Page 42 of Three Dark Kings and the Gilded Serpent

I wanted to believe, just as I did for my family, that my death could bring Thyra safety.

“No, Thyra, no…”

Brave, determined, kind Thyra.

I rock forward, my hands shaking and my heart pounding, sensations I haven’t felt since my family was killed.

Panic. Fucking panic.

And fear. Soul-destroying fear.

For the first time in years, I don’t know what to do. I strategized only to the moment of my death, choosing the path that would give Lilis justice and Thyra another piece of her fate.

I don’t know how to fight the chaos of emotions flooding my heart and mind, and I don’t know how to fight the malevolent force beating around us.

I put away my power because I couldn’t control it. I was too angry, too destructive. I hurt fae who didn’t deserve to be hurt. I destroyed lives.

And now…

Fuck, fuck, fuck!

“Nara!” I roar into the wind, seeking my white wolf. “Nara, I need you!”

She appears from within the blizzard, crawling toward me, painstaking steps, her whimpers becoming joyful when she sees me, then alarmed when she nudges Thyra’s back.

I’m relieved to see that Nara still carries the two satchels, one of which contains Thyra’s Alak-Teahan coat.

“Thyra’s cloak,” I shout, at which Nara turns and crouches low, enabling me to reach into the satchel to pull out the thick garment.

I need to get Thyra warm.

This simple purpose gives me something to focus on, and I grab hold of that clarity, pushing through my fear and panic, concentrating on my physical actions as I pull the coat around Thyra’s body.

It’s only as I tug her right arm beneath the material that I make out the faint glow of golden energy pulsing back and forth along the inside of her forearm, a sign of a blade vision. A slow, continuous pulse.

My focus snaps to her face, seeking the telltale change in her features. “Thyra?”

Very slowly, the appearance of her face changes, but not into the icy beauty I’ve seen before and which I expected to see now.

Thyra’s skin gradually tans and her hair turns a luscious, shining brown. For a moment, her eyes crack open, her faded blue irises brightening to a deep amber, the color of sultry flames.

This is the countenance of an Ember Fae.

If I thought she saw me, I would be reassured, but her gaze is sightless. Absent. Beads of sweat form on her brow, only to quickly freeze.

The echo of her voice returns to me: Maxim.

She told me she’s seen him in her blade visions. He’s the only king who has appeared to her within them.

My heart plummets at what this could mean.

Can he somehow stop this storm?

When he and I first fought, our powers neutralized each other. Fire and frost dissolved on contact, sizzling into nothing, neither continuing to rage.

But it would mean taking her to him. Right now. With this bloodied band strangling her wrist and her whole body engulfed in tremors.

How can I do that?