Page 19 of Threaded

And then suddenly, her body was no longer her own.

She saw her hand outstretched above her, but never remembered lifting it.

She took a step forward, but never remembered moving her feet.

The stream of light above her head danced, winding in joyous celebration. It slowly drifted down towards Mariah’s outstretched and open palm, coyly winding closer to where she stood.

The second it met the tips of Mariah’s fingers, the world ignited.

CHAPTER8

Queen Ryenne of House Shawth, tenth Queen of Onita, could only watch as her magic poured out of her and into that beautiful, dark-haired young woman in the center of the throne room, golden power exploding in the air around them.

Even at her own Choosing, the magic hadn’t reacted so enthusiastically. Now, it was as if the floodgates were opened, those golden drops of liquid magic draining out of her faster than she could’ve ever prepared for. She knew there would be pain—the magic was so closely tied to her very essence, wound tightly with her life-force, it felt as if a part of her soul were being wrenched away—but hadn’t expected anything such asthis. Distantly, she felt a nudge from her thoughts, reminding her that she had to hold tight to just enough to hold her throne, to keep her Armature by her side, to see the ascension of this new queen.

But … she could not stop that magic from pouring out. The river in her soul felt so thrilled, so free, so full of new life and raw exuberance as it streamed across the throne room. And that young woman to whom it fled … Ryenne had spotted her the moment she’d walked into the room. Not only was she dressed in a gown of liquid gold, so different from every other woman here, but the way she’d carried herself …

Goddess bless them all.

With every passing heartbeat, she felt the pool of magic within her draining. Experience alone told her where it must stop, exactly where the bottom of that well lay. The moment she felt it begin to bottom out, mere dregs compared to what had lived in her mere seconds before, Ryenne clamped downhardon the magic pouring from her, barricading it like a dam. The few drops of magic that remained shuddered, disappointed at being held back, but Ryenne’s block held firm.

The light igniting the throne room in an ethereal glow had ceased, the early autumn sunlight streaming in from the glass ceiling above a cold shadow in comparison. The dark-haired woman had dropped to her knees, panting heavily. A blonde-haired woman next to her had dropped as well, gripping her shoulders and whispering frantically into her ear. Ryenne steeled herself with a breath and pulled the scraps of her magic close, the only remaining comfort from her Goddess.

She had waited over twenty-one years for this.

It was time to meet her successor.

Ryenne gathered her heavy velvet skirts in her hands and descended the dais. The crowd parted before her, and with a grace taught by centuries of practice, she strode through the throne room to where the dark-haired girl knelt, her golden gown pooling around her knees, her companion still holding her tight. Ryenne halted directly before them, and the golden-haired girl looked up, meeting the queen’s stare with a fierce amber gaze. Ryenne held that stare for three heartbeats before tilting her head, an indication to the girl that she meant no harm, to step back so she could approach. The girl still hesitated, appearing torn, before conceding, standing to her feet and stepping back into the gathered crowd with a final, worried glance back at her dark-haired friend.

Curious,Ryenne thought,for someone to inspire the kind of loyalty to consider defying a queen for.

Turning her attention back to the dark-haired woman, she gathered her skirts up in her hands once more and, with a fluid movement, dropped to her knees. She heard a few soft gasps at her back but paid them no mind; this young woman with an air of wildness about her was now an equal, soon to be a Queen of Onita, Chosen by the Goddess herself.

For her, Ryenne would kneel without hesitation.

She placed her right hand on the woman’s golden-tanned arm, the skin beneath her fingers warm and feverish. The woman lifted her head, and eyes of brilliant forest green met her own, eyes shimmering with all the ancient power of Onita itself. Something in them instilled both awe and fear in Ryenne, enough to make her blood run cold, even as her skin prickled with warmth.

This woman would walk a path none had gone before.

And … that frightened her.

Ryenne held that forest-green gaze as she spoke to the woman softly, gently. “What is your name?”

Those glowing eyes blinked, the magic roaring in their depths burning brighter. “Mariah Salis.”

Only the centuries of court politicking kept Ryenne’s shudder from escaping her lips.Saliswas not a name she knew.She’s common born. Not Royal.Her fear settled deeper, growing claws and turning her veins to stone. She kept her features schooled into neutrality, however; no matter who this woman was—or wasn’t—the magic of the Goddess had claimed her.

And Ryenne, if nothing else, had to trust in that.

“Will you stand with me, Mariah?”

The woman blinked again before nodding slowly, the long strands of her near-black hair shifting over her shoulders. Ryenne reached out her left hand, her right still resting on Mariah’s forearm, and pulled the girl to her feet. They rose together, unified for just a moment by the magic that dwelled in their veins. Mariah let Ryenne lead her back through the still-parted crowds to the front of the throne room, up the dais steps, until they stood between the shimmeringlunestairpillars, the golden throne at their backs. Ryenne’s skin scratched with the familiar weight of thousands of gazes. Beside her, the air seemed to vibrate around Mariah, and she noticed the girl’s hands were clenched into fists at her sides, desperate to hide the tremor coursing through her. Despite the clear panic surrounding her like a shadow, Mariah kept her face still, a mask of cold, calm indifference.

All of it filled Ryenne with an interesting combination of worry and fascination.

Ryenne gently released her grip on Mariah, gathering her skirts in her hands before turning to face the crowd at her back. Without being prompted, the young woman beside her followed her lead, her chin held high in a look of pure, wild defiance.

Despite herself, despite the intensity of the moment, Ryenne found herself barely able to suppress a grin. She saw so much of her younger self in this woman.

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