The Silver Siren (Iron Butterfly, #3)(52)

Frustrated, I turned my head to look at his bodyguards. Two more of the Elite stood in the darkened shadows watching us carefully. Like Gideon, they too sported the white hair.

The king noticed my curious staring. “Ah, I see you’ve noticed my guards. Only the purest of blood serve me.” He raised his goblet of wine as if to salute them before taking the tiniest sip. “They guard that which is precious to me.”

“Which is?” I asked politely.

“Me,” he laughed. He cocked his head to the side as if listening to something and then began to whisper angrily to no one in particular. King Tieren turned his back on me and continued to whisper and sing.

I lost my patience. “Why am I here? Why did you attack my clan and kidnap me? And then you have the nerve to pretend I’m an honored guest.”

Tieren turned back around, his eyes focused on me. “Ah, now that is where you are wrong. I don’t want to kill you or your family. In fact, I keep trying to bring us closer together.” He put his goblet down and seated himself upon his throne, looking down on me through lowered lashes. I wondered briefly if he was slightly inebriated. “Every year on the same day, I send a messenger to your village for your father. And every year I receive the same answer in the form of another dead messenger. I sent more messengers, more frequently with the same result. So you see, you left me no choice. I had to resort to a more permanent summons.”

“So it is my father you want to come, not me.”

“No, this has nothing to do with your father. It has always been about you. Perhaps if I had chosen a different date to summon you, I might have received a more positive reply,” he rubbed his chin thoughtfully.

“I don’t understand how one day would make any difference in his answer.”

“Nothing and everything. What do you know of your mother’s family, where she came from?” he leaned forward, waiting.

His words, though harmless, began to tear a whole in my confidence. I refused to answer, instead turning my back to him.

“Ah, see? You don’t know. Or your mother never told your father. Shall I tell you about Thelonia, your mother?”

“What does she have to do with this?”

King Tieren leaned forward in his chair, bracing his elbows on his knees. He spoke slowly…deliberately. “Thalia, your mother—Thelonia—was my sister.”





Chapter 22



I blinked at King Tieren, unable to whole process the mind-blowing news he???d just shared with me. It couldn’t be possible. I tried to picture my mother but could only grasp flickering memories. The sound of her laugh, the color of her hair.

The rest eluded me. She couldn’t be the king’s sister. I felt myself digging my nails into the palm of my hands to keep back the anger that billowed inside me. I felt betrayed. I knew he had to be lying, but I couldn’t understand why.

“You lie.” I tried to sound brave but the words came out a whisper.

“I never lie.” King Tieren stood up and beckoned for me to follow him. My feet felt leaden, but I slowly followed after him as he descended the dais and exited a small door hidden behind the giant throne. We came to a stone hallway filled with hand-painted portraits that were, unlike the tapestries, well taken care of.

“Perhaps I should explain a little more. That was a lot for you to take in, and you just got here. Ah, here we are.” He stopped in front of a portrait of a younger version of himself, standing next to a very tall thin woman with wavy brown hair. A small tiara sat upon her pale brow. The younger Tieren was seated as the stoic woman stood behind him.

She wasn’t my mother. I knew that. The corner of my mouth begin to curl up in triumph.

“This is Queen Andia, my first wife and mother to Prince Sevril.” He stood before the picture with his hands clasped behind his back reciting information like it was out of a textbook. “She was born to be queen. Her parents and mine arranged the marriage when we were young. We weren’t in love, but we didn’t need to be to rule a country. Sadly, she died twenty-four years ago during childbirth.”

I tried to not roll my eyes. He seemed to enjoy keeping me in suspense.

He walked to the next portrait and a different woman stood next to him. Her fiery red hair, high cheekbones, and pert nose made her very fetching. In this portrait, the woman sat in a smaller chair next to King Tieren. “This is Queen Beryl, my second wife. We were married only three years, and she bore my second son, Tomac. She died from the crying plague.”

“I’m sorry.” The words felt hollow coming from me, but I could tell from the picture that they loved each other.

He bowed his head in silence before walking to the last portrait on the wall. He stopped. Unlike before, he actually walked forward and touched the painting by pressing his forehead against it. I couldn’t hear him but could tell from his shaking shoulders that he was silently crying. I was so fascinated by King Tieren’s reaction to this particular portrait that I actually forgot to look.

Quickly, I glanced over his brown head to see—my mother.

I recognized her. There was no denying the pale as starlight hair, her bright blue eyes, and her beauty, even at a young age. She couldn’t have been more than ten in the picture. I choked back a sob as well, shocked at the sight of my mother. There was no refuting it. Just as there was no denying the royal crown that sat upon her brow and the exuberant joy that radiated from her face as she sat next to a very young Tieren. Both Thelonia and Tieren were seated on smaller stools at the feet of their parents, the King and Queen of Sinnendor.