Threaded, p.3
Threaded, page 3
Mariah’s skin prickled as Lisabel dropped her gaze to the book she held in her hands. Gently, she reached out, handing the book to her daughter. Mariah took it, setting her own glass of whiskey down so she could run her fingers over the soft leather binding. It felt so delicate, so worn, as if a thousand hands had touched it before hers, but the pages were still a crisp cream, not showing a single sign of aging as she fanned them through the air. Mariah flipped the book over, and noticed a single, delicate word inscribed on the back:
Ginnelevé. It was an unfamiliar word; clearly Onitan, but not one she recognized.
“This … this book,” Lisabel started, tripping slightly over her words for the first time that night. “It holds much wisdom between its pages. Wisdom that has been accumulated over many generations, and has served me well at many times during my life. If—when—you ever feel lost, truly lost, when you need a reminder of who you are and what you are capable of…that book will tell you everything you need to know.”
The ice flooding Mariah’s veins chased away any remaining warmth from both the whiskey and the fire. She stared at the book, and then at her mother, her world tilting slightly off-kilter as something that could only be dread twisted through her gut.
“I don’t … I don’t understand …” Mariah’s words trailed off as she floundered, fully unsettled as she gripped that soft leather binding between her fingers. Her mother reached out, placing a gentle hand on her daughter's arm.
“I know. It is okay. You do not have to understand. But one day, you will. And I believe that on that day, when you realize everything you were ever meant to be, you will change the world.” Another sad smile on Lisabel’s lips. Another tear falling silently down her cheek. Another soft squeeze on Mariah’s forearm.
They sat like that for a long moment, Mariah feeling the pressure of her mother’s touch bring her slowly back to the earth. Finally, she twisted away, picked up her glass of whiskey, and drank the rest of its contents in a single, deep swallow. Mariah set the book down on her lap, picked up the decanter, and refilled her glass before settling herself back onto the log bench. She took a sip, staring at the flames, when her mother spoke again.
“There’s something else. Something I need you to do before you go.” Lisabel’s voice was harder than it had been, thick emotion replaced with an unrecognizable coldness. Mariah whipped her attention back to her mother, surprised.
“What is it?”
Her mother stared into those flames, her face a cool mask that looked so out of place on her soft features.
“Do you remember that night, when you were nine? When Donnet and his deputies showed up demanding payment for taxes he claimed your father and I owed?”
This time, it was not ice, but fiery rage that razed through Mariah. “Yes.” She would never, never forget that night.
Lisabel didn’t move a muscle as she continued. “I did not want you to see that, but now, I am glad you did. Because you saw what he took, and I don’t need to explain to you what it was.”
Mariah knew instantly what her mother referred to. The chest belonging to Lisabel’s father—Mariah’s grandfather. The dagger it contained, the fine blade adorned with a hundred sets of wings, dragon wings flaring across the cross-guard of its hilt.
“Your father has been training you your entire life. He only ever wanted you to be able to protect yourself, but … you are good, Mariah. Better than most who serve in the Royal Infantry, that’s for sure. And that dagger … it means everything to me, to this family. You must get it back. Before you leave this place forever, you must get it back.” Finally, Lisabel turned to look at her daughter, the same fire that burned in her son’s veins dancing in her eyes. “Do you understand what I am telling you?”
Mariah only stared open-mouthed at her mother before nodding once.
Because … fucking Enfara. Her mother wanted her to steal her grandfather’s dagger back from Lord Donnet. Her sweet, kind, peaceable mother wanted her to commit a crime punishable by death.
If she were caught.
Not that she would be caught, of course. She knew, without a doubt, she could get that dagger back.
That didn’t lessen her shock, however.
Just then, her father and brother reappeared from the cottage, walking out with plates laden with mashed potatoes, heads of broccoli, and tender elk steaks. Their voices carried over the crackling flames, Ellan laughing at something their father must’ve said. The sound was all it took for Lisabel to morph back into the gentle woman Mariah knew. She gave her mother one last bewildered expression before turning to her approaching father and brother, the smells of the food finally reaching her nose. Her mouth instantly watered and her stomach rumbled, empty but for the whiskey she’d definitely been downing too quickly.
Her father strode to them, his keen hazel eyes darting between Mariah and her mother.
“Enjoying our night by the fire?” There was an unasked question in his voice, one that had Mariah wondering just how much he knew about what her mother had planned to talk to her about that night.
“Yes, it is such a lovely night,” Lisabel answered, leaning back to accept a kiss on the forehead from her husband. “And that food you boys have put together looks absolutely delicious.”
“It better be,” Ellan answered from across the fire. He’d settled himself where Mariah was earlier, already cutting into his elk steak. “Not only did I freeze my ass off hunting this beast the other day, but those potatoes were a bitch to mash.”
“Oh, quit whining, Ellan. Make yourself useful and add some more flame to our fire.”
Ellan shot his sister a withering look before lobbing a fireball into the flames, the force sending embers flying into the air towards Mariah. She chucked an acorn she found on the log beside her at him in return, the thump that sounded as it hit him squarely in the forehead bringing a grin to her face. Ellan looked ready to send another ball of fire her way before their father intervened.
