Page 80 of Three Dark Kings and the Gilded Serpent

As the last known Ferocie Scribe, Emiliana is the only fae who can safely open the Chronicle to allow it to be read. Thyra managed to touch the book, but only by using her blade arm, since the Dragonstone Blade seems to protect itself against destruction.

“Her punishment worsened when she couldn’t tell him about the missing page,” Cassia continues. “The one that was torn out.”

“The one the False Queen apparently wrote upon,” I mutter.

Victor’s voice is tight. “When I freed Emiliana, I made sure to burn the copy she was making for Hadrian. She brought the Chronicle with us, so at least we control that now.” He swallows visibly. “I want justice from the Ember King for what was done to me, but Antony, we have to end Hadrian.”

Carefully, I accept the axe from Victor, a symbol of my old life.

Now, I consider the weapon in a new light.

“Victor, you told me Hadrian forced you to design weapons for him, but you took the risk of giving them flaws.”

Victor wraps his hand around my axe even as I hold it aloft. “His catapults are made of wood, every part of them except the canisters they fire. That wood is unbreakable.”

“But?”

Victor grins, but it’s a dangerous smile, full of anger and hurt, a wrath born from a life of being shunned and manipulated and kept from the woman he loved for too many years, only to be unable to protect her when it mattered.

The kind of rage that tells me Victor won’t stop until Hadrian is dead.

“Tell me everything,” I say.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Thyra

“You must stay concealed at all times,” Miriam says, tucking in the final stray end of a silken sash she wrapped around my head so it forms a hood over my face.

She steps back to survey me. “Once we leave this compound, no part of you can be identifiable. You must appear as if you’re one of the Mothers.” She hums in the back of her throat. “You’ll need to keep your eyes down or the blue color will give you away.”

At that, the Mothers converge around me, their jewelry clinking as they tug on my arms and even my braid, gently but quickly wrapping me up in ochre-colored silks, folding the large sashes cleverly to cover my shoulders and arms and finally, my head.

My silver armor can’t stay as it is, so I retract it, humming and pulling it skin-tight around my body.

Finally, they give me leather boots to wear. Slim, not chunky.

Before they began this process of concealment, the Mothers gave me a chance to eat and drink my fill, their concern about my potential dehydration indicating that, while they seem to know of the blood bind, they don’t know what it’s been doing.

I’m certain I’ll be able to withstand whatever heat waves Maxim can withstand, just as I survived the same freezing temperatures in the north that Stellen could survive.

“One more thing you need to know,” Miriam says. “Since Ember women are not allowed into battle, we also aren’t allowed out onto the dunes without an escort. If Zenaida were here, she could take us. She’s the only woman with authority to come and go as she pleases. Likewise, my son Kaiba is Maxim’s general and he helps when he can.

“Otherwise, we’re supposed to take a guard from the Ember Court. Five of them usually, one from each of the highborn Houses to maintain the appearance of impartiality. Once we reach the outside, we must move very quickly and ensure we aren’t seen.”

“If you would tell me where we’re going—” I begin, but she gives me a firm shake of her head.

“It’s safer if you don’t know until we get there.”

Seeming satisfied by my appearance, she calls softly to the other women. “Gather around Thyra. Keep her within your circle at all times. We will need to use the abandoned exit in the west—the one that hasn’t been fully closed yet—and evade all guards along the way. No, wait! One more thing.”

She takes hold of my shoulders. “You must understand, the prohibition from battle includes anything at all resembling combat. You must not touch a weapon or perform any kind of combative maneuver. You certainly must not strike another fae or possibly even run from one.” She grimaces. “Running is borderline. Just don’t do any of these things when you could be observed.”

Miriam steps back and the women converge around me, Charis on my left while Miriam moves to the front of the group. Within seconds, they whisk me along with them toward the compound’s outer wall.

Or what I think is the outer wall, until I realize that the acoustics indicate some sort of entry room, a possibility that’s confirmed as we move into it. The woman farthest to the back locks the door behind us.

“Ready?” Miriam calls softly while each of the Mothers pulls her silks over her face in the same fashion that I’m wearing mine.