Threaded, p.6
Threaded, page 6
“Just … please tell me it’s not some awful monstrosity exploding with tulle and lace.”
Wex, relieved, roared with laughter.
“Do you think we don’t know you at all? Of course it is.”
As it turned out, there wasn’t a scrap of tulle or lace on the gown her mother had designed for her.
Beva, with all her cunning intuition and innate kindness, had somehow known exactly what that package contained. When Mariah trudged up the stairs, exhausted from their five, hard days of riding to reach the capital in time for the Choosing, she’d found its contents gently unwrapped, hanging up beside the full-length mirror adoring a corner of the cozy room so it could unfold and breathe.
Mariah sat on the soft feather bed, legs crossed beneath her, and leaned back on her hands as she stared at the dress. Upon reflection, she wasn’t at all surprised her mother had commissioned something so deliciously perfect, even if anger at its very existence and the expense of it still bubbled under her skin. Lisabel had always known exactly who her daughter was since the earliest of Mariah’s memories and had never asked Mariah to hide or change a single morsel of it.
Mariah smiled softly to herself, thinking about what tomorrow might bring. This dress would cause quite a stir at the palace, she was sure of it; it was so different from the styles usually favored by Onitan women, yet Mariah wouldn’t have it any other way. For a fleeting moment, she let herself dream about what may happen when the moons set and the sun rose in the sky, when she donned that dress and made her way to the palace, of the stunned silence that’d follow when she walked up those stairs, a smug smile on her lips. She would stand in the back of whatever room they lined her up in, watch the new queen be Chosen, and then would slip back out the way she came. But instead of returning to this inn, she would make her way down to the market district, her bag of gold and silver and bronze coin in hand. Maybe she would board one of those ships and pay for passage to the Kizar Islands; she’d always dreamed of cavorting with the pirates who called the archipelago home. This was what she’d spent her whole life, ever since that night when she was nine years old, dreaming about. The reason she’d let her father train her so relentlessly, why she’d risked everything to scale the walls of a lord’s manor just to retrieve an old dagger and a sack full of coin.
So that one day, she could step foot into the world alone and never look back.
CHAPTER 6
The slight rocking of the carriage for hire was enough to bring on a wave of queasiness. Mariah leaned her head back against the cool lacquered wood and shut her eyes, inhaling deeply.
She refused to admit she was nervous. Her hands might’ve been shaking, a thin layer of sweat may have clung to her skin beneath her gray cloak, but it was absolutely not from nerves. She told herself she was ready to face whatever that day might bring.
Not nervous, not nervous, not nervous …
The words were a mantra, but each time she repeated them, she only felt more nauseous.
Glancing up at the roof of the carriage, she again wondered where her father had managed to secure the cabbie. With the amount of people who must now be in the city for the Choosing, she’d fully expected to get herself to the palace that morning on her own. She’d gotten dressed quickly, slipping into the gown before styling her hair and applying simple makeup to her face—a sweep of gold shimmer across her eyelids, a line of kohl along her upper lash-line. It’d been just enough to make the deep, glowing green of her eyes pop against her tan skin. Just as she’d stepped out of her room, wrapped in her cloak and prepared to head down to the stables to saddle Kodie, Wex had emerged from his own room to stop her. He’d taken her hand and squeezed it gently before dropping it and telling her to follow him. They’d walked out the front door of the inn and, sure enough, the cabbie was there patiently waiting, her father telling her the driver was hers for the day.
Mariah could only turn and gape at her father in bewilderment, wondering if he’d finally softened up to the idea of actually using her spoils from Lord Donnet. He’d chuckled at her softly, gathering her up into a great bear hug and placing a kiss on her forehead, before shooing her gently into the cabbie and directing the driver to take her to the palace.
She inhaled deeply through her nose, holding the air in her lungs for several heartbeats before expelling it through her mouth. Her gaze drifted to the open window of the cabbie. The winding streets continued steadily uphill, taking them right up to the base of where the Attlehon Mountains roared into the sky, the golden palace gleaming at their feet.
