Page 135 of Scourged
“Protect your blood—all of it. It is more valuable than you realize.” The goddess’s voice was fading along with her body, whispering away into nothing.
“Wait!” Mariah lurched forward, reaching out. “That’s not enough, I need to know more! I don’t even know where to begin!”
“Follow your instincts. They have never failed you before; they will not fail you now.”
Zadione’s shadowy words were the last thing Mariah heard before the goddess blinked out of existence, plunging her room back into the weak darkness of early morning.
Chapter 48
The reflection looking out at Anniliese Hareth was that of a stranger.
Beautiful, yes. The same face she recognized, pale skin beneath rosy cheeks, dark brown hair delicately curled into ringlets down her back. Her gown was a deep royal blue, the honey of her eyes enhanced by the gold shimmer across her lids.
Everything about her was the same. And yet, there was so much she didn’t recognize.
The flatness behind her gaze. The bags beneath her eyes. The sickly pallor of her skin, and the lack of shine in her tresses.
She couldn’t remember the last time she’d slept. Ever since she’d stupidly confronted Lord Shawth about thethingdwelling in this castle with them, she’d felt haunted. Followed. Watched. As if something hung over her head like a storm, eager to snatch her in its clutches and drag her into that darkness, kicking and screaming.
She’d refused to meet Lady Beauchamp for tea. Refused to join her father for dinner. Refused to do anything but sit by the window in her room, trying desperately to soak up the weak rays of the spring sun. Too scared to leave, too scared to fight, too scared to move. Wasting away in the safety of her rooms.
Until today.
Her father himself had delivered the invitation. Handed it to Anniliese, her fingers curling around the fine paper, with a stern warning that she would attend, as would he. Their host had summoned them, and it was not an invitation she could refuse.
After all, Lord Shawth had something to show them. Something Lord Hareth claimed could secure the power of the Royals in the kingdom forever. No more bothersome queens, no more relying on mysterious, finicky magic to choose unworthy, clueless women who could not make hard choices. To do what needed to be done.
Anniliese didn’t want to see it. Didn’t want to know. She wanted to be excluded from these petty power plays. Wanted to be forgotten by Lord Shawth and her father, wanted to be ignored by the queen and her little court who played at ruling in the palace.
Anniliese wanted to melt into the walls and never be seen again.
Of course, she would not be lucky enough to get her wish. Not today.
A knock sounded on her bedroom door. She straightened. Ever the well-bred and well-trained lady of a great Onitan Royal house.
“Come in.” Her voice was soft. Muted. Polished.
The handle twisted, and her father stepped through the door. His eyes quickly traced down his daughter’s silhouette. His mouth tightened, and he nodded once, a terse movement.
“Good. You’re ready.” He picked a piece of lint off the lapel of his jacket, the only sign of his nervous energy. “It is time to go.” He extended his arm to his daughter, the invitation to escort her clear.
If Anniliese were stronger, more independent, she would’ve refused him. Would’ve spit in his face for being weak, for allowing a man like Lord Shawth to do as he wished.
She was not that woman. Not the woman Mariah had asked her to be. Not fit to make such a stand for herself. She’d tried once and had been left weak and embarrassed.
Life was easier without such questions, anyways. Much simpler to fall into place where she was told to go, to let the men in her life lead her through the steps. To make those choices for her.
So, Anniliese Hareth gathered her heavy skirts and faced her father. She strode to him, placing her hand in the crook of his elbow, and let him lead her into the dark, cold halls of Khento.
Everyonein the castle was in attendance.
They were outside in the castle gardens, the same ones Anniliese had let Mariah and her Armature escape from all those weeks ago. Lord Shawth lounged upon a black and gold throne arranged on a temporary dais, his watery blue eyes watching as his guests filed into raised stands.
The center space of the gardens was bare, a great empty area circled by those risers, yet a buzzing sort of energy pressed on Anniliese’s skin. A gentle wind brushed from the south, sweeping around her and tugging at her perfect curls.
She fiddled with her choker necklace, the delicate black stone cool against her fingertips. Her gaze fixed on the chairs beside Lord Shawth, five similar thrones of dark mahogany on the raised dais.
A jostling beside her tugged her attention away. Her father pried her fingers from his arm, patting her hand once before stepping back.