Page 107 of The Ever King

“Strange. I’m beginning to enjoy it.”

Erik’s voice was soft when he spoke again. “I killed my mother because I loved her.”

I rested my cheek on the tops of my knees. Erik wasn’t accustomed to the pushing and prodding of someone caring over the toils of his heart. I wouldn’t force it, but he’d left me wholly confused. “Have you ever told anyone about this?”

“Not details. All the kingdom knows is I killed my own mother.”

Gods, the weight of it was tearing through his heart. I felt every bit of it.

My fingers trembled as I placed a hand on his arm. “Do you want to tell me?”

“Why do you want to know?”

“Because . . .” I hesitated. “Because I want to see you. All of you.”

His eyes darkened, his brows tugged together, as if he couldn’t make sense of me. Then, slowly, his shoulders slouched, defeated. “It happened right before I was taken by your people for my blood.”

“You were that small?”

He nodded. “I was four when the boneweavers theorized what my blood could do. My mother was a sea witch, but the House of Mists carries a great deal of siren blood among their people. It was rare to have a blood talent with an added gift of song.

“My father tested it on small fish, then sea birds. My mother hated that he kept forcing me to poison the creatures. She wasn’t allowed to say much about my upbringing, of course, those rules fell to my father. But because ofher mother’sinfluence, I was at least allowed to spend my days with her.”

“Lady Narza is powerful enough to demand things of a king?” My insides tightened. Perhaps spouting off to the woman was not the wisest.

Erik chuckled. “Regrets?”

“I’ll let you know if I end up dead in the morning.”

“She won’t kill you. No doubt, she thinks that will be done at my hand.”

I fiddled with the ends of my hair. “She’s wrong though, isn’t she?”

“She’s wrong.” Erik hung his head again, fingers drawing in the sand. “Narza gifted my father his mantle when my mother became his mate. She might’ve threatened to take it back if he denied her daughter the pleasure of having her child near.”

I recalled Narza’s insistence that the true mantle was a heart bond. If Thorvald had merely loved his mate, Narza would never have been able to strip him of his power.

“I don’t know what she said to keep my father compliant,” Erik went on, “and I don’t care. It gave me my mother, at least.”

“You were close with your mother.”

“She was my whole damn world, and I hate it.”

“Why?”

“Thorvald.” Erik’s knuckles turned white when his fists tightened. “He took note how his pathetic heir cared more for the gardens than the sword. How his perfect prince cried whenever his blood killed the smallest fish. To love anyone is a crack in the armor of the king. A pawn to be used against you by enemies.”

It was ridiculous, and lonely, and wretched. I could not imagine a life where my father viewed my mother as the body in which his heirs were born. He adored her. Cherished her. She washisentire world; my brother and I were beautiful additions to him because we were part of her.

“What did your father do about it then?” I was almost afraid to ask.

“One morning, he took me to the gardens. He told me it was time to truly earn my name as Bloodsinger.” Erik closed his eyes. “My mother was there with a guard with a blade aimed at her ribs. My father took my blood and put it into two horns of wine. He forced her to drink it, then he drank it himself.”

My stomach churned in acid. “They were both poisoned.”

“I was told to choose who to save. So young, I didn’t have the strength to sing for them both.”

All gods. I pressed a hand to the ache in my heart. From me or Erik, I didn’t know.