Threaded, p.22
Threaded, page 22
Mariah shifted uncomfortably on her feet at the generous praise, her cheeks warming with that damn flush she could never control. “Thank you, My Lady. I hope I can live up to your expectations.” She moved to an empty chair beside Ryenne, Ciana taking the last open seat on Mariah’s other side. Just as she sat, the blood in her face drained as a sudden wave of memory of what had actually happened those past few weeks washed through her with urgent fervor.
The meeting with the Royals. The history she’d uncovered with her Armature. She doubted that if these women truly knew what lurked beneath her skin, what mysterious powers made her feel like a walking curse, they would be so generous with their praise. Those thoughts had Mariah casting a subtle glance at Ryenne, finding the queen watching her as well, her expression unreadable.
It would make sense for Ryenne to have informed her Ladies about the demise of Lord Beauchamp, seeking their counsel to maneuver through the most delicate of situations. Yet the brown-eyed woman who’d spoken had a sharp gaze, one that didn’t miss much, and Mariah doubted she would’ve spoken such positive words if she’d known the full extent of Mariah’s transgressions since arriving in Verith.
So, perhaps Ryenne hadn’t informed her Ladies about the incident with the Royals. Interesting.
Ryenne, sensing the momentary lull in the conversation after Mariah and Ciana took their seats, spoke again. “Mariah, I invited you here today not only for you to meet the remainder of my court, but to introduce you to one person in particular.”
Mariah’s gaze snapped to the seventh woman, the one close to her own age. The woman met her stare steadily before smiling, rising from her seat, and dropping into an easy, practiced curtsy.
“Delaynie, My Queen. I’m honored to meet you.”
The woman—Delaynie—was every inch the cultured Onitan beauty Mariah wasn’t. With her porcelain skin, long auburn hair, and pale, icy blue eyes, she was someone Mariah would’ve normally looked upon with disdain, despised simply because she carried about her a polished perfection Mariah would never—could never—possess. However, a glimmer of something was in this girl’s eyes, a shine of intelligence and something more beneath the surface that had Mariah wondering if this front she presented was nothing more than a pretty, painted mask.
“Delaynie has been here at court since her very first steps.” Ryenne’s voice was thick with emotion as she turned her smile to the auburn-haired woman. “How she came to be is quite a story. She’s the daughter of my Lady Briella and one of my own Armature, Steven.”
Ryenne’s words stunned Mariah, her heartbeat suddenly pounding in her ears. They seeped into the air, and with it a slow panic filled her head.
If Ryenne’s Armature could sire children … Impossible.
She’d always been careful back in Andburgh. She had been adventurous, sure, but there wasn’t much in the world that terrified her more than a child did.
A child would’ve been a very, very easy way to ensure she’d never free herself from the prison of the Crossroad City. Therefore, no matter how she chose to distract herself from the miserable monotony of her life, she made sure it would never lead to that.
However, last week, with Sebastian … she’d been far from careful. So caught up in the new, explosive magic coursing through her veins, it was the last thing on her mind.
Somehow, Mariah found her voice. “It’s an honor to meet you as well, Delaynie. And please, I hope I don’t offend anyone with this, but … how’s that possible?” Mariah turned to Ryenne. “I thought you told me it was impossible for the queen or her Armature to bear or father children. That the magic of the Goddess prevents it.”
“Normally, that’s true,” Ryenne responded. “And will always be true for us queens, since we carry the majority of that magic in our veins. However, Delaynie was … conceived”—a dark-haired woman who must’ve been Lady Briella flushed just as Delaynie herself suppressed a giggle—“after I’d abdicated my power. The magic in Steven must’ve weakened just enough after that to allow him and Briella to create a miracle.” The queen paused, her gaze frosting over with memory. “We were ecstatic for them. Briella was—is—Steven’s last love, and I thank Qhohena every day that they were able to create something lasting from it. Even if such a gift also means that mine and Steven’s time is nearing its end.” Ryenne nodded to Lady Briella, her flush now receded and replaced with happy tears rimming her eyes. Mariah relaxed markedly at the assurance as she watched the heavy emotion flow through the air between Ryenne and Briella.
The two women were silent for a moment, a queen and her Lady, sharing the joy of a gift they both never expected to receive before Ryenne shook her head slightly. “Anyway. Mariah, I wanted to make this introduction to Delaynie in the hopes that the two of you could spend some time together. She is only about a year younger than you, and with her lifetime spent here at court, she may one day make a valuable asset to you here in the palace—”
“There’s no need for that, Ryenne. If Delaynie wishes to serve me and join my court, the position as one of my Ladies is hers.” The sureness in Mariah’s voice was surprising, even to her. She’d recovered quickly from her moment of panic, and her instincts were now screaming at her to take this gift as it was offered, that this woman would be invaluable as she faced down whatever might lie ahead. Mariah still had no idea what she wanted out of this new life she’d been given, but she’d always leaned heavily on her instincts. She had no intentions of changing that today.
Mariah rose from her plush seat and walked through the circle of women. She stood before the auburn-haired girl, who met her gaze unflinchingly, the icy blue of her eyes sparkling.
