Threaded, p.21
Threaded, page 21
Mariah stalked through the shelves in the center of the atrium, running her fingers along the neatly organized spines. As she started to read the titles, she noticed with a jolt that she’d found herself in a section dedicated to romance. Spurned by a wave of curiosity, she grabbed a random title from the shelf—its spine read The Passion of Snowfall—and let the binding fall open to a random page. As she began to read, her eyebrows slowly creeped into her hairline, heat rushing in a wave to her face and core.
“I felt the groan leave my lips, his answering growl at my back as he pressed me forward, onto my hands and knees, and then I felt him pushing into me, stretching me, claiming me—”
“My, my, nio, what is it that you’ve found here?”
That dark voice skated down Mariah’s spine, pooling low in her already molten stomach, the flush on her cheeks creeping even higher. She froze, and then slowly closed the book before placing it back on the shelf, turning to meet Andrian’s vivid blue stare.
She’d expected to feel like she’d been doused with a bucket of cold water the second she laid her eyes on him.
What she felt instead, though, was far from that.
Her breath caught in her throat as she looked at him, leaning against the bookshelf, no more than three feet from her. She had no idea how he’d crept up on her, but there he was, so close that if she took but a few short steps, she would be able to touch him.
And by the Goddess, she wanted to touch him.
You want to do far more than touch him.
A small voice somewhere in the back of her mind tried to remind her that she despised him. Tried to remind her that he was a disrespectful asshole, a bane to her existence, someone who’d even promised to make her life miserable since the day he’d sworn his oath to her. He was a constant headache all wrapped up in a tall, dark, and painfully attractive package.
And with that one final thought, she promptly forgot about how much she loathed him. All she could think about was the molten heat coursing through her veins, the way his incredible tanzanite eyes burned into her very soul, the way his nostrils flared almost imperceptibly as she shifted slightly where she stood, desperate for any sort of friction between her legs.
And when his eyes darkened even further, his gaze slowly perusing down the length of her body, when the tip of his tongue darted out and ran slowly along his full lower lip, she almost felt her control slip from her completely.
“Mariah? Are you over here?” Sebastian’s voice pierced her lust-filled haze like an arrow, jolting her back to reality and away from the nightmare she’d almost fallen victim to.
By the Goddess, Mariah. What the fuck was that?
She ripped her gaze from Andrian’s as she whirled in place just in time to see Sebastian poke his head around the shelves. Spotting her, he stepped into the aisle, his eyes darting warily between her and Andrian. He stopped a few feet away, eyes settling on Mariah as he spoke again. “We found some historical texts that may be helpful. Or, at least, they’ll give us a place to start. Come, follow me.”
Just as Sebastian turned to leave, a voice muttered from over Mariah’s shoulder, “I found them.”
Mariah shot the burning retort over her shoulder before she could quiet her tongue, suddenly furious at him for whatever reaction he’d forced out of her no more than a few moments before. “Insecurity is unbecoming, Andrian. Be careful when showing it or else we might all begin to think you’re compensating for something.”
A large, warm, calloused hand suddenly grabbed her upper arm, twisting her around so quickly her vision blurred with the movement. Her mind froze when she found herself chest to chest with Andrian, his breath warm on her cheek, so close that their lips could touch, if only she were to lean forward …
Stop that.
“Don’t tempt me, nio. I’m not compensating for anything, but I don’t think you want me to prove that to you.”
He let her go abruptly, stomping past her after Sebastian. She composed herself just enough, plastering a scowl to her face, to call after him.
“That name you keep calling me. Tell me what it means.”
A glancing smirk over his shoulder. “‘Bitch.’”
A string of curses fell from her mouth like water, his answering chuckle low and cruel.
CHAPTER 26
A headache pounded against the back of Mariah’s skull like a drum.
“Mariah, stay with me. What do you remember about the First War?”
Sebastian’s question cut through the dull thudding in her head. Mariah groaned and dropped her face into her open palms, her elbows resting on the solid oak table in front of her. “Not nearly enough, it seems.”
