Page 25 of Threaded

Mariah’s blood chilled at the tone in her friend's voice. It sounded so unlike her, so lacking in her usual luster and sparkle. She swallowed hard before answering.

“It seems you and I have more in common than just our new home.”

Ciana gave her a sad, somber smile. “While I’m beyond grateful that I’m now here with you, I also sincerely hope that our new home is the only common thing that we share.”

Mariah held her gaze for a moment before blinking down to look at her food.

Everyone had a past. There was no point getting caught up in it now, not when everything had just changed, their futures rewritten by the gods themselves.

So, Mariah changed the subject, and chose to ignore the pain she’d seen in her friend’s eyes. Instead, she opted to laugh and talk with Ciana into the late hours of the night, eventually falling asleep on the plush gray and white couches adorning the living room. Moonlight streamed in through the wall of windows, its soft caress like silver and gold fingers on Mariah’s cheek as she faded into unconsciousness.

CHAPTER11

Popping oil and soft movements, along with the salty-sweet smoke of what could only be bacon frying, pulled Mariah from the clutches of sleep, sunlight streaming through the walls of windows.

She groaned as she rolled onto her stomach on the plush couch, her legs tangling in a soft blanket, her hair a mane of darkness around her head. She opened her eyes to see Ciana rustling on another couch in the sprawling living room, her golden eyes blinking open, reflecting the same feeling of disorientation Mariah felt swimming in her head. Scrubbing at her eyes, Mariah stretched her limbs, her arms and legs sore and tight after the days spent on the road.

The night on the couch hadn’t helped, either.

With another grunt, Mariah heaved herself into a sitting position, and finally turned her head towards the source of the sounds and smells that had awoken her. Her gaze was pulled to the kitchen, and she realized with a sudden jolt that they weren’t alone.

A small man wearing a chef’s apron around his front was bustling around the kitchen, his wild, curly strawberry blonde hair pushed out of his face by a thin strap of worn gray cloth. He sported a youthful face that made it hard to tell his true age, his skin heavily freckled, his eyes creased with smile lines.

Mariah quietly stood from the couch as he continued to labor in the kitchen, her eyes darting to where she’d discarded her grandfather’s dagger on the kitchen island the night before. It lay there, that precious piece of steel, right behind where the small man was hard at work. She watched him for a few more heartbeats, holding herself as still as a statue, before deciding her curiosity outweighed the potential threat.

After all, who could possibly touch her here, deep in the heart of the great palace? She was likely safer here than she’d ever been in her entire life.

She padded on near silent feet into the kitchen, eyes never leaving the newest arrival. As she neared, traversing the massive living space, a jaunty tune filtered over the sound of crackling bacon—humming. The man was humming to himself, his body swaying slightly to his music, the tune off-key and unrecognizable. Mariah continued to move closer until she stood before the kitchen island, the dagger now within an easy arm’s reach. The man was oblivious to her approach, however, too immersed in the preparation of the, frankly,gloriousbreakfast coming together in that kitchen. There was even a full carafe of what appeared to be coffee, the rich aroma tickling at Mariah’s nose. After a few increasingly awkward minutes, Mariah finally cleared her throat as softly as she could.

The man jumped at least a foot in the air, the utensils in his hands flying from his grip and clattering to the ground. He whirled around, meeting Mariah’s gaze, his own eyes widening as he realized, finally, that he wasn’t alone.

“Oi, darkness between the stars! Ya scared me half to death!” The man pressed a palm to his chest, breathing deep as his wide eyes took in Mariah, whose own expression slowly morphed from curiosity into one of pure incredulity.

“I’m … sorry?” Mariah said, twisting her hands in front of her. “I didn’t mean to startle you, but … who are you, and what are you doing here? Did Queen Ryenne send you?”

All valid questions.

The stranger’s eyes widened even further. “You … you wouldn’t happen to be Her Majesty Mariah, would ya?” His accent was thick, clearly not Onitan, but not one Mariah could place.

Not that she’d much experience with different accents.

Mariah blinked slowly at the man.Her Majesty Mariah. She hadn’t expected that.

While she found it excessive … she didn’t hate the respect it commanded. And that shocked her more than anything that’d happened the day prior at the Choosing.

She composed herself before answering the small man. “I am, actually. Pleased to meet you, I suppose. And you would be …?”

The man flushed a bright ruby red before bending deeply at his waist, his head nearly disappearing below the countertops. “My Queen!” He rose ever so slightly, so he could peer up at her from beneath thick strawberry blonde lashes. “Please accept my humblest apologies for the intrusion and my lack of manners. I believed ya to be in your sleeping quarters, but clearly, I was gravely mistaken.” He lifted himself up fully from his bow, his head still dipped, eyes still peering up. “My name is Mikael, and I’m your appointed chef, an honor I hope to spend my entire life living up to. I’d thought Queen Ryenne had informed ya I may be coming this morning, but it appears I was mistaken. I, again, sincerely apologize for the blunt intrusion.”

An appointed chef?It seemed the longer she remained here in this palace, this place where only yesterday she dreaded beyond measure to enter, the more opportunities and amenities opened their doors to her.

If she was to give up her version of freedom, at least she’d get a personal chef in exchange.

Mariah visibly relaxed, a smile spreading across her face as she met the man’s gaze. “Please, Mikael, call me Mariah. I’m sorry for startling you; Ryenne must’ve forgotten to inform me you would be coming, but you’re welcome all the same.”

The man—Mikael—finally lifted up his head, his own smile touching his merry face. “It is my deepest honor … Mariah.” And with that, he turned back to the crackling pan behind him, flipping the slices of bacon as they continued to fill the room with their salty-sweet aroma. “There is fresh coffee, imported straight from Vatha, ready for you in the carafe on the island. I do hope that bacon and omelets are acceptable to you. Does ham, cheese, and tomato sound appetizing?”

Right on cue, Mariah’s stomach grumbled, the sound traveling around the kitchen. Something about this palace made her ravenous; she’d always loved to eat, but never had an appetite quite like the one she had now. “Yes, that sounds absolutely wonderful.” She turned away, allowing Mikael to continue his crucial labors, only to find Ciana finally staggering up from her couch, her blonde hair framing her head like a golden halo, her eyes and lips parted slightly as the smells from the kitchen reached her nose. She yawned once, stretching her arms above her head, before she spoke.

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