Page 11 of The Silversmith

I swallowed hard and looked around at them all in an attempt to garner a look of encouragement or confidence, something that didn’t make me feel completely and utterly lost. My gaze landed on the towering mass of man in the corner. Smyth’s gaze locked with mine immediately. Almost as if he’d been waiting for me to look.

The sense of safety I’d felt when he carried me back from the barn still soothed me. But it was… wrong. I knew that I was so desperate for connection that I yearned to trust whoever walked through my front door. For some reason, my instinct had chosen him, and I had a feeling it probably shouldn’t have.

“What do you need to tell me?” I retrained my eyes on Gemma, feeling slightly more steady where I sat. “Tell me.”

Gemma sat down in the empty armchair across from me, folded her long fingers in her lap, and cleared her throat. “Do you remember me telling you about the Dark Ages? Over four hundred years ago, the Rexus dynasty ruled over Nyrida.”

I nodded. The Rexus family had somehow been eradicated by a few rogue vigilante-types, but before their collective deaths, that family had held power for centuries. They were ruthless. They used fear and lies to demand subordination from the people.

“Our people were starving to death under their reign. Those that weren’t starving were fighting each other while the ruling tyrants kept all the wealth and power to themselves. Until the people found a way to overthrow them. People—two men, specifically.” Her eyes darted to the others while she divulged details she’d never given me before. “Some say those men made a deal with the twelve gods to do it. Others say they just got lucky.”

I shifted in my seat. My parents had never let me read any books about our pantheon of twelve gods—the Selvaren. I knew there were twelve, and I knew they showed no signs of mercy upon most of us. Beyond that, they were a mystery to me. “What do you say?”

Gemma sighed. “I say we should have known that mankind cannot handle unlimited power without misusing it.”

Apprehension snaked like a prickly vine around my neck.

“Those two young men, childhood friends…” Gemma straightened her shoulders and continued. “They went looking for the magic of the Selvaren—a magic only spoken about in legends. They guessed it was a lost cause, a silly story for children with overactive imaginations, but they were desperate to find some way to overthrow the tyrants. It took them over a decade, but that magic? They found it hidden somewhere beneath Nyrida’s surface. They never disclosed exactly where or how they found it but kept it for themselves and used this power to destroy the Rexus family. The battle was quick and bloodless. The new way of life was meant to be peaceful and sustainable—a better world for our people. And it worked. For a while, this world had a new start. The land was cultivated through good magic. The people were treated fairly, resources shared, power distributed equitably. For the first time in centuries, Nyrida held hope for a future.”

“Okay.” I shifted in my seat. “Go on.”

Gemma’s eyes darted around the room again before confessing, “One of those two men was Simeon, your father.”

Disbelief had me gauging the others’ reactions, but they were all stoic. Unsurprised.

My brow lifted. “I thought these men were alive over four hundred years ago.”

I jumped at the sharp flick of Caz’s tongue on the roof of his mouth. He wiggled his fingers in the air. “Magic of the Selvaren, Your Highness.”

Finn rolled his eyes at his brother and muttered, “Read the room.”

Caz chuckled. I took note that the older of the handsome, black-haired brothers found no time or place too inappropriate for a lighthearted joke. Maybe I’d appreciate that later, but not right now.

“Magic,” I repeated skeptically. Yes, sure, magic. The magic of the gods was a myth. Even if I bought that theory, which I didn’t, this Simeon fellow had made no effort to be a part of my life. If Elowen was writing to him, he knew about me and knew what I was to him. Yet he remained absent. Not a single effort to connect with his daughter. He had no right involving me in whatever mess he’d gotten himself into. I would let Gemma say her piece, but decided I didn’t have to accept it.

“You’re a queen, Ary.” Gemma bit her lip, her eyes filled with apology for what she was about to admit. “The queen, actually. Of Nyrida.”

Chapter four

“The queen,” I repeated slowly.

Gemma nodded.

Too stunned to speak, I closed my eyes in an attempt to reject all other stimuli beyond her words.

“I mentioned there were two men.” Gemma’s voice lowered. “The other is named Molochai.”

Is. She had said is, not was. My apprehension spiraled. This had to mean Molochai was still alive after four hundred years, just like Simeon. And if that wasn’t enough to churn my stomach, his eerie name did the trick.

“Simeon preferred to work with his herbs, potions, and spells. He was—is—by the book, while Molochai has been more… experimental with the magic. Back then, they worked well together, and the new world wanted for nothing. But eventually, Molochai found he wanted the one thing he couldn’t have.”

My stomach curdled at the dread in Gemma’s stare.

“Simeon had a sister,” she continued, “ten years younger than him and Molochai. Her name was Christabel. She was angelically beautiful, and while Simeon and Molochai were worshipped like gods, they let Christabel be the queen of the people, loved and unconditionally revered. Simeon—even Molochai, at the time—knew they needed to rule differently than those before them in order to gain the peoples’ trust. The males in the Rexus family had been ruthless, and they felt Nyrida would be far more amenable to a woman in charge.”

“Or at least, the appearance of a woman in charge,” Finn added, tipping his mug at me. “They made most of the decisions themselves but made Christabel the figurehead. As long as there was a female alive in the bloodline, a female would rule.”

“A ruler with a softer heart,” added Caz, resting his hand over his chest. “Less chance of a revolt.”