Mariah was drained, and it was only partly attributed to her and Andrian’s … heated exchange amongst the racks of books. Her training with Ryenne that morning had been particularly strenuous, as she’d practiced her control over more than a single thread at a time. She’d already demonstrated she could wield such power in moments when her control left her, but to do it consciously was proving to be an incredibly difficult task. It was toiling, mentally taxing work; those threads of magic, both silver and gold, truly had a mind of their own, slipping through her fingers as if they were coated in a layer of liquid. The harder she tried to wrangle them, the more they resisted her. Ryenne continued to assure her it would get easier, that her control would strengthen with time, but when Mariah had left the training room she’d felt less in control of the raging pit in her soul than she had since the day it awoke in her.
At least Ksee had been absent. Mariah wasn’t sure she could’ve withstood the straining lesson with the bitter priestess breathing down her neck, commenting on her incompetence as if Mariah weren’t already painfully aware.
She’d thought this afternoon would bring a welcome reprieve from the stress of the morning.
Of course, she’d forgotten Andrian was now involved.
A black, musty, leather-bound book was suddenly shoved into her line of vision, snapping her out of her reflections.
“Okay, well, this one is a great place to start.” Standing behind her, his warmth permeating through the cotton of her pale sweater, Sebastian leaned forward and flipped the book open to a page. Words were scrawled in an ancient script, the title written across the top in the old language of Onita:
D’abord Issil.
The First War.
Sebastian tapped the page before stepping away. “Read, Mariah.”
So she did.
Mariah read, and while some of what she read was familiar, much of it was new to her.
The pages before her told the story of the Scourge—Flétrir, as he was called in Old Onitan—the demon king of Enfara, the great abyss of their world and home to the worst of the gods’ creations. Long ago, in a fit of jealousy for what his realm lacked, Flétrir had led an army of his demons, or mudae, as the texts called them, out of Enfara and into their world. The wicked darkness they brought with them threatened to overwhelm everything, to wash away the beauty of the lands the Goddess had created while mankind was still in its infancy. That invasion by the Scourge was eventually what led to what those of their world called the First War.
The War raged for many years, and the race of men struggled against the never-ending onslaught from the darkest pits of Enfara. The War eventually came to a crest when a simple medic in the armies of men, a young woman named Xara, was approached by Qhohena in a dream. The Golden Moon Goddess, the Goddess of Life, gifted her a piece of her own essence, magic that bound itself to Xara’s soul, a power that gave her people, Qhohena’s people, a chance at survival.
The same magic that now flowed in Mariah’s veins.
“We all grew up with these stories, Sebastian,” Mariah grumbled. “Carrying Qhohena’s undiluted power, Xara rallied her people, called down dragons from the very stars, and met Flétrir on a great battlefield, where she—”
“Where she lost.” Andrian’s voice rumbled through the room, cutting her off.
Mariah and Sebastian whipped their heads as Andrian sauntered out from the shadows between the shelves, carrying another leather-bound tome in his hands. Its binding was a rich red, the color of freshly spilled blood, and just the sight of it had the hairs on Mariah’s arms standing on edge. Quentin, seated to Mariah’s right and busy picking at his nails with a short bronze dagger, only flicked his eyes to Andrian in mild disinterest before continuing to toy with the deadly blade.
“What in the Goddess’s name are you talking about?” Sebastian’s normally calm voice carried a tinge of annoyance.
Mariah wondered, briefly, how they’d fared as boys. Wondered if she was to blame for any of the tension she now felt rolling off Sebastian.
Andrian ignored his fellow Armature and stalked forward, dropping the red leather book onto the table with a soft thud.
“Oh, nothing. It’s just something I read.” Andrian shrugged before tapping the cover of the book. “Here, in this: an original recording from one of Xara’s own Armature.”
