Part 3: The Forgotten Child
“Well,” Freya said, “this is awkward.”
Tairn was already striding towards the door.
She hurried after him.
“Wait.”
He didn’t.
“Your Majesty.”
Nothing.
“Oi. Your Royal Overheatedness.”
He stopped.
Slowly, he turned.
“Do not call me that.”
“Then stop walking away when I’m talking to you.”
His jaw tightened.
Freya folded her arms.
“Whoever is at that gate claims to be my mother.”
“She is lying.”
“You seem remarkably certain for a man who’s missing half his memories.”
The words struck harder than she intended.
Something dark crossed his face.
Then he looked away.
“Seraphine cannot be your mother.”
“Why?”
“Because she never had children.”
“That you remember.”
He said nothing.
Freya sighed.
“Look, I realise this isn’t the family reunion either of us was hoping for, but perhaps we should hear what she has to say.”
Tairn studied her.
“You would walk willingly into a trap?”
“Of course not. I’d prefer to be carried. These shoes are murder.”
His mouth twitched.
Barely.
But Freya saw it.
Good heavens.
The Dragon King possessed facial muscles.
Who knew?
Queen Seraphine waited in the Hall of Embers.
She was beautiful.
Not simply attractive, but unnaturally perfect, with silver-blonde hair cascading down a gown the colour of moonlight.
She appeared no older than thirty.
Which, considering she’d supposedly been dead for two centuries, was impressive.
Freya immediately disliked her.
Possibly because of the smile.
Possibly because of the enormous black serpent coiled around her shoulders.
Mostly because she’d arrived claiming ownership of a woman she’d never met.
“Tairn,” Seraphine purred.
The Dragon King stopped twenty feet away.
“You’re dead.”
“Such a charming greeting.”
“I watched you die.”
“Did you?”
Her smile widened.
Tairn’s hands curled into fists.
Fire shimmered beneath his skin.
Freya moved closer.
Seraphine noticed.
Her eyes narrowed.
“Ah. There she is.”
Freya lifted one hand.
“Hello. Apparently I’m your daughter. Would you mind explaining why you’ve been a spectacularly absent parent?”
Seraphine laughed.
“She has your tongue.”
Tairn went rigid.
Freya’s stomach dropped.
“Oh, don’t start that again.”
The queen descended the steps.
“Come here, child.”
“No, thank you.”
“I won’t hurt you.”
“That’s exactly what people say before doing something unpleasant.”
Seraphine stopped smiling.
“Your mother raised you well.”
Freya’s heart lurched.
“You knew her?”
“Of course.”
“What was her name?”
“Elara Vex.”
Freya’s breath caught.
Nobody at court knew her mother’s name.
Seraphine saw her reaction.
“She was my most loyal servant. She hid you from the world when I could not.”
“Why?”
“Because your father would have killed you.”
Freya slowly turned towards Tairn.
He looked as stunned as she felt.
Seraphine smiled.
“Did he never tell you?”
“Tell me what?”
“That the last child born of dragon blood was condemned by royal decree.”
Tairn shook his head.
“No.”
“Signed in your own hand.”
“You’re lying.”
“Am I?”
Seraphine reached into her gown and withdrew a folded parchment.
A royal seal hung from the bottom.
Black wax.
The Dragon King’s mark.
Freya took it.
The writing was old, but clear.
By command of King Tairn Draven, the infant of the forbidden bloodline shall be destroyed before the third moon.
Her knees weakened.
At the bottom was his signature.
Tairn Draven.
Freya looked up.
“You ordered my death.”
“I have no memory of this.”
“That’s becoming a remarkably convenient excuse.”
Pain flashed across his face.
“Freya…”
“Don’t.”
Seraphine stepped closer.
“He cannot help what he is, darling. Dragons destroy what they fear.”
“And what am I?”
The queen’s smile returned.
“The last living Flame Thief.”
Freya stared.
“A what?”
“A creature born with the power to take dragonfire, memories and eventually the dragon’s life.”
The hall went silent.
Seraphine leaned towards her.
“Your mother died protecting you from him.”
Freya looked at Tairn.
He stood motionless.
For the first time since she’d met him, he seemed smaller.
Not physically.
Something worse.
Uncertain.
She wanted him to deny it.
To explain.
To say anything that would make the parchment in her hands disappear.
But he only whispered, “I don’t remember.”
Freya stepped backwards.
“Then perhaps you should try harder.”
She turned and walked away.
Nobody stopped her.
That night, Freya found the door.
The one from the memory.
Deep beneath the palace, beyond abandoned kitchens and corridors filled with dust, stood an iron door covered in black chains.
She had followed the strange pull beneath her ribs for nearly an hour.
Now she stood before it, holding a stolen candle and a kitchen knife.
The knife was probably useless against ancient magic.
But it made her feel better.
“Right,” she whispered. “Let’s see what you’ve been hiding.”
She pressed her palm against the iron.
The chains began to glow.
Golden fire flowed from the lock into her fingers.
One by one, the chains fell away.
The door swung open.
Beyond lay a chamber filled with glass spheres.
Hundreds of them.
Each containing a flickering flame.
Freya stepped inside.
Images moved within the glass.
Battles.
Coronations.
Faces.
Memories.
Tairn’s memories.
Someone had collected them.
Stored them.
Stolen pieces of his life and locked them beneath his own palace.
Freya approached the nearest sphere.
Inside, she saw a younger Tairn kneeling beside a dying woman.
Her mother.
Elara.
He held a newborn baby.
Freya.
But this time the memory continued.
Elara gripped his wrist.
“Promise me you’ll protect her.”
“I swear it.”
“Even from Seraphine?”
Tairn’s face hardened.
“Especially from Seraphine.”
Freya’s breath caught.
The memory shifted.
Elara whispered something.
Something Freya couldn’t hear.
Tairn looked down at the baby.
“Never let her discover she’s mine.”
He paused.
Then added:
“Mine to protect. Not mine to claim.”
Freya pressed a hand over her mouth.
He wasn’t her father.
He had never claimed to be.
He had been protecting her.
The parchment was a lie.
Or perhaps a truth deliberately twisted.
Behind her, someone began to clap.
Slowly.
Deliberately.
Freya spun.
Queen Seraphine stood in the doorway.
“Very clever, little thief.”
Freya raised the kitchen knife.
Seraphine glanced at it.
“Are you planning to butter me to death?”
“It’s a possibility.”
The queen laughed.
Then every glass sphere in the chamber began to crack.
“You’ve discovered his memories,” Seraphine said. “How unfortunate.”
She lifted her hand.
Silver magic wrapped around Freya’s throat.
“But you haven’t discovered the most important secret.”
Freya struggled to breathe.
Seraphine leaned closer.
“Do you know why the Dragon King cannot remember ordering your execution?”
Freya shook her head.
“Because he didn’t.”
The queen smiled.
“You did.”
