Threaded, p.48
Threaded, page 48
She lifted her right, unmarred hand up before her, and turned her palm to face her—to face them. Andrian shifted and withdrew the dragon-winged dagger, reaching around her to take her hand in his. With careful precision, he again sliced her palm with the blade, blood welling to the surface along with the stinging pain. He released her, and she didn’t hesitate before turning her hand and pressing it to the pillar.
This time, the eruption of light and the wave of power that washed through the room nearly knocked her off her feet. She sagged against Andrian, his arms instantly encircling her, her right palm still glued to the now-glowing pillar.
This time, as the wave gradually resided, it left a heavy layer of wild and feral magic in the room, like a gossamer curtain pulled over eyes. The edges of the world were all tinged and blurred with the colors of silver and gold.
This magic was a drug, and Mariah … Mariah was high on it.
She was now leaning fully on Andrian, wanting nothing more than to bathe in the magic floating around them, to stay there forever beneath that beautiful shroud. It took her a few heartbeats to realize he was whispering something in her ear, and focused her attention on that, on his words.
“The ritual, nio. We’re not done yet. Finish it, and then you’ll have me all to yourself.”
Her eyes snapped open, some of the fog lifting slightly from her magic-addled brain. She glanced down at her still-bleeding hands, at the threads of magic now flowing from both palms, connecting her to both pillars and the allume flooding into the world.
There was one final step she needed to take. One final step to connect her tether to the earth beneath their feet, so every drop of blood contributed tonight could be used to capture allume and bring it to dwell within the lunestair pillars.
She stood, her legs shaky, before moving finally to the lunestair panel behind the throne.
Before, this panel had been the only component to the Solstice, the only place deemed acceptable for the queen to touch. Ryenne would tie herself to the earth, and hope the magic in her veins was enough to summon sufficient allume to power the pillars for another six months.
It never would’ve been enough. Eventually, the magic would’ve run out, and Onita would’ve been vulnerable to anyone who wished her harm.
Her palms still bleeding, those two threads flowing from her blood and binding her to either pillar, she knelt before the lunestair tile. Andrian didn’t touch her, but she felt his presence at her side, ready to catch her when this was done. With a deep inhale, she pulled as much of the magic washing through the room to her, closed her eyes, and pressed both palms to the tile.
The threads from the pillars leaped from her to the panel, tunneling themselves down into the ground, spindling throughout the entire kingdom. A shudder of power wracked through the earth, a tremor strong enough to wake the dragons of the world that had long since gone to sleep.
Mariah sat, kneeling and panting, on the floor behind the throne for several long heartbeats, her palms still bloody, as the waves of power subsided.
When she could finally think again, she had only one thing to say.
“Holy shit.”
A chuckle tickled her ear. Andrian’s deep voice whispered against her skin.
“You are … magnificent, nio. You did it. You fucking did it.”
She twisted around to meet his gaze, hyper-aware of his closeness and the wild power still coursing through her veins.
She felt positively feral.
Before Mariah could lunge for him, take him right there on that dais, he leaned back and chuckled again. “We still have an audience, nio. End the ritual, let your guests enjoy the rest of their night,” he paused before leaning close again, nipping gently at the soft skin of her ear. “Just as I intend to enjoy you.”
She shivered.
With every shred of self-control she still possessed, Mariah pushed herself to her feet, rising to stand behind the throne. She moved to the side, to the crowd waiting for her there. Most now sat in pairs, either on the ground or on the couches, their eyes dazed with the weight of the magic in the air as they clutched still-bleeding palms. The white and gold marble was speckled with red, but as Mariah watched, those droplets of blood began to form themselves into rivulets, flowing directly over the gold veins in the floor, traveling to the panel behind the throne. Her eyes followed the ruby red river, and when the first of that blood touched the panel it sank into the glowing lunestair, just as hers had, joining the magic of the earth.
The pillars pulsed brighter.
It was working.
“The magic is bound.” Despite her unsteadiness, her voice was strong. Hundreds of eyes turned to her expectantly. “The ritual is done. Celebrate the blessings of our Goddess; revel in her magic. This power is for you, the people, and tonight we’ve taken it back.”
Soft cheers and murmurs of wonder grew louder as the crowd bowed as one before falling silent and filing from the room, the shroud of magic leaving most in a distant daze.
Mariah doubted any of them, even if they’d attended a Solstice in the capital before, had ever felt magic quite like that.
Within minutes, the throne room was empty. Even her court had slipped out, and her curiosity pricked as she wondered where they’d all gone.
Or who they’d gone with.
But then, a familiar, firm warmth was against her back. Arms banded around her as Andrian’s hot breath tickled her cheek.
“Come, my queen. Let me fuck you on your throne.”
With a wicked smirk on her lips, she let him do just that.
CHAPTER 60
The lunestair pillars on either side of the golden throne gleamed with an incandescent light that hadn’t been seen in a thousand years.
The opaque stone, once dull gray guardians beside the throne, now shone with so much light it spilled out through the golden veins spindling through the marble floors. The same golden veins that had drawn upon the freely gifted blood of the Solstice attendees, anchoring the allume flooding into their world.
