Page 74 of Three Dark Kings and the Gilded Serpent

Miriam holds up her hand. “Thyra is missing some critical pieces of information.” She gives a soft sigh. “One of which is extremely dangerous.”

She reaches across the little table, carefully sweeping aside the cups to take my hands firmly into hers. “I haven’t told you who these women are. And…perhaps more critically…who they are not.”

She looks to each of the women. One by one, they give her a nod, but their faces are pale and many of them are worrying at their lips.

“What I’m about to say could get all of these women killed,” Miriam says. “So, Thyra, I need to know, can we trust you?”

They don’t know me.

I don’t know them.

But I find myself saying, “Yes.”

Chapter Twenty-Five

Thyra

“We have no queens in Ember,” Miriam begins, her hand tightening on mine. “Ember kings do not take wives. They have harems from which all royal children are born, ensuring that no woman ever stands equal to the king.”

I reassess the women around me, addressing them with the respect they deserve. “You were the former king’s harem.”

“We were,” Charis says. “Chosen for our beauty.” She glances at the others. “Or for our skills. And no, I don’t mean in the bedroom.”

I want to ask her more about that, but Miriam continues firmly. “No woman may ascend to the Ember Throne. We are not allowed into battle. We must not ride serpents.”

Damn. In the Iron Kingdom, Galla Vividari ruled with impunity. In the Frost Kingdom, Lilis had full control of the army. But here in Ember, it seems I’m about to be exposed to a whole new set of rules.

“We are subject always to the control of first our fathers and then our husbands,” Miriam says. “As the former king’s sister, I had a small degree of agency over my life. But Zenaida, who is Maxim’s sister, has more autonomy than any woman before her.”

“Because of Maxim,” Charis says.

Miriam nods. “After his father died, Maxim was the first Ember King to try to elevate women, but the changes he tried to make were stifled when his fire grew too unpredictable for him to safely set foot in this underground city. When he lived here, he wanted to know which of these women was his birth mother.”

“We couldn’t tell him, so we did the only thing we could,” Charis says, rising to her feet and relocating herself at the side of the little table nearer to me. “We refused to speak with him.”

Before I can ask her why, Miriam says, “By doing this, they took a terrible risk. Maxim could have had them put to death, but he did what no Ember King before him would have done: he declared them all to be his mother, gave them the title of the Mothers, and gifted them this compound. A home nobody else may enter.”

“Oh, but there were consequences.” Charis reaches for Miriam’s cup, pours the last of the liqueur into it, and takes a sip, making a face. “Dear Goddess, Miriam, you made this syrup strong.”

Miriam shrugs. “I like it that way.”

Charis coughs against the back of her hand. “Since we refuse to speak with the king, we must not speak with any other Ember Fae. We are shunned. This gives us more freedom because nobody will dare come near us.” Her shoulders slump as she stares into the cup. “But we also had to give up any contact with our mothers and sisters.”

“I’m the only Ember Fae permitted to speak with the Mothers,” Miriam explains. “Maxim allowed this concession to ensure the Mothers have everything they need. I requested this, and he agreed given the bonds of friendship I already had with them. Even Zenaida must go through me.”

“The penalty for breaking our silence with anyone other than Miriam is death,” Charis says.

“Then you’ve taken a grave risk allowing me into your home,” I say. “And by speaking with me.”

“That may be,” Miriam replies. “But as the Oracle, Thyra, you must stand above all kings.” Her firm smile fades. “You must speak to all people. From the oldest to the youngest, the poorest to the richest, the powerful as well as the downtrodden, your voice is a weapon and you must wield it.”

My father’s command to Miriam all those years ago returns to me.

He said I would hold the darkness of the world in the palm of my hand and they must help me wield it.

Charis reaches for the carafe and drains the last drop from the flask, coughing again. “Oh, that’s biting.”

I can’t help responding to her warmth, some of the tension leaving my shoulders. Only to return. “None of that explains the pink pearls.”