Page 162 of Three Dark Kings and the Gilded Serpent

I guess the pole provides him with a sense of safety.

Taking deep breaths, accepting the tears of pain flowing down my cheeks, I work to bring calm to my mind.

Peace is knowing that Maxim will heal any minute—I’m sure he will—and that Stellen and Antony will fight beside me soon, and above all else, that my body, mind, and heart are strong enough that I can hold my own without them.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” I ask Boaz, my voice soft now as I allow my body weight to drop a little, testing the pressure on the serpents’ saddles, along with how much more pain I can bear.

Boaz hesitates before he continues creeping toward me. “I’ve been promised.”

I arch my eyebrows at him. “Promised what?”

“A place beside the throne.”

I squint a little. “Hadrian’s throne?”

“Stanimir has decreed it will be so.”

“Hadrian’s mentor said so, huh?” I murmur. “I’m not sure Hadrian will want to share me.”

Just a little closer now, Boaz.

Boaz’s focus flickers to my torso, where I’m certain the gaping material leaves my iron burn across my upper-right rib fully visible.

My brief glance down gives me an alarming view of the lava streams now encroaching along the sand at my sides.

Maxim’s fire is spreading. Fingers of lava stretch in little rivers on both sides of me.

My blood drips freely from my outstretched left arm and into the lava, deep-red liquid sliding along the surface of the molten sand. I sense the blood flow from my left calf could also be slipping into the lava. Strange that my blood isn’t burning up, but that’s the least of my concerns right now.

Boaz’s smile only broadens. “Hadrian won’t want to share you. But he will tire of you. I don’t mind taking what he discards.”

As Boaz creeps another step toward me, the edge of the collar comes within inches of my chin.

Nearly close enough.

Taking a final calming breath, I expand my senses past the immediate threats of Boaz, his men, and their serpents, and across my surroundings.

My silver armor floats in the air thirty paces away, a safe distance from the heat and men, although the strands hum anxiously, edging toward me, swirling in the shape of a sash. If I weren’t concerned about the serpents’ lives, I could scream for my armor to fracture and strike. I’ll only go down that path if I have to.

Much farther away, two figures fight on the mountain ridge, Nara’s silhouette clear beside them.

I home in on the crack of whips up there, spiraling lashes dragging Antony down each time he darts into the air. Fire flares as Ember Fae burn the air around him.

Stellen’s frost finally blasts a gap in the attack, and he and Nara shoot through the opening to race down the mountainside.

His voice reaches me. “Hold on, Thyra. We’re coming for you.”

A moment later, the smack of Antony’s fist reaches my ears, steel on flesh as he, too, breaks clear of his attackers and shoots up into the air. As fast as he can fly, I’m certain it will take him a minute to reach me.

Then comes the sound of a deeply indrawn breath behind me, a fresh sizzle of lava, and a sudden thumping heartbeat so strong in my hearing, I could be consumed by the powerful beats.

Maxim. He must be awake.

I don’t have time to look back.

Boaz’s eyes widen, a sharp breath drawing into his chest as he lurches toward me, the collar aimed for my throat.

The move I was waiting for.