23. Thyra
Chapter Twenty-Three
Thyra
Where am I?
I’m not sure when the darkness lifted, only that I’m afraid of waking to a nightmare.
My first sensation, as I surface, is of soft silk beneath my fingertips. Quiet rustling. Then gentle humming. Sounds that should calm my fears.
So should the fact that my lips aren’t dry or frozen and my body doesn’t hurt while my armor is a soothing tightness around me.
Despite my anxiety, my heartbeats are calm.
I inhale the scent of spices, dragging air deep into my chest, at which the humming stops.
A soft gasp sounds. “She’s awake.” Then quick footfalls. “Miriam, she’s awake.”
More footfalls, now hurrying toward me.
My forehead creases as I force my eyes to open, quickly assessing my surroundings for threats. Not quite believing that there don’t appear to be any.
I’m lying on some kind of large pallet, near to the floor.
A petite woman kneels beside me, the burnt-orange silks she’s wearing drawing out the glow in her tan skin. Golden jewelry clinks at her wrists and ears and multiple rings circle her fingers. A wide, amber streak in her hair highlights the tawny flecks in her deep-brown eyes.
“Hello, dear,” she says. “I’m Miriam.”
I can’t reconcile my current environment with my last horrifying memories.
I was lying on Stellen’s chest, pummeled by the storm, my hands covered in blood.
Then I spent hours in darkness, the False Queen’s cruel whispers echoing in my ears, telling me that tainted blood was pumping through my body, creating a power like no other.
All while I was certain Stellen lay dead beneath me.
My voice is hoarse, even though my throat isn’t dry. “Stellen!”
Miriam’s hands press to my shoulders, gently pushing me back to the bed. “The Frost King is safe and well. He brought you here.”
“He’s alive?” I study the woman’s face, listening to her heartbeats, prepared to detect some insidious lie. Some intention to break my heart.
“He asked us to take care of you. He’s waiting for news that you’ve awoken.”
I listen carefully, assessing her promise, not taking it at face value. Her voice is completely steady. She’s speaking the truth, as far as I can tell, but fear lives in me still.
“Where is he? I have to go to him.” I need to see for myself that he’s alive.
I push back against her hands, trying again to rise, but my head swims and I’m forced to sink back to the bed.
“Easy, Oracle,” Miriam says, peering intently at me. “You’ve been through an ordeal. You must rest and regain your strength.”
Cautiously, I ask, “Where am I?”
“You’re in the Ember Kingdom. Safe within our underground city. When our sun burned cold, our king went to find you, as you commanded him to do, but the Frost King was already bringing you to us.”
Stellen brought me to the Ember Kingdom? I can’t imagine a more unlikely scenario.
Miriam presses her hand to her heart. “I’m a healer. These women are my friends. You’re safe with us.”
If Stellen is awaiting news of my awakening, then what of Maxim?
Trying to calm myself, I ask, “Where is the Ember King?”
“Keeping his distance,” Miriam says. “By choice. He, too, is waiting to hear that you’ve awoken.”
“I don’t understand.” I shake my head. “Frost and Ember are enemies.”
The last time Stellen and Maxim interacted was on the western coast when all three kings battled to seize me. They tried to tear each other apart.
“Your concern is warranted,” Miriam says. “But it seems the Kings of Frost and Ember have managed to find common ground and agree to a temporary peace.”
I slump fully against the bed, conscious now of how keenly Miriam is observing me, her focus gliding across my face, homing in on my eyes before descending to my hands.
My first thought is that she won’t be able to see the Dragonstone Blade or the blood bind because only the three kings can see those, but then my focus flies to my right hand, where the blood-soaked band wrapped itself around my wrist.
The band is gone.
I jolt, new dread spearing through me. “The blood.”
Dear Goddess, did it all assimilate into my body?
“Fully extracted and disposed of.” Miriam’s grip on my shoulders tightens before she reaches for my right hand. “With the help of both kings, the tainted blood was pulled from your hand. Maxim then burned the blood.”
“Burned?”
“To ash,” Miriam says, studying me from beneath her lashes. “Whatever darkness that blood contained, it has been defeated.”
I wish I could feel comforted, but nothing is ever that simple with the False Queen.
Taking deep breaths, I try to conceal my shudder. “How long was I asleep?”
“Two days.”
My eyes widen. “Two days?”
“We kept up your fluids; a healing liquid I devised that can be administered without choking unconscious patients.” She gives me a small smile as she continues. “But after this much time, I imagine you might wish to use the bathing room, yes?”
Damn, yes.
I nod. “I have so many questions.”
“Let’s take care of the practicalities first. Then I’ll tell you everything I can. But please, be assured, you’re safe here with us.” Miriam glances at the other women before she adds, “As long as you stay within this compound for now.”
At the narrowing of my eyes, she takes a deep breath. “I understand your instincts might be to leave as soon as you can. All I ask is that you wait and listen first so you understand what challenges await you and why we’d like you to stay. Can you do that?”
She isn’t wrong about my instincts.
While we’ve been talking, I’ve taken a quick study of the room: Simple clay walls, softly lit. A large rug on the floor. The pallet I’m lying on, while cozy, is accompanied only by a small, low table no higher than the bed. There’s no other furniture.
