Thirty-Seven #3
Oskaren continued. “Queen Solanthe took an interest in me. She saw that I liked to read and brought me books from the royal library. I was only fourteen, and no one of note. I suppose the attention pleased me.” A hint of that familiar cynicism crept into her voice.
“Mother, mentor, monarch, friend. I was never quite sure what she wanted from me, who I was to her.” She scuffed the edge of her toe along Thia’s boulder. “Then she kissed me.”
Thia’s mouth parted. Anger ripped through her, and her hand tightened on Oskaren’s knee. But she forced herself to stay quiet, to let the girl continue for as long as she was willing.
“By then I was seventeen,” Oskaren said.
“But she was old enough to be my mother. I pushed her off.” She sucked in a breath.
“Next thing I knew, I was awakened in the middle of the night. Dragged before the king. Solanthe stood behind him. She was smiling at me, where he couldn’t see, so I didn’t think anything was wrong.
Then he spoke. He accused me of pursuing her, and I realized the lies the queen had spun to get her revenge. ”
Thia couldn’t breathe. Her heart broke for the other girl. She was full of rage, nearly shaking with it.
“I assume she picked the punishment as well,” Oskaren added.
“The Mage King could have easily killed me and been done with it. But he allowed her to speak to me, just before the curse fell. Loudly, she told me she hated me. Then, as she was turning away, she whispered into my ear, ‘Now everyone will know just how heartless you truly are.’” Oskaren expelled a breath.
“So you see. This”—she put a hand on her chest—“is my fault.”
Thia surprised herself with the strength of her reaction.
She gripped Oskaren’s jaw and forced the girl to meet her gaze.
“Absolutely not,” she said fiercely. “None of that was your fault. None of it.” Oskaren stared down at her as though she didn’t quite believe it.
A tear slipped onto her cheek, and Thia wiped it with her thumb.
“You were a child,” she said. “You didn’t ask her to kiss you.
And even if you did, it was her job to know better.
Ren, look at me,” she added, when the girl’s dark gaze flickered away. “You are blameless.”
Another tear followed the first. Then another.
Then the girl’s shoulders heaved, and she was crying in earnest. Thia’s hands went around her shoulders to her back, guiding her forward so the girl’s forehead fell against her.
She held her there, wondering if it was the first time she’d been able to cry in those two years, the first time she had been able to truly access the emotions that had surely been simmering under the surface, embittering everything she did.
Thia didn’t tell her it would be all right, because truthfully, she didn’t know if it would be.
But she did hold Oskaren for as long as she needed it, running soothing circles over her back.
Oskaren’s hands clutched Thia’s hips like an anchor, perhaps the only part of her she could access at this angle, her nose pressed into Thia’s neck.
The girl’s tears were soaking her dress, but Thia didn’t mind.
After a while, Oskaren’s shoulders stilled, and the tears stopped.
She shifted, and Thia thought she might let her go, but the girl only threaded their hands together, her head still on Thia’s shoulder.
They sat like that, silent in the gentle lull of the music, Oskaren’s hair tickling her neck, until she felt the girl relax properly, her breathing slow.
Then Thia asked, curious, “How did you escape?”
Now Oskaren did pull back, her thumbs brushing Thia’s knuckles.
“The king summoned guards to take me to the dungeon,” she said, picking up the threads of her story.
“As those I had trained under, they were at ease with me. I caught them by surprise and fled.” She pressed her lips into a thin line.
“I’m not convinced the queen didn’t want me to get away.
How else could I let the world know how heartless she’d made me? ”
Thia looked steadily at her. “You’re not—” she began, only to halt as movement caught her eye.
“What?”
“The others are returning.”
Oskaren released Thia abruptly and clambered to her feet. “Dess can’t know.”
“He—”
“Swear it.” The girl seemed genuinely panicked, eyes wide as they skipped between her brother’s approach and Thia, fists clenched like maybe she regretted sharing everything she had.
“I won’t tell him. Or anyone,” Thia hurriedly assured her. “Oskaren.” She touched the girl’s elbow. “It’s your story to tell.”
“Okay,” Oskaren said, then repeated, almost like she was soothing herself. “Okay.” She gave a half-smile, which was genuine, if a bit melancholic, and chucked Thia under the chin. “Thank you.”
Thia expelled a breath, relieved. “Nothing to thank me for.” She joined Oskaren in standing, as Lythia arrived, Dess and Thran at her sides.
“Come, humans,” she said by way of greeting. “The Festival is ending. It is time for Myrdaeth’s final gift.” She inclined her head to convey the solemnity of it. “You shall sleep in the Mirror of Souls.”