Page 7 of Threaded

Her mother stared into those flames, her face a cool mask that looked so out of place on her soft features.

“Do you remember that night, when you were nine? When Donnet and his deputies showed up demanding payment for taxes he claimed your father and I owed?”

This time, it was not ice, but fiery rage that razed through Mariah. “Yes.” She would never, never forget that night.

Lisabel didn’t move a muscle as she continued. “I did not want you to see that, but now, I am glad you did. Because you saw what he took, and I don’t need to explain to you what it was.”

Mariah knew instantly what her mother referred to. The chest belonging to Lisabel’s father—Mariah’s grandfather. The dagger it contained, the fine blade adorned with a hundred sets of wings, dragon wings flaring across the cross-guard of its hilt.

“Your father has been training you your entire life. He only ever wanted you to be able to protect yourself, but … you aregood, Mariah. Better than most who serve in the Royal Infantry, that’s for sure. And that dagger … it means everything to me, to this family. You must get it back. Before you leave this place forever, you must get it back.” Finally, Lisabel turned to look at her daughter, the same fire that burned in her son’s veins dancing in her eyes. “Do you understand what I am telling you?”

Mariah only stared open-mouthed at her mother before nodding once.

Because …fucking Enfara. Her mother wanted her to steal her grandfather’s dagger back from Lord Donnet. Her sweet, kind, peaceable mother wanted her to commit a crime punishable by death.

If she were caught.

Not that she would be caught, of course. She knew, without a doubt, she could get that dagger back.

That didn’t lessen her shock, however.

Just then, her father and brother reappeared from the cottage, walking out with plates laden with mashed potatoes, heads of broccoli, and tender elk steaks. Their voices carried over the crackling flames, Ellan laughing at something their father must’ve said. The sound was all it took for Lisabel to morph back into the gentle woman Mariah knew. She gave her mother one last bewildered expression before turning to her approaching father and brother, the smells of the food finally reaching her nose. Her mouth instantly watered and her stomach rumbled, empty but for the whiskey she’d definitely been downing too quickly.

Her father strode to them, his keen hazel eyes darting between Mariah and her mother.

“Enjoying our night by the fire?” There was an unasked question in his voice, one that had Mariah wondering just how much he knew about what her mother had planned to talk to her about that night.

“Yes, it is such a lovely night,” Lisabel answered, leaning back to accept a kiss on the forehead from her husband. “And that food you boys have put together looks absolutely delicious.”

“It better be,” Ellan answered from across the fire. He’d settled himself where Mariah was earlier, already cutting into his elk steak. “Not only did I freeze my ass off hunting this beast the other day, but those potatoes were a bitch to mash.”

“Oh, quit whining, Ellan. Make yourself useful and add some more flame to our fire.”

Ellan shot his sister a withering look before lobbing a fireball into the flames, the force sending embers flying into the air towards Mariah. She chucked an acorn she found on the log beside her at him in return, thethumpthat sounded as it hit him squarely in the forehead bringing a grin to her face. Ellan looked ready to send another ball of fire her way before their father intervened.

“Enough,” Wex commanded. “Before Ellan burns the entire city down.”

The family ate the rest of their meal over the crackling of the fire, their boisterous banter blending into the sound of the forest around them. They stayed there until the roaring fire died down to flickering embers, all four hesitant to put the day to rest. Sometime, well past midnight, when Ellan had slumped against the log bench, passed out from too much whiskey, a soft breeze began to stir from the east, swirling Mariah’s long, dark hair around her face and gilding it in metallic moonlight. As if in answer to the breeze, a deep, dark place within her stirred to life, like a beast cracking open a heavy-lidded eye. A chill swept over Mariah’s skin, a chill she chased away with another long pull of whiskey straight from the decanter as the early autumn breeze continued to tickle her ears and whisper words she couldn’t understand, eventually chasing her to bed just as the moons began to inch their way back towards the horizon.

CHAPTER3

Adagger of sunlight streamed into Mariah’s room, burning her eyes with a vengeance.

Groaning, Mariah turned her head, burying her face into her pillow. Her bed creaked as she shifted and rolled on the small feather mattress, desperate to escape the light but knowing it would be fruitless; the lack of blinds on her tiny bedroom window meant the sun would never cease its beating against her closed eyelids. Huffing a sigh, she sat up in her bed, stretching her long, well-muscled arms above her head.

And … there. Just as she finished her stretch, all the blood in her body rushed to her skull, the pressure like a hammer against her brain. She dropped her arms back onto the down comforter, her head slumping into her palms as she moaned again.

Goddess, she hated hangovers. Especially when she was home, where she knew her mother would frown deeply at her if she tried to begin her morning with another dash of whiskey in her coffee. Just the thought of that, though, had her headache receding slightly, enough for her to lift her head from her hands. Glancing to her nightstand, she spotted the glass of water she must’ve filled the night before, the ice long melted, condensation soaking into the wood. She reached out and downed the glass in seven long, greedy gulps.

As she set the glass back down, the haze around the corners of her vision lessened just slightly, all the words exchanged over that fire came rushing back to her.

And just like that, she was dizzy again.

The book, now tucked away under her mattress. The memories of Donnet, and what he’d taken that night so many years ago. Her mother’s words, her insistent charge to get that daggerback.

Her twenty-first birthday. The freedom she’d craved for so long, ever since she’d decided being held captive in this town wouldn’t be her future.

Icy anticipation flooded her veins at everything this day, this birthday, promised. Mariah peeled herself out of bed, shivering in the chill autumn morning air seeping in through the cracks in her window, and padded to her closet. She stripped off the cotton tunic she’d worn to bed and pulled on a pair of soft fleece leggings and a gray sweater, the material warm against her slightly pallid skin. Swallowing back a bizarre urge to either kick out her window and run awaynowor sprint to the bathroom and vomit, Mariah opened her bedroom door and walked down the hallway to the open family room, following the faint smell of smoke lingering in the air from the night before.

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