Page 59 of Three Dark Kings and the Gilded Serpent

I give Miriam the same frightening grin I gave Thyra at the time.

To her credit, like Thyra, Miriam doesn’t flinch.

She remains at my side despite the threat I pose to her. For so many years, fae have avoided me, fearing my frost. Fearing my Voice. It’s strange that her presence feels natural and not forced.

“In all your hesitation,” she says, folding her hands in her lap, evidently completely relaxed, “you didn’t once mention needing to return to your people.”

I doubt news of the Winter Strife will stay within the Frost Kingdom for long. Too many spies everywhere for that.

“That throne is no longer mine,” I say, surprised by how a weight lifts from me with these words. “The fate of the Frost Fae no longer rests on my shoulders.”

“Ah.” Miriam nods, but now she’s the one giving me a frightening grin. “Only the fate of the three kingdoms, then.”

Before I can reply, the soft crunching of footsteps in sand becomes impossible to ignore. The women are making their way toward us, even though their steps are slow and labored. The golden serpent slides carefully alongside them, seeming cautious not to spray sand into their path.

“These women are known as the Mothers,” Miriam explains. “They are all Mother to the King.”

Before I can ask how that works, she gives me a hard stare. “Do not expect them to say anything. They have chosen not to speak with the king and as a consequence, they must not converse with any fae outside their circle, either.”

When my eyebrows arch higher, Miriam gives a sigh. “It’s a long story.”

I want to tell her I have time, but Thyra doesn’t.

Her lips are dry and beads of sweat are growing on her forehead. I missed the moment when her features stopped glowing and she resumed her lowborn appearance. Golden energy no longer pulses along her arm.

Her breathing is shallower than before. She acclimated to my freezing kingdom and now she’s exposed to growing heat while she’s also undoubtedly dehydrated.

Carefully, I withdraw the Alak-Teahan cloak from around her shoulders and drop it to the sand. She doesn’t need it any longer. Her armor will protect her from the burning sun without overheating her.

The women reach us a moment later, the serpent close behind them, all of them stopping expectantly nearby.

“We will care for her, Frost King,” Miriam promises me. “As if she were our own daughter.”

I guess they’re waiting for me to hand Thyra over.

I can’t keep the sharpness from my voice. “I told you, I’m not the Frost King anymore.”

Every part of my soul roars at me not to let Thyra go. Parting with her feels like breaking off a piece of myself.

Gently, Miriam gestures to the serpent. Rising to my feet, I carry Thyra to the beast, steering clear of its quietly hissing mouth.

The saddle the serpent is wearing is made of an unusual material, but I don’t have time to study it before Miriam leaps onto the serpent’s back and settles into the saddle.

“Pass her up, please,” Miriam says, reaching for Thyra.

I’m not taking any chances that Thyra will fall. Jumping lightly from the ground onto the serpent’s neck, I pass Thyra to Miriam, prepared to assist further, but the Ember woman seems remarkably strong.

Within moments, she’s pulled Thyra close, supporting her head while slipping her legs into the folds of the saddle to keep her secure.

Hmm. I’m reminded that Ember Law doesn’t permit women to fight in wars, but Miriam looks extremely comfortable on the back of this serpent.

Reluctantly, I slide to the ground, my arms now empty.

“Thank you, Frost King,” Miriam says as the Mothers turn and set off at a run ahead of her. “As soon as Thyra wakes, I’ll send word. What you do until then is up to you.”

The serpent surges forward, its body snaking along the sand before rising into the air, flying low and quickly catching up with the running women.

As the group approaches the top of the next dune, Miriam’s soft whisper reaches my sharp ears across the distance.