People began to fill the streets, and her carriage wasn’t the only one. They’d joined a procession: a march of young women, all headed to the palace to learn which one of their lives was about to alter forever. For some, Mariah imagined it felt like a parade of hope, towards some new beginning or unfulfilled destiny.
For her, it only felt like a funeral procession.
That great, eerie pit deep in her stomach stirred suddenly, like a big cat opening an eye before stretching out its claws, curious about the gathering energy in the air.
Mariah drew another deep breath, shutting down as hard as she could on whatever that was. Nothing would get in the way of her impending freedom.
Nothing.
Soon, far too soon, the great gates of the palace rose up in front of them, gilded and gleaming, a bastion of the strength of the ancient kingdom. The walls surrounding the palace were even more impenetrable than the city gates, made of thick blocks of mortared white stone. However, the gates themselves were open, and the guards simply glanced at the queen’s letter Mariah handed to them before waving her cabbie through.
Inside the gates was a massive courtyard, the road arcing in a great circle around its entire perimeter. At the center of the courtyard was a fountain, a towering statue in its center in the shape of a woman, her skin made of white stone, her flowing hair and robes gilded, the golden bucket she held pouring water down into the pool beneath her feet.
Qhohena, the Golden Goddess, the giver of life and the mother of their world. The great patroness of Onita, her favored people, and the benefactor of the queen and her magic.
Mariah allowed herself a single, fleeting moment to marvel at the statue before she pulled her attention back to the buzzing courtyard around her. The carriage was still moving, gliding smoothly over the road beneath, until it came to a stop beside a row of other carriages and cabbies. Glancing behind her, Mariah noticed they were now to the left of the statue and the grand staircase leading to the true palace entrance; they must’ve passed by the steps while she’d been enraptured by the statue of Qhohena.
Okay … maybe she’d stared for more than a fleeting moment.
Mariah felt the cabbie tip slightly to the right as the driver stepped down from his perch. A soft knock sounded on her door a few seconds later.
“My lady? We have arrived. Do you require assistance?”
Mariah couldn’t help but choke down a laugh; never in her life had she resembled anything close to a “lady.” She certainly had never been called one.
However, the driver saved her from worrying about ruining her incredible ensemble, so she swallowed her retort and instead pushed the door open, meeting the middle-aged cabbie’s brown gaze as she smiled at him.
“No, thank you. I can get down on my own.” He gave her a warm smile and nodded once before stepping back, moving away from the carriage to the horse who pulled it.
Mariah felt her own smile grow further, touching her eyes, when she heard his soft, crooning words to the beast filter back over the din of the crowd.
With a deep, steely breath, Mariah shrugged out of her gray cloak, folding it on the leather bench of the cabbie, running her hands quickly through her long, dark tresses one last time.
This is nothing, she instructed herself. Plus, you look fucking fabulous.
Her grin turned savage as she swung her body out of the carriage, her feet gracefully hitting the ground as she stepped from the cabbie and closed the door behind her with a soft click. She inhaled deeply, tossing her hair over her shoulder, and began to turn to face the crowd at her back when a voice froze her in place.
“Holy shit, you look incredible.”
The voice was bright, bubbly, and feminine, like tinkling coins. Mariah whirled and found herself facing a young woman who could only be described as gold: golden hair, golden-tanned skin, even her eyes were the color of warm amber. She wore a heavy lavender gown, the skirts full of tulle and the corset bodice detailed with lace, and her face carried an expression of both envy and awe. Mariah allowed herself a quick glance down at herself because, well, the girl had a point.
She did look incredible.
The gown her mother had designed for her was unlike anything worn by the other women swarming the palace courtyard, and she could already feel more gazes being drawn to her the longer she stood there. It appeared to be made of molten, liquid gold, poured over her form and hugging her athletic curves like it was painted on. The straps over her shoulders were thin and delicate, and the neckline plunged to the center of her chest, highlighting her collarbones and the swell of her breasts. The back rose to just below her shoulder blades, the tanned skin and toned muscles of her back highlighted and accentuated.
