only fifty-seven in the palace, not including the Royal Captain. They spewed into the garden like rats from a hole, but their progress was slow against the tide of Ironbloods rushing to leave.
He lunged at her, raising the crown high over his head. A bullet ricocheted off one of its sharp tines and embedded itself into the floor. He glanced over his shoulder to the source.
“Robb Valerio,” he greeted the Ironblood, his lips twisting into a grin. “So you have finally joined the fray.”
“I won’t miss next time,” said the Ironblood, and pulled the hammer down on his pistol again.
Ignoring the Ironblood, he turned back to the Empress—
Another bullet clipped his fingers. Made him drop the crown. It landed on the steps with a heavy thud and rolled under the stone pews. Pain blossomed in his fingertips, a hiss escaped his lips. Involuntary. He looked at his metal-tipped fingers, the skin scraped away.
“Be patient,” he told the Valerio with a growl. “You are next.”
“No, he won’t be!” cried the Empress. When he turned back to her, she slammed the thousandth candle across his face.
He stumbled back, wiping the burning wax from his face, and his hood fell back to reveal his identity. “You little bitch.”
“Di,” she whispered. The betrayal in her eyes burned him to his core.
His grip on the lightsword faltered.
Kill her! What are you waiting for? Kill her! Kill her! the HIVE screamed. Louder and louder. Forcing code. Bright red bursts of pain. Splitting his processors, fingers curling around his hard drive, covering up something that was beginning to break through, this whisper he faintly remembered. Kill her!
Her face brightened. Hopeful.
Like a sunrise—
A body slammed against him. Forced him to the ground. Robb Valerio pinned him down, but he threw the Ironblood off like a blanket, tossing him into the pews. The boy got to his feet again, drawing his pistol. At this short range, he would likely not miss.
“Run, Ana!” the Ironblood cried. “RUN NOW!”
“But—”
“You can’t save him if you’re dead!”
The Empress, pursing her lips, picked up her dress—and ran.
She slipped between the Royal Guards flooding inside, coming to the distress call. A guard took her by the arm—old, gray hair, a mechanical leg, someone he knew—
Kill her! the voice in his head cried. Kill her now!
He went after her, but the Ironblood shot him again, this time in the shoulder. He hissed, but the red code in his head blocked out the pain. Until he was better.
“You’re just another mindless Metal,” the Ironblood said.
“And you are just meat,” he retorted, then lunged forward and knocked the pistol out of Robb Valerio’s grip. He grabbed Robb by the throat and sent him swinging into a line of oncoming guards.
He picked up Robb’s pistol and pointed it at the retreating Empress as she raced out of the shrine. He aimed for her head—not his first choice, but he did not have time to kill her with the crown. Pity. That would have been so fitting.
His hand shook. He tried to steady it. But there was a noise in his head.
A scream, leaking between the tendrils of his new programming.
Begging, pulsing, swelling.
No, you are mine, the HIVE commanded.
The Grand Duchess rounded a statue from where she had been hiding, grabbed a candle, and threw it at him. It bounced off his shoulder, rolling under a pew. “Monster! You will not kill my Ananke!”
He swung his aim toward the Grand Duchess and pulled the trigger.
It was not his aim that had made his hand shake after all.
The old woman slumped back, painting a red streak across the base of the Goddess’s statue as she slid to the ground. He tossed the empty Metroid to the ground.
After the Empress! the voice cried, the red code grinding, grinding. He winced, wanting it to stop.
The Ironblood was getting to his feet.
He pushed Robb back down into the pews. “Get up again and I will kill you,” he warned the boy, not sure why he did not kill him now, and pursued the Empress out of the shrine, plucking a lightsword off a dead guard as he left, the sound of the HIVE so loud and sweet, it tasted like blood on his lips.