Mariah turned slowly, looking at Andrian, her eyes blinking once in astonishment. Dumbfounded, Sebastian dropped his gaze to the book, staring at it for three heartbeats before surging forward, snatching it into his hands and opening to the first page, reading the author’s inscriptions. His eyes widened as he took in the words, his jaw hanging slack. “But … this is impossible. That would make this book nearly five thousand years old, and it hardly looks older than a decade.”
Andrian shrugged again. “I’d say it’s totally possible, especially if Xara herself enchanted it with her magic to prevent it from aging. I’m sure our little queen could confirm that for you.”
If her stare were daggers, Andrian would be pierced in multiple places, bleeding out upon the smooth tile floors. The image brought her some peace as he flashed her a grin that showed too many teeth to be friendly.
Slowly, she extended her hand to where Sebastian had set the book back down on the table, opening her senses as she did so. Sure enough, there it was, that same feeling that had raced through her when she’d first seen the text in Andrian’s arms: a faint thrum of power, woven into the leather and the pages themselves, a power her own recognized, called to, but was too embedded in the tome to leap out.
Mariah’s face must’ve reflected what she found. “Shit,” said Sebastian under his breath before turning his attention back to Andrian. “Where did you find this?”
Andrian gave yet another infuriating shrug, gesturing over his shoulder with his chin as he crossed his arms. “Back there, somewhere. I’m not entirely sure. And as I said earlier, you’re not the only one who frequents these stacks.” He chose that moment to turn his attention to Mariah and wink, slow and devilish.
She couldn’t stop the flush that crept up her neck.
She despised him. So much.
Andrian grabbed the back of the chair in front of him, turning it around so its back now faced the table, and sat in it, his strong thighs straddling the mahogany wood. Mariah swallowed as she watched his smooth movement, and when he caught her gaze, she yanked her eyes away to stare intently at a swirl in the wood in the table in front of her.
There was a heavy, expectant pause. Finally, Andrian spoke again.
“If you all would like me to share the details of what I found while reading from this fascinating little piece of lost history, I would be happy to continue.”
Sebastian sighed, moving from behind Mariah and taking a seat in the chair beside Quentin, clearly exasperated. “Yes, by the Goddess, Andrian, please share. You’ve got us all on the edge of our fucking seats.” He paused, before muttering under his breath, “Asshole.”
Mariah tried—and failed—to suppress her grin.
There was another pause before Andrian’s voice rumbled again through the room.
“According to this text, Xara and her forces lost to Flétrir, and the casualties were severe. Even the great dragons, creatures of myth and legend themselves, weren’t enough to stop the Scourge as he ravaged his way across the earth. But it was after his victory, when hope was all but lost, that Flétrir revealed his war had never been waged because he desired to rule or to decimate the realms of men. No, he told Xara as she stood on that final battlefield, the last of her people around her, that he’d done all of this, had crawled his way out of Enfara for one thing—or, rather, for one being. The one entity whose attention he’d so desperately craved, but who’d evaded him for eons.”
Mariah’s blood ran cold as Andrian met her gaze, the glint in his eyes shadowed.
“He wanted the sister of Qhohena, the one who ruled beside her in a moon of glimmering silver. He wanted Zadione.”
The room descended once again into silence, Mariah’s heart pounding in her veins. She’d known Zadione was Qhohena’s sister, but had never once heard her name in reference to the second moon that hung in the sky.
And if Zadione was connected to that silver moon, then it, somehow, meant that …
No. I won’t think of that.
It was Quentin, the conversation finally interesting enough for him to pay attention, who broke the silence next. “No shit. Zadione?” There was a clink as he set his bronze dagger on the table. “What happened next?”
Andrian was silent for a few more moments before continuing. “This particular history says that Zadione went to him willingly, and he left this world with her. The end.”
Mariah’s eyes snapped up, clashing with his. “But if she went with him, if she loved him, then why did she wait until the very end of the First War when hope was all but lost? Why not avoid that devastation all together?”
