Page 119 of Threaded
No matter how many times she scrubbed at her skin or tried to chase away the taste and smell and feel of it with wine or whiskey, the blood was still there, clawing at her insides and making her skin crawl like there were insects in her veins.
She’d utterly lost herself. Given herself completely to the dark call of the magic in her veins. And in her rage, she’d let it take control, consuming her until it drove her to slit a dying man’s throat, bathing her hands in his sticky, warm blood.
It had felt so unlike the time she’d lost control with the Royals, at the incident that killed old Lord Beauchamp. That had been unintentional, only meant to be a warning, the fatality that day the result of an already failing heart. This … this was something completely different.
It wasn’t that it had been hard to do; no, that wasn’t what made her feel sick and haunted.
It was that it had been far tooeasy.
The threaded magic in her veins had sung a song of death, thrumming a symphony of power when she’d felt the life of the nameless assassin drain out over her hands, pooling beneath her feet in dark crimson mirrors. Then there’d been the feeling of the dark, hidden, primal part of her answering the tune of her magic, stirring at the scent of blood in the air as if that was just what it needed to awaken from a long slumber.
Those feelings … they’d terrified her to her core. Enough to wrench herself back from the grip of her magic, pushing it down into that place where it dwelt in her soul, enough for her to see her reflection in the bloody pools on that roof andrun, her grandfather’s dagger dropping to the ground with a clatter she didn’t hear. She’d run down the stairs, run towards where Kodie still stood, reins held firm in Sebastian’s grasp. She didn’t speak to Sebastian, didn’t demand to know why he hadn’t returned to the palace with Ryenne and the rest. She’d only ripped Kodie’s reins from his grip, swung herself into her worn black saddle, and spurred her horse down the streets of Verith, some inner compass guiding her towards the familiarity of the palace even though it was far from a place she could call home.
After all, it wasn’t as if she had anywhere else to go. Not anymore.
Not with the power of a death goddess flooding her veins and threatening to override every piece of who she was.
Or … who shethoughtshe was.
Andrian had found her an hour later, sitting on the floor of her massive shower, scalding hot water raining down from the faucet and the air filled with thick, billowing steam. He’d set her grandfather’s dagger, now cleaned and polished and completely spotless of the crime it had just committed, on the counter of her vanity before slowly making his way to the shower. He’d stepped through the glass doors, still fully clothed, and knelt beside her, not bothering to even take off his boots. They’d sat like that for a long moment, Mariah refusing to meet his heavy stare even though she felt it burning her skin as much as the water falling from above, until eventually she felt calloused fingers grip her chin. Andrian lifted her head to meet his gaze, blue eyes molten and glowing in the thick air. When he spoke, his voice was low and soft, just loud enough to be heard over the patter of the water falling around them.
“Vengeance is not a sin,nio. Allow yourself this one moment to adjust yourself to the person you are now, the person you had to become to protect those you care for. But don't wish you hadn’t done it. Never wish to change an evolution that was always destined to occur.”
With those words, he stood, his black clothes and hair dripping, and backed out of the shower the same way he’d walked in. He left her with her thoughts, and to do exactly what he’d just instructed her to do.
She remained there on the tiled floor as she adjusted to her now-shattered soul, weaving those rips and tears in the fiber of her being back together, letting them heal and callous over until she couldn’t remember what it had felt like to be soft.
* * *
Mariah slept fitfully that night, but she did sleep.
For a few hours, at least.
She awoke bleary-eyed with the weak dawn light, thepitter-patteroutside her window of an early winter rain threatened to lull her back to sleep. Despite the rain, the air was cold—not cold enough to freeze, but cold enough in her room to see her breath puff in soft clouds in front of her. Mariah peeled back the heavy comforter of her bed, shivering, making a mental note as she padded into her bathroom to ask for firewood to be brought up so fires could be started in the hearths in the living room and her bedroom. She twisted the faucets to her massive, ridiculous bath, leaning against her vanity and staring at her reflection as the giant basin began to fill.
Her eyes looked … empty. And Mariah hardly recognized the face that stared back at her. She’d never felt more like a stranger in her own flesh.
Soon, her bath was ready, and she gratefully sank into the hot water, the steam sticky and clammy against her skin.
She wasn’t sure how long she stayed there, but it was long enough for the water to go lukewarm and the chill to begin to seep back into the hollows of her soul.
Soon, far too soon, Ciana came barging into her bathroom, followed closely by the girl with mouse brown hair who’d dressed Mariah for thePorofirat.
Brie. Her name was Brie.
Ciana stomped up to the bath, clucking like a mother hen as she stared down at Mariah.
“Good Goddess, Mariah. How long have you been in there?”
Mariah closed her eyes, pretending to settle herself back further against the headrest of the bath. “Not nearly long enough. Go away.”
Ciana snorted. “You’re literally a prune. Seriously, get out.” There was rustling, and Mariah cracked her eyes to see Ciana pulling out a thick, plush, warm-looking towel from a cabinet. Turning back to Mariah, Ciana held the towel out invitingly, peering around it with a stern look on her brow. Mariah rolled her eyes but stood, stepping into the warmth Ciana offered her. She toweled the moisture from her skin as Ciana watched her, thatlookstill on her face.
“What? Stop looking at me like that.”
Ciana humphed. “You know, Andrian told me that you were in here doing your own version of sulking—you two areperfectfor each other, by the way—but enough is enough. It’s time to put your grown-ass queen panties on. As you know, shit hit the fan yesterday, and you’re needed in the temple at once.”
Mariah turned and stared at her friend, blinking slowly. “… Put my ‘grown-ass queen panties on?’ Seriously, are you ten?”