“The Everlorn Empire burned half my nation to the ground as punishment for the resistance my husband championed. The ruination of our forests, the burning of our shrines, the brutal sacrifice of our entire pantheon, it was all a message to the rest of Gadir. They made a symbol out of us. If I wanted coin, I would not have spent months in a cramped bunk sailing out here on the meager hope the people of Thanet can accomplish miracles. I have wealth enough to last me a dozen lifetimes. I want vengeance, boy. For a home stolen from me. For a people taken from me. If they would make a symbol out of Miquo, then a survivor of Miquo shall be another symbol, one they fear, one that will bring a knife to their throat and bleed them out into the annals of history so we might salvage what religions yet remain beyond their wretched God-Incarnate.”

Cyrus weathered the storm, for it was one he deserved. Thorda caught himself, and he looked away to the window. His temper cooled. His eyes closed. When he spoke next, it wasn’t rage. It was a confession.

“For their blood, their gifts, and their loves, my daughters are not safe in the world the Everlorn Empire would create. I wish to give them a future, Cyrus. A mountain of gold weighs nothing on the scales when compared to them.” He briefly smiled, just a flutter of kindness. “And if it makes you feel any better, you would be surprised how often shipments of my weapons are intercepted by the rebels they are meant to be used against.”

It didn’t, but Cyrus was focused on something else entirely. Thorda’s rant had clarified something for him that he hadn’t fully appreciated until now.

“I’m to be that symbol,” he said. “A symbol of not just Thanet’s vengeance, but Miquo’s.”

Thorda returned his gaze, and there was no hiding how proud he was of Cyrus for reaching such a conclusion.

“My husband left behind a legacy, and I would not see it fade away, but instead be fulfilled. I hope you understand what it means to me, to trust you in such a way. A child of Thanet must be Thanet’s savior, and with your bloodline and your family legacy, I know of no better choice.”

The carriage rolled to a halt. They’d reached the mansion entrance. Stasia hopped down from the outside seat and thumped a hand excitedly on the carriage door.

“Come on out,” she said, oblivious to the seriousness of the conversation she interrupted. “It’s time for the grand tour!”