Andrian smirked at her. “Who said she loved him? Besides, she’s a death goddess, princess.” Mariah gritted her teeth, but he continued, “Perhaps all she craved was the loss of life and destruction she caused by hiding away from the Scourge.” He paused again. “But this story does seem to suggest that the First War was an act of defiance on her part against her sister. She’d refused to go to Flétrir at the beginning, letting him ravage the continent, and then vanished with him once the damage was done, leaving Qhohena and Xara to pick up the pieces of a broken world.
“And that’s exactly what they did. Xara, with the aid of Qhohena’s magic and what was left of the dragons, helped to rebuild the land. But Xara was no longer strong enough to rule over all the world’s inhabitants, as Qhohena had initially planned. So, the countries we now know were established: Xara settled in Onita, building Verith and this ridiculous golden palace as a shrine to her Goddess who’d tried and given everything, but was ultimately betrayed by her fickle and devious sister. The northern mountain people”—Mariah watched a shadow again flicker over Andrian’s eyes—“settled what is now Leuxrith, the people of the western desert oases founded Kreah, the seafaring warriors made their home in the Kizar Islands, and the southern tribes went south to Vatha, where an internal war many years later led to the formation of Idrix.” One final shrug from Andrian as he pushed back from his chair, standing again and turning the chair the right way around. “And now, here we all sit, reading dusty old tomes and forgetting our history with a queen apparent who would rather drink and fight than learn how her country came into existence.”
That last bit earned a deep scowl from Mariah, but a glance at Sebastian’s expression of thought and worry temporarily washed away her anger. He caught her eye, and through the bond between them flowed his tension, his concern, and his confusion. She knew what worried him, as it worried and terrified her, too.
Zadione had betrayed the world for a petty sibling rivalry. But that still didn’t conclusively answer her one burning, desperate question.
“So … what is this magic in me?”
No one could answer her.
CHAPTER 27
Ryenne held court that morning in a luxurious receiving room attached to the lower eastern courtyard of the palace.
Holding court, Mariah supposed, was a very loose way to describe the meeting she and Ciana strode into. The queen sat in a comfortable sitting chair, and around her in similar plush, feminine seats were seven women. Six of them were middle-aged, their hair showing hints of gray and features softened by a life well lived. The seventh woman, however, was much younger, closer in age to Mariah and Ciana.
“Mariah! Thank you for joining us. Please, sit.” Ryenne’s voice was clear and distinctly happy, far happier than Mariah had heard her sound in some time.
Certainly since the … incident with the Royals.
“Ladies, I would like to introduce you all to Queen Apparent Mariah and Lady Ciana.” Ryenne gestured around the room with a graceful, sweeping hand. “Mariah, Ciana, I’m pleased to introduce you both to the Ladies of my court.”
Mariah’s eyes widened as she dipped her head politely to each of the women. “It’s my honor to meet you all, truly.” She remembered what Ryenne had told her about the Ladies of a queen’s court. Mariah had appointed Ciana as her first, but she would one day have up to six women to serve her as close, trusted advisors. These women, however, as Mariah remembered somewhat sickeningly, weren’t given the same longevity of life as their queen or her Armature. Ryenne had only smiled sadly when Mariah asked why the Ladies of the court remained mortal before explaining that while the arrangement made for several lifetimes of painful and difficult farewells for a queen, it was a necessary pain. The Ladies were valued for their advice and counsel because it offered the perspective from one with a fleeting, mortal existence, the type of life led by the rest of the queen’s citizens. These perspectives, Ryenne had explained, kept a queen grounded, kept her priorities in check, and prevented her from getting lost in the daunting length of her existence.
“The honor is all ours, Your Highness,” answered a woman with steady brown eyes, speaking for the group as the rest smiled and bowed their heads. “Although we have met you before. At the Choosing. But I know that day was a whirlwind for us all.” The woman joined the rest with a smile. “We have been watching you these past few weeks. I believe I speak for us all when I say that we are excited to witness your future as queen.”
