“That was a generous estimate, to allay the fears of your companions.” The polymath who speaks is a new one, seemingly stepping out of the shadows. But when they step, the sound isn’t clipped, as boots or armor might be. It’s soft, silent. I look down—ochre paws, a vermillion furred tail tip thrashing excitedly between them. My eyes travel up to their hood, but before they lower it I know who it is already. I try to say his name, but my voice cracks down the middle, and it comes out true.

“Ironspeaker.”

There’s a pause, the darkness falling away from his feline face as the light spills over it and his own voice fills the gaps.

“Starving Wolf.” Yorl smiles, returning his true name with mine, all his fangs showing and his whiskers crinkling. “Missed me that much, did you?”

20

20

THE IRONSPEAKER
AND THE
STARVING WOLF

It’s been only a week and a half, bordering two, but I’ve never been more relieved to see the smartest being in the world.

And Yorl Farspear-Ashwalker is, objectively, the smartest being in the world. Or at least, the smartest I know. He and Fione tied, maybe. There might be others, too, but his dedication to helping Varia solve the mysteries of Heartless-valkerax communication made it possible for her to get the Bone Tree in the first place, and for me to get to know Evlorasin. We’d conspired together in the hopes I’d get my heart back, and his end of the deal was being able to conduct one-of-a-kind research—specifically, to finish his grandfather’s life’s work—in order to gain entry and ratify his grandfather’s findings in the Black Archives forever.

All of this is to say Yorl was there for me during the hardest parts of Evlorasin’s training, and, when I’d shoved Fione and Lucien and even Malachite away, he was there for me. When I was in the depths of loneliness, Yorl was my only source of levity, of positive interaction. He’s relatively new in my unlife, but after what we’ve been through, our friendship feels so old.

He bends the knee at the base of the throne.

“Finally,” I drawl. “The respect I deserve.”

Yorl’s laugh is deep, ragged in that celeon way, as he claps metal restraints onto my wrists and ankles.

“Strange way to show respect, isn’t it?” He plays along.

“Very.” I act puzzled as I look down at the metal, then slide a glance at the silver-robed polymaths bustling around the room. “Your new friends don’t trust me much, I take it?”

“My new friends don’t trust one another,” he murmurs. “Let alone total strangers. Interdepartmental feuds are the air we breathe.”

“So sad.” I try to draw a tear down my face, but the wrist restraints clang. The polymaths all look at me at once, alarmed, and I smile. “Sorry, sorry! No more sudden movements, I promise.”