I rapidly consider the women, at least ten whom I can see. They spill through the door, all of them seeming at great pains not to crowd me, even though they wear a tension around their eyes that I can’t dismiss.
“I won’t run,” I say.
“Thank you, Oracle.” Miriam reaches for me. “Let me help you up.”
I accept her assistance to get back to my feet, leaning heavily on her, taking a long moment to regain my balance and bearings.
While the other women step aside, Miriam helps me across the room and through the door.
I’m surprised to step directly out into a wide garden.
The circular space is filled with flowers and plants of kinds I’ve never seen before, some bright green, others brilliant purple, and still others in all shades of pink.
Other buildings like the one I stepped from surround the garden.
Footpaths meander down the side of each.
In the distance, I make out wooden walls that stretch all the way up to the ceiling, which appears to be made of clay. The ceiling soars overhead, not so low as to feel confining while high enough that I have the strange sensation of having stepped outside, but also not outside.
My forehead creases and Miriam’s hands tighten around me. So far, she hasn’t made any comment about my armor, even though she’s in close contact with it.
“The enclosed feeling in this place may take some getting used to,” she says, “but I promise you’ll adjust sooner than you think.”
She continues to describe my surroundings as she leads me along the path and through the garden.
“This compound is made up of seventeen homes, all interconnected around this central garden and accessible via the footpaths you can see between the huts. Up ahead, we have a communal bathing center.” She gives me a brief smile.
“It’s a little bit of a walk if you need to use the bathing room in the night, but don’t worry, we have separate toilet rooms.”
Oh, good.
I take note of multiple raised platforms set within the garden, none more than a single step up from the ground, each one scattered with large, plush cushions and little low-lying tables. Places to gather.
Several of the tables are set out with cups and pots of what could be tea, all steaming, as if my awakening interrupted the women in the middle of refreshments.
Now that I’m outside the room, I can count the women more accurately: sixteen plus Miriam. They’re all highborn, their skin flawless and eyes bright, each wearing golden jewelry and silken clothing. The faint lines on their faces indicate they’re at least in their fourth decade, if not older.
What strikes me most clearly is that they carry themselves like queens, regal and dignified.
“Who are you?” I ask.
“These women are known as the Mothers,” she replies with a small smile. “I will explain everything shortly. You must take care of yourself first.”
I can’t argue with that. We’ve reached another building, from within which comes the bubbling of water that only makes my need for a bathing room more urgent.
As I hurry into the communal area, finding my balance stronger, I’m taken by the beauty of the bathing area, a reminder of the rock pools in the Alak-Teah. Except that this place isn’t steaming with heat.
A glistening rock pool of varying depths is surrounded by wooden decking, but I can’t stop to admire it.
I hurry into the nearest toilet cubicle, while Miriam pauses at the far door behind me.
Her voice sounds, along with the soft clapping of her hands. “Mothers, we need fresh tea and fiber cakes.”
“Syrup?” a different woman asks, her voice the quietest murmur that reminds me of Stellen’s subdued whispers.
“Yes, good idea, Charis. Amber syrup: a little something stronger than honey to add to our tea. Goddess knows, we might all need it.”
After that comes the sounds of the women quietly setting about their work, the gentle clattering of porcelain and the swishing of what could be cushions being rearranged.
If it weren’t for my acute hearing, I wouldn’t be able to detect these sounds, but they’re somehow amplified in the enclosed compound.
Quickly taking care of myself, I emerge to wash my hands, much steadier on my feet now.
I wish there were a mirror.
From what I can see of myself, I’m clean of blood and so is my armor, which means someone must have bathed me.
What’s more, Stellen’s ribbon has been freshly braided into my hair.
I’m not sure how my armor would have allowed any of that to happen without retaliating.
Either these women have some magical sway over my armor or…
They really aren’t a threat to me.
I emerge to find them all gathered on the largest platform, each one seated on a cushion, many squished in, although they don’t seem uncomfortable about their close proximity to one another.
Miriam sits cross-legged at a little table in the center of the platform, a teapot in front of her, along with two cups, a plate piled high with little cakes, and an opaque carafe.
She waves me over and gestures to the other side of the table. “Oracle, please take a seat.”
I mimic her cross-legged position, uncertain of customs.
She lets out her breath, her eyes bright as she considers me across the table.
“Oh.” She gives herself a shake. “I’ve waited so long for this day. Practiced over and over again what I might say, and now…” She chomps her bottom lip, her eyes filling with tears. “Oh, but look at you all grown up.”
I’m startled, and it must show because she raises her hand.
“I’m sorry, I’m just…”
Two of the women lean forward behind her, rubbing her back, murmuring quietly.
Miriam inhales deeply and settles her shoulders. “Thank you, Mothers.”
To me, she gives another small smile. “We should start from the beginning. What would you like us to call you?”
“My name is Thyra.”
I’m suddenly conscious of the ripple of whispers through the women. Most fae are offended that I was given a highborn name when my appearance is that of a lowborn, but these women are smiling and nodding.
“Of course,” come their whispers. “Because of her mother.”
“A powerful highborn.”
“A well-chosen name.”
“It suits her.”
My focus snaps to Miriam to find her countenance softened, her shoulders gently raised.
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?”