Page 176 of Scourged

“It is.” Kiira nodded, folding her hands. “But it would be safe. I know you—and all those in this room—would be welcomed there without question.” Kiira’s gaze sharpened on Mariah, a hint of the predator beneath shining through. “Rulene has always been a friend to Qhohena—and to Zadione.”

Something stirred in Mariah at the mention of the Kreah Goddess. Confused glances were shared between her Armature, but she ignored them as she stood, extracting herself from Andrian’s hold. It only took a few steps before she stood before Kiira, searching her friend’s fierce expression.

“I trust your people more than I trust my own. If it comes to that, please keep them safe.”

Kiira regarded Mariah with a curious, unreadable look. She slowly bowed her head, dark braids shifting around her shoulders.

“With my life, My Queen.”

Chapter 62

Mariah hadn’t been to Qhohena’s temple since the day after the parade.

Since the day she’d visited Ryenne, standing vigil over the shrouded corpse of her fallen Armature, Cedoric. When the shadowed glass of the Antechamber of Priam had hidden the sunlight, casting the space in comforting darkness.

Now, she stood in the main temple, pews lined on either side of a narrow aisle. Candles burned around the dais at the front of the room, their wax dripping onto the floor.

The priestesses—now, just Liliane—led weekly services in the temple, the one time when those from the city were welcomed past the palace gates. Mariah had never been; that sort of group worship wasn’t for her.

But she hadn’t had it in her to tell the priestess no. Even with the threats crushing them from all fronts, they still opened the gates once a week. Citizens were allowed through, allowed a chance to stand in the temple and rest lit candles on the altar, hoping to gain Qhohena’s favor.

It was said that if your candle burned all the way down, leaving only a puddle of wax on the floor, then your plea wouldbe answered. But if your candle extinguished before the wax burned out, then the gods had found you unworthy.

For the moment, at least. Just until the next service, when you could try again.

Mariah stepped forward, boots clicking across the polished floor. She knelt before the flickering candles, the sheath on her thigh tightening around her padded leathers.

She dressed for war most days now. The only time when she wasn’t armed was at night, when she hid her dagger beneath her pillow.

And she knew Andrian also had his own blade tucked beneath his own.

It was the only way she was able to fall asleep; curled against his chest, the familiar scent of rain and sandalwood chasing away her nightmares. Her fears for her family hit her hardest at night—where they were, how they might be treated. What they might be enduring.

Because of her.

She held her hand above the dancing flames. The heat burned her palm, but she didn’t draw back.

Was this you? Is this all part of your plan, Qhohena? I was already doing as you asked. I was looking into the Solstice. I was trying to work through what happened. And now …Her throat constricted around a choked sob.

There was no use trying to speak to the goddess. She hadn’t felt even the slightest brush of otherworldly power against her skin—from either Qhohena or Zadione—since that night they’d visited her in her rooms. Even at her coronation, they were silent.

Her magic thrummed in her veins, silver and gold dancing along her fingertips. It steadied her, somehow.

The gods would not answer her, so she would make her own fate.

Become her own god.

Footsteps that wanted to be heard sounded behind her. She lifted her chin and looked over her shoulder. Andrian stood a few paces away, wreathed in shadow, the silver hilt of a longsword peaking over his left shoulder. She turned back to the candles, casting one more glance at the weak golden flames.

How silly they all were, lighting candles to gain the attention of a goddess.

As if the gods controlled this world.

Mariah stood, stepping back from the dais altar and turned towards the hallway to Priam’s Antechamber, Andrian falling silently into step behind her.

The scenebefore her was too like Cedoric’s vigil. Clouds shielded the summer sun, hazing the room in a layer of darkness, the black and gold marble gleaming.

The difference, of course, was instead of one shrouded body resting on a moveable pedestal, there were seven. Six large frames, all pointing toward the smaller shape in the center of the room.