Threaded, p.41
Threaded, page 41
Mariah scowled before looking away. “Yeah.”
There was a slight pause, the rhythm of Brie’s brush through her hair and the rustle of Ciana yanking out clothes weaving a soothing melody. Ciana reappeared, several articles of clothing in her hands, and once again met Mariah’s gaze with a look far gentler than before.
“You want to talk about it?”
Mariah couldn’t look her friend in the eye when she answered, the lie heavy on her tongue.
“No.”
It hadn’t taken Ciana and Brie long to get Mariah ready and pushed out the doors of her suite, sending her down the hallway towards Qhohena’s temple.
Mariah was now dressed in soft, black leather leggings, the insides lined in fur to fight off the chill that had moved in with the rain, winter arriving in Verith like a dark companion. She wore a soft, form-fitting turtleneck sweater, dyed the same black as her leggings, and across her chest was strapped a harness of supple, black leather.
A harness that now secured the scabbards of the two shortswords sheathed across her back, the blades criss-crossed just below her shoulder blades. Her grandfather’s dagger, that same dagger that had taken a life less than a day ago, was in its new burgundy garter sheath on her right thigh. Her long, dark hair hung loose down her back, curling around those two shortswords, and she knew her eyes were too bright and gleaming.
After two attempts on her life in a place that was supposed to be her home, she no longer felt safe walking these halls. She now trusted only those who’d sworn oaths to her before the Goddess and the two women she’d welcomed into her court.
Quentin and Drystan, the same two who’d flanked her yesterday, were in the same positions today as she neared the shining golden doors of Qhohena’s temple. She turned her head slightly to the side, to Drystan, and spoke quietly.
“How’s Trefor?”
His brown eyes darted to hers and held her stare. “He’s fine. He’ll make a full recovery. The arrow, while it struck deep, hit nothing important, and your quick actions yesterday prevented him from losing too much blood.”
“Our quick actions, Drystan.” She refused to take credit for what she’d done. For what the darkness inside of her had done.
Drystan only smiled softly back at her. “Whatever you say, Mariah.”
Mariah’s chest tightened. “I … I plan to see him today. As soon as I’m done with … whatever this will be.” Neither male behind her responded, but she felt the gentle brushes of their consciousnesses down those bridges between their minds, quiet reminders that no matter what she did, they would understand. That there was nothing to feel guilty for, that everyone was just happy she was safe and Trefor would recover.
If only she felt the same.
Drystan and Quentin lingered outside the temple doors, their expressions watchful, as she pushed on the plated gold and slipped quietly inside the room.
It seemed every time she entered the temple it looked slightly different. That first time, for the Selection, the whole space had been so dark, so mysterious and cast in shadow she wasn’t able to fully observe the room. This time, however, the temple was lit, the cold sunlight streaming through windows Mariah hadn’t known existed. The atrium was open, the dais and altar at the front of the room illuminated brightly by thousands of candles. The wax began to drip down and onto the floor, indicating that they’d been burning for quite some time.
That steady drip, drip, drip of the candle wax on the marble floor sounded too much like blood to Mariah’s ears. Her hands tightened into fists, the wild magic in her veins roaring back to life.
Until she saw a figure dressed in pale gold robes standing beside the altar of candles, graying brown hair twisted into a wreath around her head as she watched Mariah through narrowed, pale gold eyes. Despite the fire magic that Mariah knew flowed in the figure’s veins, she felt as if she’d been doused with a bucket of water.
“Quite the appearance you’ve chosen for yourself, Mariah. Tell me, is this you making your statement to the kingdom that you intend to always punish its criminals with instant death?”
Mariah froze, no more than a dozen paces from the High Priestess. “No, Ksee. This is me making the statement that after the second attempt on my life since being Chosen, I no longer feel safe in my own home.”
“Ah.” The High Priestess let out a soft, cold laugh. “Taking matters into your own hands, then.” She folded her hands in front of her before walking one, two, three steps toward Mariah. Ksee now stood close enough to look down at Mariah from the dais steps, but not quite close enough to be within striking distance of the short swords strapped to Mariah’s back.
