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He’d never admit it aloud, but he’d grown to like the sound of her chatter. It uplifted him. Kept him from the dark places he so often retreated to.
“I know who you are,” he heard himself say. She went stone-still. “I know why the queen is hunting you.” She tensed as though bracing for the words to come. “Your scar. I was with you when you got it, Eisa.”
Rey had known Silla was worthy of protection. He’d thought her one of the last good things in this cursed kingdom.
They walked together until they reached an enormous tapestry of black and fiery oranges hung on the wall. After glancing over his shoulder, the king pulled it aside, the heel of his hand pushing hard into a stone. The whole section of wall swung inward.
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“I cannot recall much of my birth mother,” she said, the words coming from deep within. “You’re the only mother I’ve ever truly known. And one day, I shall repay all the kindness you’ve shown me.”
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