Page 133 of The Mercy of Dawn

“You don’t have to worry about any of that, Cyril. You don’t have to go anywhere, or pay anyone, or make any sort of arrangements.” She took Cyril’s hands in her own, tattooed and warm, and just looked at them for a moment as she brushed her thumbs over Cyril’s knuckles.

Cyril braced herself for the incoming wave of sentimentality. Some speech about the friendship Runa had with her mother. Some debt the queen felt she owed to her departed friend, that she would bear the burden of—

“And trust me, Cyril, when I say that it would be an honor beyond words to share my memories with you.”

Her memories.

No.

Cyril hadn’t heard that right.

Because that would mean…

“You…”

Some new, budding instinct drew her eyes to Mikael. It felt like she hadn’t heard him speak all night.

He exchanged a glance with Runa.

“My mother is a weaver, or vefari, as we call them here. It just wasn’t my place to share that with you when you were drunk in the grass on solstice.”

A quiet huff of a laugh left Runa and Cyril looked back at her.

There was a veil of emotion on the queen’s face that Cyril couldn’t quite place. Like she was happy and devastated, wary and eager, all at the same time.

“Thank you, I…” It was all Cyril could manage.

There was more that she wanted to say.

So much more.

But her thoughts were a fucking mess.

She was sure the hand Mikael was skimming up and down her back was the only thing keeping her tethered to reality. Because there was no way any of this was real.

“You are so very welcome, Cyril.” Runa cupped her cheek and smiled at her with the sort of warmth that made her chest tighten and ache. “Finish your wine, and we’ll get started.”

It took two glasses of wine, and the start of a third, for Cyril to settle down enough for Runa to feel comfortable dipping into her mind.

The queen spent the entire time explaining how it would all work and checking, over and over, that Cyril was sure she wanted to do this now. That she didn’t want to wait a few days.

Cyril was certain.

She didn’t want the chance to think about it, to work herself up to the point she’d back out. Or worse, risk Dion’s unpredictability and be robbed of the opportunity in its entirety.

According to Runa, it might feel unpleasant at first, to have someone slip into her thoughts and forge that connection, especially for the first time. Then, Cyril would have to show Runa something clear and deep-seated in her memories—thoughts of Helia, they decided—for that strand of connection to forge and flow.

Simple enough, but Cyril would have to place total, unrestrained trust in Runa.

For this, she would throw every bit of caution to the wind.

Sitting on the ground, cross-legged on a plush rug in front of the queen, Cyril watched as Runa rubbed a few drops of oil on her fingers. Whatever it was, its scent was sharp and minty.

“I won’t spend long in your mind,” Runa said as she motioned for Cyril to move in closer until their knees brushed and Cyril was locked in face-to-face with silvery blue eyes. “Just long enough to show you a couple of things, and then I will back out. We can always do more another day, but I don’t want to overwhelm you right now, alright?”

“Okay.” Cyril nodded. As if it was possible for her to feel any more overwhelmed right now.

From the sofa beside them, Mikael cleared his throat.