The fact she appeared to perceive Mariah as that much of an unhinged threat made a part of her want to puff out her chest with pride. At least one good thing had come of her actions yesterday.
Those hateful brown eyes bore down on Mariah, an obvious attempt to get Mariah to cave.
“You have forgotten your place, once again, Queen Apparent. This is not a lawless country; those who break our laws shall be punished for it, yes, but we do not mete out such judgment or exact our revenge in the streets like animals. The way of Onita is one of peace, and as a representative of our gentle mother Goddess in this palace, it is my duty to make sure our queen does not stray from the path of purity and goodness.” Her last words came out as a hiss, her eyes narrowing even further. “Should you ever perform a stunt like the one you pulled yesterday again, Queen Apparent, I will ensure that you know exactly who truly holds the power in this kingdom.”
“And who might that be, High Priestess?” Mariah’s magic was raging like a vicious hurricane at Ksee’s words. Animal, lawless, revenge, purity … everything Ksee said grated against Mariah’s newly awakened instincts. “As much as you and the Royals seem to not want to admit it, I was Chosen by the Goddess. I carry her power in my veins. You may think me wild and like an animal, debasing your pretty little temple with my swords and blades still stained with the blood of those who tried to hurt me, who tried to hurt those closest to me, but I’m here to challenge you, Priestess.” Mariah bared her teeth at the older woman as she stalked closer, gliding up the dais steps until she stood no more than a few inches from Ksee.
The priestess, to her credit, did not cower away, even though fear began to flicker in her flat tarnished eyes.
“I will be the one to hold the power here, Ksee. I admire Ryenne, but I will not be used as a tool and a figurehead for those who were never meant to have the power they seek. I’ve read the earliest histories of this kingdom. I know how wild the early queens were. I know how weak they began to grow, as more Royals rose in station and more priestesses realized the only semblance of power they would ever recapture for themselves would be by controlling queens who never truly understood what they carried. Even I don’t understand that power yet, but let me promise you, High Priestess: I am learning. So, get out of my way.”
Ksee’s face paled, the blood draining from her features. She took one step away, slowly, her eyes darting down to Mariah’s right side.
To where Mariah now realized she gripped the dragon-winged hilt of her grandfather’s dagger.
Ksee raised her eyes back to Mariah, and as the priestess dipped her head, Mariah felt something alter forever in the air between them.
“My apologies, Your Highness. Queen Ryenne is in the right antechamber. She is expecting you.”
And as the priestess bowed stiffly and turned on her heel, stepping down from the dais steps and toward a hallway that must lead to the private chambers of the palace priestesses, Mariah couldn’t help but realize the dark gleam she’d seen in Ksee’s eyes meant the palace was now filled with one more enemy than it had been yesterday.
Mariah found Ryenne in an antechamber down the hallway to the right of the altar, just as Ksee said.
The room was magnificent and beautiful, but very different from the rest of the palace. Instead of the familiar white marble, it was black: dark, light-consuming black marble on the floors, the pillars, the walls. All of it was veined through with fine streaks of gold, a perfect refraction to the rest of the palace, subtle but no less beautiful. Above, just like in the throne room and the library, the roof was made of solid glass. Mariah noticed that the rain had stopped, the weak winter sun from behind the lingering clouds setting a chill in the air.
Mariah had a sudden urge to return to this room on a clear, cloudless night. She had a feeling that’s when it was at its most magnificent.
“This is the Antechamber of Priam. The palace builders designed it specifically to honor him, so that from the moment you walk in, you feel as if you are in his presence, his watchfulness a comfort to whatever plagues you.”
Mariah whipped her head in the direction of Ryenne’s voice. The queen stood in the center of the antechamber beside a raised slab of stone, a body laid carefully atop it. A body now draped in a shroud of shimmering gold.
Cedoric.