“Lady Delaynie, daughter of Lady Briella, will you serve me and my court, from now until the day the Goddess calls us home?”
The girl smiled, but it wasn’t the practiced, pretty smile of a Lady of the court. It was a wide, toothy grin, the kind that had mischief glinting in her cerulean eyes.
Mariah’s answering smile was just as feral.
“The honor would be all mine … Mariah.”
The use of her name, and not her title, sent a murmur ripple around the circle of women, but Mariah knew immediately she’d made the right decision.
Delaynie would be trouble, but not for Mariah. And as Delaynie rose from her own chair to clasp Mariah’s hand in hers, to brace against a squealing hug from Ciana, Mariah sent up a wicked prayer to the Goddess.
Qhohena, save those who wish to challenge this new court. They’ll need all the help they can get.
Mariah could feel a storm brewing, and she intended to weather it.
CHAPTER 28
All the gold in the palace was stifling.
Mariah wrapped the cream cardigan she wore tighter around her shoulders as she hurried through the halls, searching for something that didn’t glint with the color of her kingdom, her crown, her future. Gold was certainly beautiful, but the longer she spent in the palace, the more it began to grate against her senses.
She’d awoken that morning to a welcomed day off from following Ryenne around from training to meetings. The reprieve couldn’t come soon enough—she didn’t know how much more she could handle of the politics, the parlor tricks Ryenne showed her with her magic, the subtle glares Ksee always shot her way when she spoke out of turn. At least her morning workouts with her Armature and her evening dinners with Ciana and Delaynie were there to break up the rolling monotony of her days.
Goddess, there were so many rules.
She wondered who she’d pissed off in a prior life to deserve such a rigid one now.
The only thing that made up for it was the ever-strengthening power that dwelled within her. As time progressed, and as she continued to work with her magic, the silver and gold threads slowly grew more and more intertwined. Each day, what had once been two separate balls of thread in her soul were slowly melding together, becoming one, and the feeling of power it brought her to wield them both at the same time was … incomparable.
Yeah. Those feelings of strength, feelings she was coming to crave far too much, made all the other ridiculous tasks she was forced to deal with worth it.
Mariah continued her steady stroll down the long corridor, still looking for something, anything, that promised an escape from all the gold. Finally, she spotted a dark, worn oak door near the end of the hallway. Not a hint of gilding covered its surface, and in comparison to every other doorway in this palace, it appeared rather … plain.
Perfect.
In Mariah’s experience, the most interesting of finds could be discovered behind the most unassuming of doorways. The simple door in Lord Donnet’s manor, a vision from a lifetime ago, flashed through her mind. So many stolen treasures behind that modest wood.
Her blood boiled at the thought, and she recalled another memory of a time a plain doorway opened so many interesting paths. Her favorite tavern had also been hidden behind a boring steel door. A place where she’d learned all the ways of pleasure, how her body could be used as a temporary distraction from how much she hated that town and the people who ran it.
Mariah quickened her steps toward the oak door, a sly grin on her face at the memories of that dark, ale-drenched bar. When she finally stood outside it, she placed her palms upon the cold, black door handles, twisting the metal and pushing against the wood with a soft grunt.
When she’d been given the news that she would have a day to herself, the first and only thing she’d wanted to do was explore this new, massive space she was now expected to call home. Her father would be disappointed if he knew just how little she’d gotten to wander those winding, gilded hallways. There was so much to be seen and found within those walls, and Wex had taught her long ago to never let stones go unturned or halls go unchecked. “The only way something can ever catch you off guard,” he would say, “is if you choose to let it stay hidden.”
If she truly hated anything, other than the shit-stain of the lord who’d driven her to run from her home, it was disappointing either of the two people who’d blessed her with both a life and more freedom than most other girls in this kingdom would ever know.
At least, until those threads of magic had stirred in her chest and claimed her before a throne room of people.
She shoved those thoughts from her head as she again threw her weight against the stubborn oak doors. Finally they budged, swinging open on possibly the only set of rusted, noisy hinges in the entire palace. Stale, dusty air greeted her, and she coughed once, waving a hand in front of her face to clear the debris tickling her throat. The room before her was pitch black, but she blindly stepped in, moving toward the wall at her right in search of the light source.
She’d never been particularly scared of the dark. She’d spent enough nights in the depths of the Ivory Forest on hunting trips with her father and brother to be fearful of things she couldn’t see with her eyes. The only threats that dwelled in the places absent of light were figments of imagination, and Mariah didn’t like to afford hers much leeway. It was hardly productive.
Her fingers finally found what they sought: the lunestair panel on the wall, the smooth stone cool against her fingertips. She tapped it once, and the room filled with the brilliant light of allume. Turning around, she finally got a good look around the forgotten space she’d stumbled upon, hidden in the depths of the palace.
It was a gallery.
