Page 65 of From the Myths of Kings

Saoirse’s father had raged against the Terradrin ambassador who’d delivered the news.

“It is a small mercy,” the apologetic ambassador had read from the scroll. “Having no remains will spare you of the trauma of seeing her in such a state. Your last memories of Eleyera will be as she was: vibrant and full of life. We send our deepest sympathies to you and your court. Please know that every effort is being made to eradicate the group responsible for such heinous crimes?”

Saoirse hadn’t understood what political ramifications her mother’s murder held at the time. All she knew was that she’d lost her mother and that she would never hear her lullabies again. She’d lived the last eight years with a piece of her soul missing. Hatred for the kingdoms responsible for Eleyera’s death had sharpened into a weapon she wielded every day as she trained with the Torqen. Her mother’s murder had driven her to compete in the Tournament, had shaped every decision that she’d made for almost a decade.

But now her mother was here.

She couldn’t deny her identity. The shell of a woman in the cage was her mother. That voice, weakened and frail as it was, was the same one that had sung to her as a child. Those moon-blue eyes were the same ones Saoirse had inherited.

“Saoirse?” came that familiar voice, both the same and different than it had once been. It was hardened with torment and reedy with malnourishment. But the syllables of Saoirse’s name were uttered reverently, breathed out in a way only a parent could.

She was alive.

More tears welled in Saoirse’s eyes as her mother’s knobby fingers draped over her own. She clutched the iron bars like a lifeline, her heart thumping erratically in her chest. “Mother,” she said again, voice splintered with pain and disbelief.

“You’ve grown so much,” her mother breathed, trembling fingers moving to trace over her cheeks.

“How is this possible? You?you died.”

It felt like her heart was being torn apart for the second time in her life. Memories blurred behind her tears: every time she cried in Aurelia’s arms on the anniversary of her mother’s death, every moment she’d broken down at the sight of her mother’s portrait in the royal gallery, the sorrow that never truly left her father’s eyes after all these years.

Even as her world spun out of control, something pricked in the back of her mind. Titansblood. She had wondered where the underguards had found mangrove and willowherb, questioned why they had any need for titansblood down here. Suddenly, it all made sense. Her mother had been kept as a prisoner for eight years. Their store of titansblood had been for her mother. They’d been keeping her alive. She felt sick to her stomach.

“I thought I had died, too,” her mother whispered. Her tear-glazed eyes grew distant. “One minute, I was speaking with the king and queen of Aurandel, and the next, I was drenched in a pool of my own blood. We’d been discovered, you see. It was supposed to be a secret meeting…but they found out. I never meant to get them killed.” A sob hitched in her mother’s throat.

“I stared at the sky for what seemed like hours, watching as smoke choked out the stars and the metallic taste of blood thickened on my tongue. Eventually, the pain of my wounds subsided, dulling to a numbness that tingled in my paralyzed limbs. As I bled out, I thought of you.” Her mother’s eyes scraped over Saoirse’s face, gaze burning as if she could still see the little girl she’d once sung to every night.

“When it was discovered I was still alive, I was plucked from the wreckage of the carriages, half-dead and delirious. I didn’t know what was real and what was a dream. The hooded figures who collected me could’ve very well been ghosts for all I knew. As they carried me away, I saw the king and queen of Aurandel lying in puddles of their blood, their eyes unseeing. They were gone. I wish I could’ve been slain alongside them that night. It would have spared me from this Hel I’ve lived for the last eight years.”

Eleyera’s waxen lips trembled as she recalled that horrific night, a sheen of guilt misting over her features as she thought of Aurandel’s fallen monarchs. Her eyes drifted past Saoirse’s shoulders, landing on Rook. She took in his wings and inky dark hair, recognition and understanding sparking in her gaze. “You’re their son, aren’t you?”

Rook gave a wordless nod, his fingers tightening involuntarily.