The Solstice was … everything she’d hoped it would be. Just that morning, Sebastian had returned from a meeting with the captains of the city guard, the look of giddy pride upon his face causing her own expression to break out into one of uncharacteristic glee. The allume levels of the wards were measured, he’d told her. And they were burning at a strength that was … impossible. A strength not seen in generations.
She’d leaped into his embrace, and they’d toasted with a glass of the finest wine she could find in the study. Even Ryenne had stopped by Mariah’s suite upon hearing the news. Her demeanor was still so muted and broken, her aging now pronounced by slower steps and a posture beginning to stoop and hunch, but she’d grasped Mariah’s hand tightly and softly whispered her congratulations. She’d been accompanied by a now gray-haired Kalen, leaning heavily on his arm as she retreated back from the rooms, her blue eyes again hollow and distant. It had broken Mariah a little, to see her like that, not knowing when that final piece of magic would leave her and set her free to join Cedoric in the afterlife.
Of all the things they’d discussed, she and Andrian still hadn’t broached that subject.
The sound of soft footfalls behind her pulled a piece of her attention away from her thoughts and those shimmering pillars. She didn’t turn from her vigil, though, not even as warmth enveloped her back, or when a muscled arm looped itself around her waist, slender tendrils of shadow snaking around her head and caressing her cheek. Mariah let Andrian pull her close, let him tuck her body into his, let herself revel in the feeling of solid strength he offered her.
It was a foreign feeling, letting herself be touched by him as an expression of love, and not just lust or a need for distraction.
Foreign, but welcome, nonetheless.
Mariah’s lips tilted up slightly at the corners as she closed her eyes, leaning her head back against Andrian’s shoulder, losing herself for a moment in her happiness. There was still so much to worry about, but this moment … in this moment, nothing could go wrong.
“We did it.” Her voice was soft and content.
“No,” he said, the sound rumbling deliciously through his chest as his grip on her waist tightened slightly. “You did it.”
Her mouth widened into a full grin before she twisted in his grip, tilting her head up just enough to meet his mouth with hers. She melded herself to him, sinking into the feel, the touch, the taste of him. Mariah loosened the threads in her soul, and light sparked on her tongue, across her skin, twining into the air to dance with his shadows.
Slowly, begrudgingly, she broke off the kiss and pulled away from him. Mariah drew her magic back under her skin, the soft silver-gold light fading from the air. She met his tanzanite gaze, the wild blue hazy and filled with that emotion she was still coming to know, still trying to not let shock her every time she saw it. She smiled at him again, softly, before pressing one final kiss to his lips and stepping fully from his embrace. Turning on her heel, Mariah strode up the dais steps until she stood before the left pillar, watching the silver-gold allume twist and dance in its depths.
“This was only the first step towards a better future. The allume is back, yes, but … Andrian, you know as well as I do that it isn’t—won’t be—enough. Not with all the different players in this world.”
It was something she’d been thinking about for the past week. That once this task was done, she would have to step fully into leading a kingdom.
And as much as she hated to admit it, she still had some work to do before she would be able to accomplish it on her own.
Even though he now stood a few paces from her, Mariah still felt Andrian tense, his entire demeanor shifted into one far more on edge than it was mere moments before. “You cannot possibly be suggesting what I think you are.”
“I wish I wasn’t. But … we need them, Andrian.”
Before he could respond, she lifted up a hand, her palms bound to cover her healing wounds from the Solstice, and pressed it against the lunestair pillar. Now that she’d already done it and proven it was certainly far from sacrilegious, she barely hesitated to touch the shimmering stone.
Waves of silver and gold magic washed over her the second her skin met the cool smoothness, power swirling around her body and soul. The essence of that magic mingled with her own, the threads of power in her soul unraveling and thrumming with the allume dwelling within the pillar.
After all, like would always call to like.
But then … she felt something. Something deep within the brilliant light of the allume. Something that felt … dark, and sinister, and wrong. Unlike the allume, it wasn’t born from trust and joy and pleasure, but instead cried out to her with feelings of pain and fear.
A wave of cold washed through Mariah, drenching her in sudden panic, her magic recoiling on instinct. She wrenched her hand away from the pillar, cutting off the vile feelings before they could sink into her. The instant her skin left the stone those feelings fell away from her like cobwebs, the sickly blackness at her fingertips a few moments before lifting like a cloud. The threads of her magic even appeared to shake it off, as if shaking off the remnants of a bad dream.
A dream, she thought. A figment of her imagination, that was all. A remnant from her inability to truly believe she had actually accomplished what she’d set out to do. Mariah was Goddess-blessed; no darkness would dare infiltrate that which she’d helped create with the blood in her veins and the power in her soul.
Setting her shoulders, she turned away from the pillar, again facing Andrian. His face revealed nothing to indicate whether he’d noticed whatever had coursed through her a moment before, and … she didn’t ask him.
Better to forget. It wasn’t real, after all.
She met his gaze with her own and set her face into her familiar proud mask, a wicked smile playing across her mouth.
“Let’s go speak with our Royals, shall we?”
The great manor house was made of brick the color of ash.