Mariah eased her way inside, her eyes going wide as she took in the dusty artwork hanging on the walls and statues that stood on stone pedestals around the room. She turned and followed along the right wall, allowing herself a moment of awe at the paintings that filled it. Despite the layer of dust, the paintings were still in excellent condition, and most were landscapes of the wonders of Onita: the palace nestled against the Attlehon Mountains, the looming darkness of the northern Everheim Mountains, the great, winding Ashtara River that carved its path so close to Andburgh. As she moved, the paintings increased in detail—a delicate sketch of a snowdrop blossom, the supernatural brilliance of the Emerald River, the waves of the Mirrored Sea crashing along the rocky beaches of Ettervan.
She rounded a corner and the artwork again shifted to historical depictions of the great events of the continent. One depicted the signing of the treaty between Vatha and what then became known as Idrix, a deal brokered by the third Onitan Queen, Iyana. Next, there was the coronation of Xara, Qhohena’s first Chosen resplendent in a gilded gown, the snowdrop crown shown in marvelous detail atop her head, her hair made of spun gold.
It was the third painting, though, that had Mariah pausing.
It once again featured Xara, but in a vastly contrasting setting. The first queen stood on a dark battlefield, dressed in worn and bloodied armor, that same yellow hair stained with black and red ichor. Behind her stood the human forces, their faces turned skyward to what hovered in the air above them. Mariah followed their gazes and sucked in a breath.
Everyone knew the dragons had aided Xara, that without their help the human forces would’ve been quickly exterminated from the earth. And, if that journal Andrian had discovered was to be believed, they still hadn’t been enough, merely serving to even the scales as opposed to swinging the tides of the war. There’d been simple drawings all Onitan’s were familiar with, the basic form of the dragons shown in black and white in most history books—two powerful hind legs, massive wings, whip-like tails, and long necks ending in a reptilian head filled with razor-sharp teeth.
However, Mariah had never once seen a painting of those great beasts in detail, and especially portrayed in color.
The sky in the painting was filled with seven of the winged creatures, and somehow the artist had managed to capture the raw power and strength of each. The first was a rich brown, the color of fresh-tilled earth; the second a stunning sea green with its extremities tipped in white, like the frothy caps of a tumultuous ocean. The third and fourth were both shades of blue, but vastly different: one was as light as the summer sky, the other a rich indigo, shades of perfectly blended blues and purples and blacks. The fifth was perhaps the most unique, most of its scales a deep midnight blue, but for the silver painted along its belly and the membranes of its wings.
The last two, however, had something deep in Mariah’s belly, something hidden even beneath the vast well where her magic resided, stirring awake.
They were both slightly larger than the others, but it wasn’t just their size that set Mariah’s pulse racing.
One was a brilliant silver, the other untarnished gold.
A shiver chased up Mariah’s spine as she wrenched her eyes away from the paintings of the dragons, looking back instead to the bloodied queen on that battlefield.
Where had those dragons come from? And how had Xara awoken them?
Mariah forced herself to step forward, away from the painting, before she could dwell too long on that question. She could stand there all day, but that would be a poor use of her temporary freedom. The dragons were gone; there was no point wasting her time trying to solve an impossible puzzle.
She continued towards the back of the lost gallery, the paintings again shifting from the historical depictions and becoming more … vague. Abstract. Interesting.
It was the final painting along the back wall, hidden in the shadows of the room, that had her freezing up once again.
The painting wasn’t an image at all. It was, truly, just a canvas, a blank template painted a single color, catching the weak light of the allume that managed to filter its way to this dark corner of the gallery.
Mariah stepped closer to the solid-silver canvas, her skin prickling with a feeling she couldn’t place. When she stood directly before it, she noticed it wasn’t as solid as she’d initially believed; upon closer inspection, she could just barely make out small flecks of darkness spread throughout the mass of silver.
The more she looked at the painting, the more that feeling lingered, and the more she felt like she was missing something.
That wasn’t a new feeling. Ever since she’d acted on her terrible idea to flip through the pages of the Ginnelevé book gifted to her by her mother, she couldn’t shake there was something glaringly obvious she was missing. Something her mother had wanted her to know, but she’d so far utterly failed to puzzle out. Mariah had kept the book hidden beneath her mattress, not wanting to remind herself of its unnerving words, but as she stood there in front of that painting a few flashed unbidden through her mind:
I dreamed of that which was feared, saving us all.
And I dreamed that without darkness, we can never appreciate the light.
The longer Mariah stared at the silver canvas, those words swimming in her head, the more frustrated she became.
“Mom, I just don’t understand …” Her voice was an exasperated whisper into the abandoned gallery, the soft whine she released at the end an attempt to claw down the mental barrier in her head, the words meant only for her.
And because of that, the last thing she expected was for someone to answer her.
Not just anyone.
A low, irreverent voice sounded behind her, a voice that instantly had her back going rigid, her blood heating, her magic unspooling through her veins.
“Unless your mother lives in that painting, I doubt you’ll get an answer from her here, princess.”
Mariah whirled, her brows pushing together in a scowl, to find Andrian standing no more than a few feet from her, his hands shoved into the pockets of his dark pants as he leaned against a tall marble statue of the Consort God, Priam.
“What’re you doing here?” Her voice was biting as she narrowed her gaze.
