Page 132 of The Mercy of Dawn

To hear her parents’ names spoken with such warmth and ease?

Gooseflesh rippled up Cyril’s arms.

Dion enjoyed keeping a degree of separation between the people he referred to as her parents and the dead family members whose names he must have once used often. There was an implication, too, to what Runa was asking her that Cyril didn’t want to consider the possibility of.

“I… Yes,” Cyril’s voice was hoarse, and it took an effort to swallow down the lump building in her throat. “I would.”

Runa’s eyes searched her face, and she nodded.

“If you are certain about it, I’d like to offer you that opportunity.”

“What do you…” Cyril hadn’t realized her hands went slack until Mikael swore and reached for her tilting wine glass. Her chest suddenly ached. “You know someone? Someone here that could…?”

No. It couldn’t be possible. This was just some cruel joke.

Runa's smile fully lifted her eyes as she nodded again. “I do.”

If it weren’t for the speed with which Cyril clamped her hand over her mouth, she surely would have made a gods awful noise. She looked to Mikael, who nodded in confirmation and gently squeezed the leg she hadn't even realized she was bouncing off the floor.

“I take it Dion never told you then that it was a possibility? I had my suspicions that he hadn’t, but…”

Cyril just shook her head.

She wasn’t confident that she’d be able to string together more than one or two coherent words with the way the shock and anger took their turns surging up through her.

It wasn’t even like Dion keeping another damn secret should have been a surprise. But this? He had no fucking right. No matter what his feelings were about what happened, how much grief and anger or indifference he harbored, they were her parents. She had a right to know that it was possible. The right to decide what to do with that information on her own.

Dion was probably going to have one hell of a fucking excuse about why he kept this from her.

Cyril took an unsteady breath.

A bitter quip about Dion was about to leave her lips when she looked at Mikael and everything clicked.

“When you asked me about them…you knew?”

“I pieced together a few things, yeah.” He gave her a tight smile. “I just wasn’t sure how to bring it up, honestly.”

“Do my uncles know?” Cyril looked at Runa.

She wasn’t sure if she wanted to know the answer. If everyone but her knew…

“I don’t believe so,” Runa said, shaking her head. “Truthfully, Cyril, I would have told you much sooner, but after the letters…I didn’t want to upset you anymore than I already had if it was something you didn’t want.”

Cyril tried not to think about that afternoon, and not because of Runa’s gesture. The queen's attempt to forge a connection with someone she owed nothing to was generous. Cyril avoided thoughts of that day because of her abysmal behavior and the gods damned fight she’d had with Dion afterward.

“You caught me off guard that day.” Cyril’s response was sheepish, but true.

She hadn’t been at all prepared for that, not from someone she just met, and especially not from someone who reigned over the people she spent her whole life being taught to distrust. Things were…different now.

“I realize that now. You’re sure that this is something you want?”

“Please, I—” Cyril clenched her teeth. The desperation tumbled out before she’d even thought about it. She tried to reel herself in, to take a breath and calm down, but her efforts failed. “This person…they’d be willing to meet with me? I can pay them if that matters, I just… Are they close to the palace? It’ll be difficult, with Dion, to get away, but I think I can—”

Runa and Mikael's smiles grew as the questions and words and half-thought-out statements kept tumbling out of Cyril. Like it was funny that she was so worked up.

Finally, she scowled and ground out, “I don’t know how any of this works, okay? I’ve never met a weaver before. I…I don’t know if they want money, or—”

Runa came to perch on the sofa arm beside Cyril.