At Mariah and Andrian’s back was a massive, wrought-iron gate, the paved and manicured street beyond silent in the late morning air. Deep in the mountain district, this street lined with other, similar manors, each one resplendent with the ancient wealth and grandeur of the generations of power they housed. This was where the Royal families and other high-ranking lords kept their Verithian residences—whenever they weren’t staying in their suites in the palace itself, of course.
This particular manor, the largest and most beautiful on the street despite it appearing to be leached of all color, belonged to none other than Lord Shawth, relative of Queen Ryenne, the Lord of Khento and the head of the most influential of those Royal families.
Mariah still struggled to understand why the mere fact that four past queens had been born to House Shawth meant its Lord deserved such kingdom-wide respect. It was the women of his house who were blessed with real power; she could see no blessings upon the men besides their name.
Notice of their visit was sent that morning, preceding them by hours. Their carriage pulled in through those gates, swinging open and shut behind them on near-silent hinges. Feran had also come with them, driving the carriage himself, and Mariah thanked the Goddess once more for bringing him to her, not only for his way with the horses but for his steady watchfulness behind them as they now stood at the bottom of the manor steps. She inhaled once, a deep breath, and glanced down at her dress before meeting Andrian’s gaze.
She’d known the importance of this meeting. And for the first time since arriving in Verith, perhaps in her life, she’d tried to dress accordingly.
Her gown was an elegant cream, the full skirts as close to traditional Onitan fashion she was willing to go. The modest sleeves and scooped neckline covered most of her skin, and the bodice was detailed with golden threads which she prayed to Qhohena would give her all the strength and patience she’d need to survive this meeting. She wasn’t known for her skills at diplomacy; this much she knew. But for the future of her crown and fate of her kingdom, she’d do her best to quiet the dark rage dwelling within her soul.
Andrian shifted closer beside her, his arm brushing hers as his fingers twined around her hand and gripped her palm, pressing against the bandage there. Her eyes shot down to their joined hands, a contemplative look on her face, when Andrian spoke.
“I want you to know … I don’t regret anything.”
She lifted her gaze back to his as he continued.
“I thought a part of me would regret giving in to you, would regret the danger I’ve now put you in. But I don’t. I know you, Mariah. There’s no danger that could challenge you. Someone has tried—and failed—twice. There’s nothing you can’t face.” He paused, leaning even further into her until their foreheads touched. As he closed his eyes, she felt him inhale deeply.
“Show them that.”
“Well, isn’t this a lovely sight?” The snide voice crawled over Mariah’s skin, grating against her nerves. Her jaw instantly clenched, and she leaned away from Andrian just enough to turn to face the manor’s double doors. Those doors were now open, and within them stood a familiar middle-aged male, his fine doublet carrying the black sun sigil of his house.
Lord Shawth wore a sneer upon his face, his eyes locked on Mariah and Andrian’s joined hands before they lifted to meet Mariah’s stare.
“Come inside,” he said, his voice still dripping with sweet poison. “Lord Laurent is already here. We’ve been waiting.”
Mariah choked down her retort, swallowing her anger at his less than respectful greeting. Releasing Andrian’s hand, she gathered her full skirts and stepped up the manor steps, following Shawth through the double oak doors.
The resplendent foyer greeting them mirrored the wealth of the estate’s exterior. A massive portrait of Lord Shawth hung on the right wall, and while he’d perhaps been younger when it was painted, Mariah was certain the artist had taken certain … liberties. Especially with the thickness of his hair, the pallor of his skin, the fullness of his chest.
Mariah had to choke back to a snort at the man’s narcissism. How typical of a man made great by the power of women.
Averting her gaze from the portrait, Mariah continued after Shawth, Andrian steady at her side. Shawth led them down the foyer hallway before turning right, pushing through yet another set of double doors of rich mahogany, the handles cast in gold and polished to perfection.
The room beyond was a parlor room, obviously decorated with a man’s taste: two fine, brown leather chairs, a great oak desk, and a gray suede couch. All dark and masculine—it was a room clearly meant to either intimidate those who didn’t belong or bring comfort to those who did. Against a wall was a bar made of wrought, plated gold, well stocked with the finest wines, whiskeys, and smokes.
Mariah doubted these men were worthy of the vices they consumed in this room.
Her eyes wandered away from the decor to the room’s other occupant. Already seated in one of those fine leather chairs was Shawth, and she forced herself to dismiss the disrespect at seating himself before her. She needed to keep her pride in check, to choke down the indignation and fury already twisting the magic in her gut. So much had gone right at the Solstice, but there was still so much to do, so much to fix before there could be real change.
But when Mariah turned her attention to the man seated next to Shawth, she wondered how far her resolve would take her.
Lord Julian Laurent was sprawled in the second leather chair, not bothering to rise when she entered the room, his gaze brazen and impertinent as it perused her and the man beside her. Andrian tensed, the air around him quickly beginning to darken and thrum with icy wrath. Without breaking Laurent’s stare, Mariah reached out her hand and rested it lightly on Andrian’s forearm, the muscles there taut beneath the sleeves of his dark jacket. She knew it was more than just rage coursing through him, the brush of a tendril of shadow against her cheek whispering to her the truth.