Her skirts dripped down around her legs like melted sunlight, pooling in a short train around her feet. Two high slits were cut up both sides of the dress, the lean expanse of her legs on full display. On her feet she wore simple, strappy heels; it had been quite some time since she'd worn something other than boots, but Mariah had learned a long time ago that clothes were just as much a weapon as her grandfather’s dagger she’d strapped high on her thigh, hidden from view.
And thankfully, she’d learned how to use both.
“Thank you. I was worried it might be unseasonably warm today. Didn’t want to get bogged down by so many layers.” Mariah’s eyes glimmered with humor as she leveled a pointed look at the full, heavy skirts of the girl’s gown.
The girl’s eyes widened slightly before her face twisted into a friendly smirk. “You bitch. I knew I’d like you the second I saw you.” She lifted the heavy tulle of her skirt, huffing a laugh. “I’m already sweating my fucking face off in this Goddess-damned monstrosity.”
Mariah twisted her gaze into one of mock scrutiny. “I mean, it’s not terrible. If you’re not Chosen and want to find a new role in the palace, I’m sure they’ll be able to put you to work as a cake-topper.”
The girl was silent for two heartbeats, and Mariah felt her face fall, worried she might’ve gone too far.
It wasn’t as if she’d had much practice at making—and keeping—friends back in Andburgh.
Until the girl burst out laughing, a laugh like chiming bells, the sound bringing a chuckle to Mariah’s own lips.
Once the girl had regained control, carefully wiping tears from her face, she stepped closer to Mariah, sticking out her hand in greeting. “I’m Ciana. We’re going to be friends—sorry, you don’t get a say in that. Either accept it or … well, accept it.”
Mariah was laughing again as she clasped Ciana’s hand in her own. “I think I’ll accept it. I’m Mariah.” She paused, releasing Ciana’s grip but still smiling as she gestured toward the palace steps. “Do you want to try to walk up those gods-awful stairs with me and make fun of all the other bitches here who think they look good?”
“Abso-fucking-lutely.”
Ciana stepped forward, reaching to loop her arm through Mariah’s as if they were childhood best friends, but then suddenly froze, her gaze darting over Mariah’s shoulder, back towards the lines of carriages and the stables just behind them. At that same moment, Mariah felt a wave of awareness wash over her, like she was being prodded with thousands of tiny needles, the hairs on her arms and back of her neck rising.
“Holy shit,” Ciana whispered, her voice suddenly breathless. “If they work in the palace, then I’m never leaving. Will gladly take that job opening as a cake-topper.”
Mariah slowly turned, unsure at all what to expect, her senses still erratic.
She wasn’t prepared for what she saw.
A carriage had just pulled out, leaving a gap that opened to a direct view of the palace stables. It was there, no more than two dozen feet away under the awning over the stable walls, where a group of about twenty men lounged, all appearing to be somewhere in their late twenties to thirties. Even at the distance, Mariah could tell by the way they all either sat or stood with too-casual grace that they were some form of soldier or guard in service to the palace. The weapons adorning them only further convinced her. But none of those things were why her throat suddenly went dry and her heart leaped into her throat.
Every single one of them was ridiculously attractive.
And all of their eyes were trained on her.
The men were vastly varied in appearance: all ranges of hair color, skin color, and eye color. Despite the pounding of her heart, Mariah met the stare of each one, holding it for a second before moving on.
One of them was making her skin crawl, and she had to know who.
She made her way down the line, reaching the end, growing increasingly more frustrated when that twinge in her gut refused to relent, until—oh.
Her eyes finally landed on a tall form hidden almost completely in the shadows of the stable entrance, melding into the darkness as if he belonged there more than he did in the bright autumn daylight. It was like he wanted to avoid being seen at all costs, but the way he was staring at her … it was with such burning intensity she thought she might leap out of her own skin.
