Page 128 of Threaded
Delaynie had never—never—spoken so much at once. She was always the quiet one, so controlled and perfectly poised, brilliant and steady as the ground beneath their feet.
Now, she was an earthquake, her frustration and exasperation rolling through the room in waves.
And also like an earthquake, her mood vanished as quickly as it had struck. She fixed her expression back to its usual one of pleasant courtliness, straightened her spine, and sat back down primly in her chair, smoothing the skirts of her gown.
“Forgive me. I should not have snapped like that.”
Ciana was the first to crack, her boisterous laugh ringing out around them.
“By the Goddess, Del! I alwaysknewyou were hiding a mountain stormcat beneath those fancy clothes.”
Mariah could only watch on in stunned silence as Delaynie blushed, her pale cheeks turning rosy. The comparison by Ciana to the mysterious and fierce creatures that were said to roam the Attlehon Mountains was an astute one, but all that wildness vanished from Delaynie in a flash.
Mariah wondered how easily it might be in the future to pull it back out.
“Not quite the comparison a Lady desires for herself, but … thank you, I suppose.” Delaynie took a deep breath before meeting Mariah’s gaze. “I was just … frustrated you had not realized that yet. That we are sitting here, searching for answers, when you yourself may already carry everything we need.”
Mariah finally found her voice, her surprise falling away as her mind began to turn. “I … I never really bothered to think about it. My life before here was so different. Sometimes I forget that me and the girl from Andburgh are the same person—” Mariah’s voice cut short, adrenaline flooding her veins, her head whipping around to face the darkness of the stacks and tunnels behind her.
Someone was there. She’d heard it; a light footfall on stone floors.
She’d sent the librarians home that morning.No oneshould be in this library. Silver-gold ropes of magic uncoiled through her veins, pushing out of her skin and wrapping around her left forearm like a whip as her right hand went to the hilt of her grandfather’s dagger at her thigh.
“Is someone there? This library is closed.” Her voice was strong, aided by the magic flowing through her. She pushed back from her seat, Ciana and Delaynie rising with her, moving around the table to stand on either side of Mariah. They all stood, tense, staring hard into the shadows, searching for any sign of movement.
And saw … nothing.
Mariah almost started to worry that she’d imagined the sound when she heard it again.
But this time, it was closer. Just out of sight in the darkness.
“Show yourself,” she hissed, the rope of light slipping into her grip. With a flick of her wrist, she sent her magic out from her hand and into the darkness, illuminating the stacks until it found someone, pressed against the shelves. Something in her core, in the root of that power, suddenly flickered to life as her magic split into two thin chords …
… andwrapped themselvesaround the hands of the intruder, binding their wrists together and yanking them forward into the light.
Mariah’s control stuttered and almost slipped.
This magic … it wasn’t supposed to do that. That’d been one of Ryenne’s first lessons to her; that the Goddess’s magic, while powerful, was not corporeal. It couldn’t touch or grab or harm, no matter how much Mariah might will it.
And yet, there she was, the feeling of someone’s skin racing back to her through those threads of light as if they were gripped in her own hands.
Mariah shoved down her surprise, her elation, herterrorat whatever it was she’d just unlocked, composing herself right before her captor came into view.
The spy was short and slim, and wore a long, dirty, and tattered black cloak that entirely concealed their features from view. Peeking through the ragged hem of the cloak were smaller, slippered feet, the material that had likely once been a soft gray now stained and worn.
A … woman?
“I apologize for surprising you, but there is no need for this, Your Majesty,” the figure spoke in a curious, melodic voice.
Mariah knew that voice.
The silver-gold bindings holding the woman’s wrists fell away, and Mariah snapped one up to the hood of her cloak, flicking the material back to reveal the features underneath.
The strange silver shroud she’d been wearing at the ball was gone, but she still wore the same odd gown, the material now dirty and wrinkled. Her face matched her voice perfectly: not young, but not old, her tan skin and raven hair framing a pair of stunning, dark violet eyes.
She was Leuxrithian.
“How …? What are you doing here? Who in the Goddess’s nameareyou?”