Page 71 of Three Dark Kings and the Gilded Serpent

She pushes one of the cups toward me. “Forgive them, but your name is well-chosen. Your father was protective of your future.”

Suddenly, it feels like I’m bursting out of my own skin. “What do you know of my parents?”

Chapter Twenty-Four

Thyra

All my life, I’ve wondered about my mother. Who she really was. What life she had. And then, when my father died, I discovered there was so much more he could have told me, and I don’t know why he didn’t.

“Please,” I say to Miriam, not caring if I have to beg. “Tell me.”

“I will.” She nods, a simple motion. “I will tell you everything I know.”

I try to breathe, unable to miss the hesitation in her voice despite her promise. “But?”

“But I need you to understand that I won’t lie to you, Thyra,” she says. “I won’t honey-coat anything, even if it might be hard to hear. I will also make clear what I believe to be fact versus what is supposition or guesswork on my part so you aren’t misled. Can you accept that?”

“I can.” How could I not?

But still she pauses. “Can you offer the same?”

I try to still myself, to focus past my desperate need for answers. “To tell the truth?”

She inclines her head.

With determination, I stop myself from glancing at the black runes along my arm, which they won’t be able to see. It must seem strange to these women that my armor covers my left arm but not my right, a lopsided garment with no visible explanation.

Until the False Queen revealed that the blood bind is draining the kings’ powers, I had no reason to keep secrets. But now…

My momentary silence must speak volumes.

“It’s okay,” Miriam says. “I just wanted to know where I stand.”

Clearing my throat, I manage, “If I can’t speak of something, I will say so. Or if I need to avoid the truth of a thing, I will say that, too.”

She gives me a quiet smile. “That’s more than I could have hoped for. Thank you, Thyra.”

Reaching for the teapot, she pours steaming liquid into each of the cups and adds a splash from the carafe, murmuring, “For fortification, yes?”

After pushing the cup across to me, she gestures to the little cakes. “You may not feel able to eat anything yet, but please, when you wish, you’ll find these cakes are very nourishing.” In the same breath, she utters, “Oh, but where to start?”

Again, she chomps her lip. Closes her eyes. Opens them again. “You were a baby when I first met you.”

I slide my hands around the warm teacup, suddenly needing something to hold on to.

“Your father carried you in a papoose strapped to the front of his chest. A blessing against his heart, while at his back, he bore the burden of the Dragonstone Blade, wrapped tightly in Lethian silk, a heavy weight to bear.

“He sought me out on the eastern edge of the Ember Kingdom, on the ridges of the charcoal cliffs. I was not supposed to be there.” Her cheeks are pale as she grimaces. “It was, and is, forbidden for Ember women to ride a serpent, yet I strapped my chest tightly and covered my face with a mask and hood so I would look like an Ember warrior. I called to the serpent who had bonded with me in secret to carry me into that dusty wilderness because our new king had just been born and his mother…”

Miriam stops speaking for a moment, her lips trembling. “Maxim’s mother was injured by the birth. I needed to find a rare healing herb that only grows on those cliffs. I searched desperately and was on the verge of giving up, panicked at that stage, when your father appeared, his face covered in soot. He handed me, without a word, the amethyst herb I needed. He had foreseen that I needed it.

“You were covered in a muslin wrap to keep you from breathing the charcoal dust into your little chest, but the material had slipped to the side and oh, the way you looked up at me, Thyra. It was as if you’d reached into my heart and crushed it.

“Your father said something then that I will never forget.” Miriam shivers and the women sitting behind her lean forward once again, rubbing her back. She gives them quiet nods.

“What did he say?” I ask, my throat tight.

Miriam’s tawny gaze is unyielding. “He said, and I quote: ‘This is my daughter. She will be the Oracle we have waited for. One day, she will hold the darkness of our world in her right hand and you must help her wield it.’”