Even hidden from the light, Mariah could tell that his hair was black, a light-consuming onyx, as was his clothing. His shoulders were broad, the muscles in his crossed arms flexed, and just like the others gathered with him, he oozed the preternatural grace of one trained for war from birth.
But what really caught Mariah’s attention were his eyes.
They were a bright, glowing, gemstone blue, but not quite sapphire—they were deeper, clearer somehow. Then she remembered a stone her father had once shown her, a stone only mined from deep in the northern Everheim Mountains, a stone of the exact same shade of rich and wild blue.
His eyes were the color of tanzanite.
That feeling of awareness intensified, her ears beginning to ring, the world starting to shake and crumble around her—
Until it all suddenly stopped.
The supernatural feeling that had threatened to overwhelm her vanished in an instant, and the world came to a stand-still. The ringing in her ears was replaced by the din of the crowd around her.
Mariah blinked, flitting her gaze back to the man in the shadows. There was a moment, before he regained control of his expression, when she saw a look mirroring the confusion and nausea still roiling through her own gut. He met her stare again and a cold mask slid instantly over his attractive features, his tanzanite gaze turning to daggers.
The only thing Mariah could think to do in that moment was smirk and shove down the turmoil still tangled in her mind before dragging her gaze from him. Still feeling the weight of the other men’s stares, she tossed her hair over her shoulder one more time before turning back to Ciana. Mariah grabbed the other girl’s arm and drug her away, heading across the courtyard towards the palace steps.
As strange as that encounter was, she refused to let it distract her.
Today was the day Mariah would finally get free.
CHAPTER 7
On any other occasion, Mariah would’ve been enthralled with the gilded, sweeping architecture of the throne room of the palace.
However, today, right now, she was far too distracted by the pounding of her heart and the ringing in her ears to appreciate the wondrous beauty around her. All she could focus on was the feel of the smooth, cold wooden bench below her.
She could also notice the throne room was massive, cavernous in scope, its ceiling tall enough to make the structure of the room feel impossible. At the front of the room, situated upon a raised dais, sat a beautiful golden throne, the intricacies depicting the best of Onita’s history—rich harvests, golden skies, tall mountains, curving rivers, and membranous wings—carved into its surface visible even from the very back of the room. On either side of that golden throne were two towering pillars made of a shimmering, opaque stone—lunestair, if she had to guess. Those pillars were glowing softly, golden light pulsing ever so gently within their cloudy depths.
Long, wooden pews were arranged in neat rows down the entire length of the room to accommodate all the women in attendance, and it was upon one of those pews on which Mariah sat. Despite the hardness and the slight chill, the wood felt solid and real and was the only thing keeping Mariah grounded as she forced herself to take deep inhales and long exhales. Ciana sat beside her, fanning herself incessantly, lacking all of Mariah’s nerves but also looking like she would give anything in that moment to be free from her full skirts and tight corset.
Mariah didn’t know her new friend well, but something told her that if Ciana could’ve stood and stripped down to her undergarments right there in the middle of the throne room of Onita, she would have.
Upon entering the great palace gates, they—along with every other woman there—were funneled and ushered into the throne room, reluctantly finding nondescript seats somewhere in the center of the room. Mariah had wanted nothing more than to hide, to blend in with the crowd until this ritual was over and she could get out.
The stream of women was nearly endless, until eventually it slowed to a trickle, and movement through the doors to the throne room stopped. Everyone found a seat, and nervous whispers and the brushing of fidgeting skirts filled the cavernous room, scratching against Mariah’s skin like mosquitos in the summer. The great wooden doors of the throne room shut behind the last of them, a boom echoing throughout the vast space. A hush swept over the amassed women, and even Ciana dropped her arms to her side as her eyes widened, the anxiety of the moment written clearly across her bright features.
