Page 120 of Threaded
“Twelve, actually. Now seriously, you need to get dressed.”
Mariah tried to laugh—she really did—but all she could manage was a weak smile. However, Ciana took that as a victory and pushed her down in the chair at the vanity as Brie stepped forward with a brush, running it through Mariah’s dark, damp hair.
“I’m not sulking, by the way.”
Ciana, who’d moved into Mariah’s closet, turned back around, her amber eyes flashing to meet Mariah’s in the mirror. “Oh, yeah?”
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.”
“Ourquick 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 steadydrip, drip, dripof 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 thestatementthat 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 leastonegood thing had come of her actions yesterday.
Those hateful brown eyes bore down on Mariah, an obvious attempt to get Mariah to cave.