Page 145 of Threaded
“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. “Youdid 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-goldallumetwist and dance in its depths.
“This was only the first step towards a better future. Theallumeis 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 cannotpossiblybe 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 thelunestairpillar. 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 theallumedwelling within the pillar.
After all, like would always call to like.
But then … she felt something. Something deep within the brilliant light of theallume. Something that felt … dark, and sinister, andwrong. Unlike theallume, 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.