“Enough,” Wex commanded. “Before Ellan burns the entire city down.”
The family ate the rest of their meal over the crackling of the fire, their boisterous banter blending into the sound of the forest around them. They stayed there until the roaring fire died down to flickering embers, all four hesitant to put the day to rest. Sometime, well past midnight, when Ellan had slumped against the log bench, passed out from too much whiskey, a soft breeze began to stir from the east, swirling Mariah’s long, dark hair around her face and gilding it in metallic moonlight. As if in answer to the breeze, a deep, dark place within her stirred to life, like a beast cracking open a heavy-lidded eye. A chill swept over Mariah’s skin, a chill she chased away with another long pull of whiskey straight from the decanter as the early autumn breeze continued to tickle her ears and whisper words she couldn’t understand, eventually chasing her to bed just as the moons began to inch their way back towards the horizon.
CHAPTER 3
A dagger of sunlight streamed into Mariah’s room, burning her eyes with a vengeance.
Groaning, Mariah turned her head, burying her face into her pillow. Her bed creaked as she shifted and rolled on the small feather mattress, desperate to escape the light but knowing it would be fruitless; the lack of blinds on her tiny bedroom window meant the sun would never cease its beating against her closed eyelids. Huffing a sigh, she sat up in her bed, stretching her long, well-muscled arms above her head.
And … there. Just as she finished her stretch, all the blood in her body rushed to her skull, the pressure like a hammer against her brain. She dropped her arms back onto the down comforter, her head slumping into her palms as she moaned again.
Goddess, she hated hangovers. Especially when she was home, where she knew her mother would frown deeply at her if she tried to begin her morning with another dash of whiskey in her coffee. Just the thought of that, though, had her headache receding slightly, enough for her to lift her head from her hands. Glancing to her nightstand, she spotted the glass of water she must’ve filled the night before, the ice long melted, condensation soaking into the wood. She reached out and downed the glass in seven long, greedy gulps.
As she set the glass back down, the haze around the corners of her vision lessened just slightly, all the words exchanged over that fire came rushing back to her.
And just like that, she was dizzy again.
The book, now tucked away under her mattress. The memories of Donnet, and what he’d taken that night so many years ago. Her mother’s words, her insistent charge to get that dagger back.
Her twenty-first birthday. The freedom she’d craved for so long, ever since she’d decided being held captive in this town wouldn’t be her future.
Icy anticipation flooded her veins at everything this day, this birthday, promised. Mariah peeled herself out of bed, shivering in the chill autumn morning air seeping in through the cracks in her window, and padded to her closet. She stripped off the cotton tunic she’d worn to bed and pulled on a pair of soft fleece leggings and a gray sweater, the material warm against her slightly pallid skin. Swallowing back a bizarre urge to either kick out her window and run away now or sprint to the bathroom and vomit, Mariah opened her bedroom door and walked down the hallway to the open family room, following the faint smell of smoke lingering in the air from the night before.
“What’s for break … fast …” Mariah’s forced, cheerful greeting died off quickly as she took note of her family, all seated at the dining table together, faces fixed in neutral expressions. Even Ellan was up and seated at the table—Ellan, who never got out of bed this early unless it was to sneak a girl out of the house before their mother noticed.
Wex and Lisabel were also seated at the table: Wex at the head, Lisabel to his right, Ellan to his left. Their gazes, filled with a strange combination of curiosity and fear, weren’t focused on Mariah; instead, all three of them stared at the wax-sealed, cream-colored letter Lisabel held in her hand, her head cocked slightly to the side.
Mariah stood in the entryway to the family room for several moments, analyzing what in the Goddess’s name was happening, trying desperately to pick apart the look on her mother’s face. But her brain was still hazy with sleep and the remnants of liquor, and she couldn’t do much more than watch her family all continue to sit together in eerie silence. After what felt like an eternity, her mother finally pulled her attention from the letter and turned her golden-brown gaze to Mariah. She twisted in her chair, extending the letter towards Mariah, and spoke.
“This is for you. A messenger arrived no more than a few minutes ago.”
Confusion burst through Mariah, followed quickly by a wave of panic. No one should be contacting her. No one ever contacted her. She kept no friends in Andburgh—at least, not the kind who would send friendly birthday notes to her family’s home.
Suddenly, memories of her conversation with Annabelle flashed through her mind. The confession she’d made to the golden-haired princess of Andburgh society: that as soon as she turned twenty-one, she would be leaving this place.
And there was one individual in town who Mariah knew wouldn’t take kindly to her rejection of this miserable little place.
“Annabelle. That bitch. She fucking sold me out, didn’t she? She told Donnet or his cronies that I’m planning on leaving. I’m going to kill her—”
“It has nothing to do with Annabelle,” Lisabel sternly interrupted. “Or Donnet. Just … open it.”
Mariah’s red-hot anger bubbled into icy fear, like a hot metal dipped into cold water. The look on her mother’s face held her tongue, biting down on the barbed remark trying to escape. Her eyes flashed to the sealed letter, noting the fine cream parchment and the sheen of the gold seal on the back. Slowly, she forced her legs to move towards the dining table, her limbs suddenly leaden with the strange, heavy feeling of dread.
