Page 87 of The Iron Hex

“I hope you’re wrong,” Eira said.

“As do I,” Evangeline retorted, her fingers playing with the locket around her neck.

The three fell into silence. The farmers in Cilirien had been talking about their crops spontaneously being destroyed right before the harvest this year, but Eira had suspected some sort of bug or sickness had overcome the farms—it wasn’t uncommon for plagues to befall food as they did people. But whatever Evangeline had been told by the king had clearly been important enough that he hadn’t wanted to pass it along until they’d handled the rebellion. It was clear to Eira that the king had been so certain of his victory that he’d never expected to not be able to tell his daughter what she needed to know.

Now they needed to find a way to take down the Iron Empire and convince Corisia to attackwiththem, instead of joining forces with the other countries to fight back against Astra and take control for themselves. That alone was a good reason for Eira to get her memories back; Evangeline was going to needanother noblewoman, her skilled counselor by her side to navigate the politics of war.

Hugo held out his hand to Eira and she looked up to meet his hazel eyes. “There are people dancing, want to join them?”

Eira smiled, taking his hand and letting Hugo lead her to the small space that the tavern’s patrons had carved out for dancing. They joined a young couple who couldn’t stop touching each other and an elderly man and woman on the dance floor. Hugo placed his hand on the small of Eira’s back and pulled her close as he began to step, a shock pulsing through her at the touch.

“Do you remember the dances you knew as a viscountess? The muscle memory?” he whispered in her ear. Eira turned to try to catch his lips quickly but Hugo pulled away with a smirk.

“I don’t,” Eira said honestly.

“You were not only the most voluptuous and beautiful woman on the dance floor, but you had the best footwork. Everyone wanted you.”

He spun her and Eira tried to let her muscle memory take over.Don’t think too hard and you’ll get it right, she thought as she stumbled at the end, Hugo’s strong arms holding her up.

“Did you ever dance with me?” Eira asked coyly.

“No,” Hugo said. “But I remember the last ball. This newcomer to town, Lord Bartholomew Wilkinson, had managed to convince you to dance with him not once, but twice.”

“Was he handsome?” Eira asked.

“His mother was Corisian. He had this long blond hair that he kept braided and tanned skin and I wondered if you had liked how different he was compared to the boring lordlings you’d grown up with,” Hugo said.

“What had stopped him from being at the palace?” Eira asked.

“His father was the port lord of Archport,” Hugo explained, his hand taking a piece of Eira’s wayward auburn hair and tucking it behind her ear as he looked at her, softness in his eyes and something else... jealousy. He didn’t like thinking about other men being around Eira.

“What happened to him?” Eira asked. “After the uprising?”

“He became a commander,” Hugo said. Every question she asked, he answered... just like she’d requested that first night she’d learned about her past. But Eira kept wondering what hewasn’ttelling her. Had she made a mistake by not asking for all the details then? She reminded herself that she would know all of the answers she seeked soon enough, regardless. “I think if you’d stayed at the capital you’d have ended up marrying him.”

“Not you?” Eira asked, eyebrows raised in surprise. “You were a commander too. You climbed to the same rank. Why not you?”

Hugo’s eyes caught Eira’s, the jealousy gone and replaced with something else. “Maybe in another life we could have lived that instead,” Hugo said, sadness laced in his voice.

They stepped, Eira learning the pace of the dance after a few minutes. There was something that felt wrong about Hugo’s reaction to her wondering about a happily-ever-after for them. Did he not believe she would have chosen him? Or was there something else that he wasn’t saying?

“Hugo,” she asked, untying the ribbon and running her fingers through his hair as they danced, his eyes closing briefly as he reveled in the feeling. “Why didn’t you come with Evangeline and I when we fled?” The question had been plaguing her for days. Whyhadn’tHugo come with them? If he cared for her... if it had been his job to protect her, why wouldn’t he have fled?

Hugo sighed, the long silence between them filled with the slow lute playing of the bard. “The Iron Empire convinced me I could be more than I was born into. My family were the lowest of the low, and I managed to climb my way into guarding your family with nothing but luck itself. But... I had a lot ofbitterness in me. I hated the De Clares for holding people like me back, or at least that’s how the Iron Empire spun the story to me,” he said slowly.

Eira watched warring emotions flit across Hugo’s face as she thought about how hard it must have been for him.

“I thought that if I had been afforded what you or Evangeline had been born with then I would have been able to be in a better position than I ever could have achieved as I was,” he continued. “And when the lord general promised me a place as a commander for my work, when he told me he respected my will to do my job... I fell for it and I... I thought you’d chosen the De Clares over Astra, over me.”

“I don’t blame you for that,” Eira said.

“What?” Hugo lifted his eyes to meet hers.

“I don’t blame you,” Eira repeated. “It sounds like it was a very real dream that you felt like you could make reality. It’s not your fault they sold you a false dream.”

“You don’t hate me?” Hugo asked, sounding stunned.

“Hugo,” Eira said, holding his gaze. “You must stop thinking I hate you. I see you for who you are. You’re flawed and you made mistakes, big ones, but... I’ve only seen you trying to do better. Isn’t that the real indicator of change?”