“You have your father’s likeness and your mother’s eyes. You were but a small lad then, weren’t you? I’m so sorry they met with me that day. It’s my fault that they died. If I hadn’t arranged that meeting…”

“No,” Rook cut in sharply. “It isn’t your fault. For the last eight years, I will admit that I blamed you and your kingdom for what happened that night.” He squeezed Saoirse’s shoulders. “But I was wrong. Your daughter showed me that. You couldn’t have known those Terradrin rebels would ambush you and carry out their assassination plot.”

“Terradrin rebels?”

“Yes, the rebel group that attacked your carriages was led by Ballar Grimstone,” Rook said. “They’d been planning an uprising for a decade, waiting for the right opportunity to kill off Revelore’s rulers one by one. They took advantage of your secret meeting with my parents, and had it not been for the swift action of Terradrin officials in the wake of the murders, they might have succeeded in killing off more Revelorian rulers.”

Her mother’s eyebrows knit together with confusion. “Ballar Grimstone was not among the assassins that night. Nor were any one of his rebel followers. His rebellious sect held radical ideas, but he never would’ve resorted to murder.”

“Terradrin officials told us what happened,” Saoirse countered, remembering every vivid detail that came in the days that followed. “Grivur enacted a thorough eradication of Ballar’s rebel group right after the murders. The inquisition went on for several years, painstakingly weeding out all of Ballar’s followers. Anyone found to be associated with the movement was executed. The rebellion was completely disbanded.”

An expression of pure horror replaced her mother’s confusion, the shadows deepening in the hollows of her gaunt cheekbones as her mouth fell open. “Executed?” Her enlarged eyes grew even wider. “Ballar and his followers were blamed for the attack?” Her horror suddenly bloomed into outrage, a muscle in her jaw ticking with anger. “How could they?”

“They?” Saoirse asked. Her mother’s eyes burned with palpable disgust. She would’ve thought Eleyera would be pleased that those who’d conducted such heinous atrocities had paid for their crimes. But instead of being relieved that justice had been served, she seemed incensed by Ballar’s execution. “Mother, what are you talking about?”

“The Order of Elders. They found out about what I knew. I don’t know how, but they did. They learned I had discovered the truth and that I was going to share it with Aurandel’s rulers. They were the assassins who swarmed the carriage and plunged their blades into our bodies. They couldn’t allow the truth to get out, so they had to kill us. They must’ve used Ballar’s rebellion as a scapegoat.”

The confession fell upon Saoirse like stinging rain, sliding off her shoulders without truly sinking in. She stared at her mother blankly, mind uselessly grasping at words that didn’t seem to fit together properly. Her hands went limp, slipping from the iron bars and falling to her lap. She suddenly felt dizzy, the stone cave walls warping and buckling in her peripheral vision as her mother’s words solidified into something sickening.

“Ballar’s followers had grown considerably, posing a threat to Grivur’s reign. They were mostly harmless, calling for reformation in the Under Kingdom’s court but never speaking out against the Tournament or Aurandel’s possession of the Crown. Nevertheless, it was well known that Grivur was waiting for any opportunity to exterminate the group. Clearly, it didn’t take much convincing for him to believe the Elders when they blamed the assassinations on Ballar and his followers. I’m sure he relished the chance to abolish those who questioned his corruption.”

For several minutes, thick silence suffused the air as Saoirse and Rook processed the truth. The cavern seemed to close in and collapse around them. Her mother looked between them, eight years of trauma and torture gleaming in her eyes. Saoirse shouldn’t have been surprised that the Order of Elders had been the orchestrators of such brutal murders, but years of believing in the crimes of Ballar’s rebellion shackled her understanding. Saoirse’s heart lurched for all the countless families who’d been executed or banished over an act they were never involved in.

A horrifying realization dawned on her, sinking deep in the pit of her stomach like a stone in the Adonis river. Rymir had betrayed them all in the name of his father’s legacy, a legacy that wasn’t even real. He didn’t know the truth. Just like everyone else, Rymir had been deceived by the Elders and convinced of Ballar’s guilt all these years, using his father’s untimely martyrdom as proof of the royal corruption he had railed against.

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