She reached the table and took the letter from her mother’s outstretched hand, glancing into those golden-brown eyes that had always been the rock grounding her swirling chaos, had always been so strong even when faced with so much. A soft, knowing smile spread across her mother’s face, a clear attempt to soothe whatever whirlwind was threatening to spin through Mariah at that moment. Mariah lifted an eyebrow at her mother, but Lisabel only dropped her gaze to again stare at the parchment now clasped firmly in Mariah’s hand.
Mariah watched her mother for a few more heartbeats, running her thumb across the smooth parchment. It felt incredibly fine, soft as silk beneath the pads of her calloused fingers. Pulling every scrap of resolve she had to her, she lowered her gaze to the paper, and read the words written in delicate, feminine calligraphy on its front:
Ms. Mariah Salis.
Mariah swallowed loudly, unsure if the sudden dryness in her mouth was caused by that still-present hangover or by the letter. She flipped the parchment over, eyeing the gold wax seal up close, and her heart dropped out of her chest to the worn, wooden floor.
Now she was sure she needed to throw up.
She knew that seal; it had been drilled into her from her very first days of schooling. The personal seal of the Queen of Onita, sent from the great palace at Verith, the glimmering coastal capital of their kingdom. With shaking hands, Mariah slid a finger under the seal, breaking it. She carefully opened the letter, a bolt of pure, unadulterated excitement tinged with the sharp sting of terror lancing through her as she began to read.
Ms. Mariah Salis:
From the desk of Her Majesty, Queen Ryenne the Fair, of House Shawth.
Over twenty-one years ago, our beloved Golden Goddess, Qhohena, the light of the Golden Moon, made it known my time as your queen was nearing its end. An abdication occurred, and that night, a single drop of my magic was sent forth into Onita, seeking out the one who is Goddess-blessed and worthy of ascension onto the Golden Throne of Onita.
Since then, I have held onto what remains of my magic the best I could to protect our future queen from harm; however, my magic, the blessed magic of Qhohena gifted only to the Queen of Onita, now calls to its new lady, and it is time for the Choosing.
As a recipient of this letter, you, dear child, are an Onitan woman who has not yet exhibited any Goddess-blessed magic of your own and who may have received that drop of the Queen’s power upon the completion of the Abdication all those years ago. While I cannot compel your attendance, your presence is hereby requested at the Queen’s Palace at Verith within seven days’ time. There, you will present yourself before me for the Choosing, at which time my magic will finally identify who it selected to be the next Queen of Onita.
I, and all of Onita, await you.
In Qhohena’s Name,
Queen Ryenne Shawth
Mariah read the letter again to herself, unable to form a cohesive thought. Abdication … Queen … Choosing. Words and thoughts continued to form and dissipate in rapid succession.
Ellan, of course, was the one to break the tense silence. “Well, M, what does it say?”
Mariah, without glancing at her brother and keeping her voice soft and controlled, read the letter aloud to her sitting family. A heavy pause settled upon the house, the air growing stifling and thick.
“Today is my twenty-first birthday.” Mariah’s words were still quiet, her voice revealing nothing beyond cold detachment. “And I thought I might actually, finally, be able to be free. That the worst that might happen is our dumbass lord discovering my intentions to leave and trying to stop me.”
No one spoke a word as something shifted within Mariah, that frozen tundra melting to something hot, burning, consuming.
This was worse than Donnet intervening in her life. It was so much worse. While she was sure she could’ve handled the lord, could’ve slipped through his grasp no matter what, this was something else entirely.
She could not evade the queen.
“Be careful what you wish for, I suppose.” Her voice dripped with ravenous anger.
Mariah let whatever it was bubbling up deep inside wash over her, pushing her to her feet and out of the house to the field and training pitch beyond.
Lisabel Salis watched as her daughter hacked away at the oak training dummy with the ferocity to rival a wild Kreah desert sphinx. Such raw emotion and desperation existed within Mariah, though she hardly ever let it show. Ever since her daughter’s birth, Lisabel had known something untamed and inherently free existed in her daughter’s soul, something that would always call her away to a life bigger than their simple existence at a crossroad city in the center of the kingdom.
She’d told her daughter as much the night before. Had needed to speak those words to Mariah before she left, finally free to chase what she’d always sought.
She knew what Mariah feared most wasn’t just being stuck in Andburgh; it was being caged. Anywhere. To be told what to do by someone who wasn’t her, told who to be and how to act and to have her free will drained from her body until she was nothing more than a husk of herself.
Her daughter was still so young. She feared so much.
There was so much she didn’t yet understand. So much Lisabel ached to tell her, but could not. Not without risking Mariah’s life, the life of her family, everything on this continent she held dear.
But, what Lisabel did know, and what she could do, was get Mariah to listen. To trust and have faith and realize the gift that had just fallen into her lap.
Far easier said than done. Her daughter wasn’t known for being easy to reason with.
A soft sigh pushed past Lisabel’s lips as she finally raised her voice. “Mariah. That’s enough.”
