The Silver Siren (Iron Butterfly #3)

“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.

My knees felt weak and I had to grab hold of the wall to steady myself.

It was too much. I felt dizzy, sick, and weak. King Tieren opened his mouth to say something to me, but I couldn’t hear what he was saying. He motioned for a guard who came rushing toward me. I panicked and reached for a thread of power to push the guard away, but nothing came. Strong hands seized me.

I was expecting the dungeon again, but instead they placed me in an extravagant suite. I lay upon the oversized bed and stared at the stone walls. Someone had lit a candle in my room, and it had been burning so long it began to flicker, dying out.

When the candle finally gave up and my room became dark, still I lay there, silent, waiting…thinking.

All King Tieren had done was destroy everything I thought I finally knew about my family and life. It was like being thrown from a horse and having the wind knocked from me. I stared in the direction of the candle and tried to get it to light, which wasn’t my specialty. Still, I felt like I should have felt something—some stirring of power. Instead, I felt empty, as if a part of me were missing. My head still felt a bit fuzzy and I wondered if there were a bit of drugs still running through my system, blocking me from using my gifts. If that was so, then I was going to have to continue to be a polite guest until use of my gifts came back. Maybe by then I could blast my way out of the castle.

Maybe I could even bring down the castle with me in retaliation. I smiled at the thought and continued to wait. I’d keep testing the limits and reaching for power every few minutes.

After a quick knock on my door, an older woman opened the door and entered. Her graying blonde hair was pulled into a crown upon her head. Her skin was fair, and fine wrinkles sprayed across her proud face. Her black dress, though made of the finest velvet, had little adornment other than the cut and the style of the dress. But all suggested someone of importance.

She stopped within a few feet of me and studied me carefully. I glared at her, refusing to look away. Her mouth pinched in a worrisome frown and then she released a loud, dejected sigh. “Well, you definitely have your father’s coloring, but you can’t hide those eyes. Even if the shade is off.”

The remark stung but I didn’t let it show on my face.

“Well stand up, dear. Let’s take a look at you.”

“No,” I said firmly.

She looked tired and impatient. “Your mother would have said the same thing. You, I hope, will be more loyal to our cause.” The things this woman said made me want to scratch her eyes out or push her out a window. She was horrid.

She came forward and stared down her long straight nose at me and I watched as her nostrils flared in impatience. “You will have to do. Heaven knows I don’t have time or the resources to play these kinds of games much longer. I’m too old for such tricks.”

I let her ramble on and on as the door opened again and two servants brought in a trunk. They began to lay out a wardrobe befitting a queen—silk dresses, petticoats, shoes, ribbons, stockings.

They measured me and stuffed me into eight different dresses before they found one that complemented my skin tones and my unpleasant eye color.

“No, go with the silver. She’s got the blood—we can’t hide it now,” the woman chuckled softly.

Soon, a smaller servant girl began to sew me into the dress and kept accidentally poking me with the needle. As soon as she was finished, I stormed across the room and right up to the cruel matriarch.

“I don’t know what you’re trying to do, but I am not a doll.”

“Of course not, my dear. You are my granddaughter, and I am trying to keep you alive. So hold your tongue and your patience, and maybe we will both live through the upcoming dinner,” she muttered something else under her breath. I thought I caught the barely audible words, “…and the war.”

“Grandmother?”

Her words momentarily stunned me. I’d never had a living grandmother before, so I was unprepared for what to say or how to address the situation.