Mariah was silent as she dropped her gaze back to the black marble beneath her feet. She was familiar with Priam; all Onitans were. The Consort God, Qhohena’s partner, and the God of the Northern Star.
He was also the Keeper of Souls, the bridge between life and whatever awaited beyond. Ceremonies of mourning were his temples, tears and whispers to lost loved ones his prayers.
With soft, silent steps, Mariah moved from the antechamber entrance to the stone slab in the center, coming to a halt beside the queen. Ryenne’s hair was now more gray than gold and her face bore even more lines of age, the youthful exuberance she’d had when Mariah first stepped into the palace vanished like a whisper on the wind.
It was no mystery that each time Mariah bonded with another of her Armature, she took years off Ryenne’s life. But losing Cedoric … it was as if the spark had left the queen completely.
Mariah stood in silence beside Ryenne, not knowing what to say, and deciding it was better to say nothing at all than to say something that could open still-bleeding wounds.
Thankfully, Ryenne spoke again.
“He was the second of my Armature to take the bond.” Her voice was soft, distant, the emotion hidden behind walls of stone Mariah knew all too well.
“I bonded with Kalen first, of course. I had been drawn to him instantly, as is typical for a true consort. And that first bond … it left me reeling. I had been raised my whole life for the possibility of the throne; the queen before me abdicated her power around the time I was born, and my family was the most prolific Royal family in the kingdom. Three queens hailed from my line, and with the timing of my birth, it seemed obvious to everyone that I would be the fourth queen born to House Shawth.
“So, I spent the first twenty-one years of my life preparing for the Choosing and the steps that would follow it. I knew exactly what the Selection and bondings would entail. I thought I was prepared. But then I bonded with Kalen, and … I had never been so overwhelmed with emotion in my life. I had never felt … never been allowed to feel … so much. It felt like a sin.” She took a deep inhale. “And because of that, I never wanted to do it again. Even though I knew I had to.
“When it came time to pick my next Armature to make the bond, I panicked. I almost got onto my horse and rode right into the mountains, fully prepared to abandon my throne and my family and everything I’d ever known.” Ryenne chuckled softly at that, lost in her memories.
“But then Cedoric caught me in the stables.”
Mariah loosened an exhale that stung her chest.
“He grabbed me and looked me right in the eyes, and I had never been looked at like that. Ever. He was so calm, so steady, so full of this patient understanding as I broke down, right there in the stables, in front of a man I barely knew. But he took it all with such grace and never once offered me anything other than a steadfast assurance that who I was, what I was, wasn’t something to fear or run from.
“I bonded with him that same night. And I never broke down that way again, not when I knew he was there to ground me. Kalen is my fire, my heart, but Cedoric …” her voice caught. She cleared it once, wiping away an errant tear streaking down her face. “He was my rock. My anchor. And I feel … lost without him.”
Mariah’s own emotions were still frozen in her chest, and she had no tears to offer the queen. She wanted to say, “I’m sorry,” wanted to offer a condolence, a sob, anything, but she also knew better than anyone that no words or actions would ever be enough to make up for what had been lost. The thought of losing an Armature, and losing them like that … she thought of Sebastian, how he was so much like what Ryenne had described Cedoric to be. If it had been Sebastian to take that arrow today, if the solid ground beneath her feet had been ripped away so violently, she didn’t think she would’ve been able to stand. So, she remained quiet, and simply slipped her hand into Ryenne’s, gripping the older woman’s fingers tightly.
She felt Ryenne tense slightly at the contact, but after a few heartbeats she relaxed, and squeezed back.
“Please … just …” Ryenne choked on her words again, tears again welling in her blue eyes. She took another deep breath before continuing. “Just tell me one thing.”
Mariah kept her gaze fixed on Cedoric’s golden shroud, the outline of his body on the black marble pedestal, as she answered. “Anything, My Queen.”
Several more heartbeats filled the quiet space before Ryenne continued.
