Page 146 of Threaded
“I thought a part of me would regret giving in to you, would regret the danger I’ve now put you in. But I don’t. I know you, Mariah. There’s no danger that could challenge you. Someone has tried—andfailed—twice. There’s nothing you can’t face.” He paused, leaning even further into her until their foreheads touched. As he closed his eyes, she felt him inhale deeply.
“Show them that.”
“Well, isn’t this a lovely sight?” The snide voice crawled over Mariah’s skin, grating against her nerves. Her jaw instantly clenched, and she leaned away from Andrian just enough to turn to face the manor’s double doors. Those doors were now open, and within them stood a familiar middle-aged male, his fine doublet carrying the black sun sigil of his house.
Lord Shawth wore a sneer upon his face, his eyes locked on Mariah and Andrian’s joined hands before they lifted to meet Mariah’s stare.
“Come inside,” he said, his voice still dripping with sweet poison. “Lord Laurent is already here. We’ve been waiting.”
Mariah choked down her retort, swallowing her anger at his less than respectful greeting. Releasing Andrian’s hand, she gathered her full skirts and stepped up the manor steps, following Shawth through the double oak doors.
* * *
The resplendent foyer greeting them mirrored the wealth of the estate’s exterior. A massive portrait of Lord Shawth hung on the right wall, and while he’d perhaps been younger when it was painted, Mariah was certain the artist had taken certain …liberties. Especially with the thickness of his hair, the pallor of his skin, the fullness of his chest.
Mariah had to choke back to a snort at the man’s narcissism. How typical of a man made great by the power of women.
Averting her gaze from the portrait, Mariah continued after Shawth, Andrian steady at her side. Shawth led them down the foyer hallway before turning right, pushing through yet another set of double doors of rich mahogany, the handles cast in gold and polished to perfection.
The room beyond was a parlor room, obviously decorated with a man’s taste: two fine, brown leather chairs, a great oak desk, and a gray suede couch. All dark and masculine—it was a room clearly meant to either intimidate those who didn’t belong or bring comfort to those who did. Against a wall was a bar made of wrought, plated gold, well stocked with the finest wines, whiskeys, and smokes.
Mariah doubted these men were worthy of the vices they consumed in this room.
Her eyes wandered away from the decor to the room’s other occupant. Already seated in one of those fine leather chairs was Shawth, and she forced herself to dismiss the disrespect at seating himself before her. She needed to keep her pride in check, to choke down the indignation and fury already twisting the magic in her gut. So much had gone right at the Solstice, but there was still so much to do, so much to fix before there could be real change.
But when Mariah turned her attention to the man seated next to Shawth, she wondered how far her resolve would take her.
Lord Julian Laurent was sprawled in the second leather chair, not bothering to rise when she entered the room, his gaze brazen and impertinent as it perused her and the man beside her. Andrian tensed, the air around him quickly beginning to darken and thrum with icy wrath. Without breaking Laurent’s stare, Mariah reached out her hand and rested it lightly on Andrian’s forearm, the muscles there taut beneath the sleeves of his dark jacket. She knew it was more than just rage coursing through him, the brush of a tendril of shadow against her cheek whispering to her the truth.
He wasterrified. Of his father, of being here, with her. Of the threat made against her life by the man now seated mere feet from them. Terrified that here, in this parlor room, Julian would somehow make true on the oath he’d sworn to his son.
Mariah would have none of it.
She squeezed Andrian’s arm gently, just once, hoping to convey all her conviction through that single touch. Chosen and blessed by not one, buttwogoddesses, she carried more power in her veins than seen in written memory. These small men before her would not—couldnot—hurt them.
Mariah released Andrian before stepping forward, moving towards the gray suede couch opposite from where the two lords sprawled. Andrian followed her, his shadows still tickling at her back, not receding into his skin until they’d taken a seat on the couch.
And there they all sat, watching each other for several heartbeats, no one wishing to break the tense silence settling over the stifling room. Finally, Mariah steeled herself, swallowing down her rage and her pride and every instinct screaming at her to do anythingbutwhat she was doing, and spoke first.
“I thank you both, My Lords, for agreeing to meet with me.”
Both men regarded her with unreadable expressions.
“Your note was curious,” Shawth said first. “I decided perhaps it would be in all our interests to at least hear you out. Especially considering the last time we spoke ended on … less than pleasant terms.”
“Yes,” Laurent spoke next. “We wereintriguedby your sudden change of heart. And we did agree to meet. Withyou.” His baleful golden stare cut to his son. “I was not aware we would be bringing alongcompanionsto this meeting.”
Mariah knew he was only trying to goad her, to tempt her into saying something she knew, deep down, she shouldn’t. Not yet.
But being level-headed … it wasn’t her strongest trait.
“I believe the word you are looking for, My Lord, is Armature. Or perhaps Consort. That is one I have only very recently come to enjoy.Greatly.”
So much for subtlety.
The tension in the room became so palpable, Mariah could’ve sliced it with her grandfather’s dagger strapped to her thigh beneath those full, ridiculous skirts.
“Careful, Queen Apparent.” Laurent’s voice was deadly quiet. “For the sake of Onita, I am willing to put aside ourdifferencesand listen to what you have to say, but my patience will only extend so far.”