“Tell me he is dead. Tell me you killed him.” Mariah knew exactly who Ryenne meant, could feel the fury and anger and loss spiraling out of the queen from where their skin touched.
“I buried my dagger in his stomach before I slit his throat.” How strange, to speak those words in a place reserved for the presence of the gods. But if Mariah opened her senses, let the whispers of the universe filter around her, let her magic inch out just a bit from her skin, she could almost feel a subtle hum of approval reverberating through her.
Perhaps the gods were more vengeful and bloodthirsty than the priestesses wanted the world to believe.
Ryenne’s exhale was audible against those silent whispers.
“Good.”
Mariah squeezed the queen’s hand one more time before dropping it and turning away, leaving the queen to her vigil.
She did not turn back, even when she heard Ryenne’s final words chase her from the room.
“Thank you … Your Majesty.”
CHAPTER 52
Mariah went straight from the temple to the hospital wing.
She’d put off seeing Trefor for long enough. While she knew he was well cared for, and had been assured by Quentin he would make a full recovery, the guilt had still eaten away at her since she’d stepped out of the shower the day before.
She couldn’t stop thinking about the arrow he’d taken, the one meant for her.
Just like the one that had ended Cedoric’s life. Had severed him from Ryenne as one might sever a limb from a body. Mariah imagined it must feel about the same.
She shoved it all down, the ever-fracturing pieces of herself she was still desperately trying to hold together. If yesterday had shown her anything, it was that she had to stay strong, had to stay alert and vigilant and watchful for the threats she now knew were very, very real.
When she entered the hospital wing, she was greeted not only by Trefor, but by her entire court: all seven of her Armature, plus Ciana and Delaynie. Even Brie was there, lingering to the side behind Ciana, her sharp eyes quiet and watchful. At the sound of the door swinging open in front of Mariah, all ten sets of eyes snapped to her, their attention settling instantly on their queen.
That was what she’d realized on the walk here, as she’d pondered Ryenne’s parting words.
“Your Majesty” was not a title given to a mere queen apparent.
It was a title reserved for a queen.
For Ryenne, with the death of Cedoric, so too her time as monarch had ended. She’d lost a member of her Armature, a piece of her soul vanishing along with him, and was no longer fit to lead a kingdom. Especially with most of her magic gone and the immortality it had brought her failing.
With those words, the burden of leadership had fallen heavily onto Mariah’s shoulders, whether she was ready for it or not.
And with all those cracking pieces of herself, Mariah didn’t think she was. But the gods had left her with no other option than to bear it.
“My Queen!”
A bright male voice cut through the dark tenor of her thoughts.
Trefor. Alive. Well. Speaking.
For the first time since the attack—since both attacks—Mariah’s face broke out into an uninhibited smile, the kind she’d almost forgotten how to make.
“Trefor.” She moved through the large, open hospital wing, her court parting like the tide, until she reached the side of Trefor’s cot. Carefully, she unslung the shortswords from her back and unbuckled the dagger from her thigh, Drystan stepping forward and taking the weapons without a word. She sat carefully, just on the edge, and clasped Trefor’s hand in hers. He looked well; there was color in his cheeks, and his skin felt warm and healthy to the touch. The only sign of his injury was the massive bandage wrapped tightly across his chest and left shoulder, the thick gauze fresh and stiff.
Mariah surveyed him closely before meeting his stare and raising an eyebrow. “You aren’t left-handed, are you?”
Trefor’s answer carried a hint of confusion. “No …?”
Mariah grinned mischievously. “Good. I would hate for you to lose your sword arm and make it even easier for me to kick your ass.”
The entire room erupted into a too-loud roar of laughter, pounds of tension lifting with a single sentence.
Trefor answered her with a grin of his own. “Mariah, the loss of my sword arm should be the least of your concerns—”
A growl rumbled from behind the rest of the gathered court at Trefor’s flirtatiousness, followed by booted footsteps. Mariah spotted a flash of dark hair as a figure stalked down the length of the hospital wing and pushed through a set of doors at the far end of the room.
