Page 8 of Threaded

“What’s for break … fast …” Mariah’s forced, cheerful greeting died off quickly as she took note of her family, all seated at the dining table together, faces fixed in neutral expressions. Even Ellan was up and seated at the table—Ellan, who never got out of bed this early unless it was to sneak a girl out of the house before their mother noticed.

Wex and Lisabel were also seated at the table: Wex at the head, Lisabel to his right, Ellan to his left. Their gazes, filled with a strange combination of curiosity and fear, weren’t focused on Mariah; instead, all three of them stared at the wax-sealed, cream-colored letter Lisabel held in her hand, her head cocked slightly to the side.

Mariah stood in the entryway to the family room for several moments, analyzing what in the Goddess’s name was happening, trying desperately to pick apart the look on her mother’s face. But her brain was still hazy with sleep and the remnants of liquor, and she couldn’t do much more than watch her family all continue to sit together in eerie silence. After what felt like an eternity, her mother finally pulled her attention from the letter and turned her golden-brown gaze to Mariah. She twisted in her chair, extending the letter towards Mariah, and spoke.

“This is for you. A messenger arrived no more than a few minutes ago.”

Confusion burst through Mariah, followed quickly by a wave of panic. No one should be contacting her. No oneevercontacted her. She kept no friends in Andburgh—at least, not the kind who would send friendly birthday notes to her family’s home.

Suddenly, memories of her conversation with Annabelle flashed through her mind. The confession she’d made to the golden-haired princess of Andburgh society: that as soon as she turned twenty-one, she would be leaving this place.

And there was one individual in town who Mariah knew wouldn’t take kindly to her rejection of this miserable little place.

“Annabelle. Thatbitch. She fucking sold me out, didn’t she? She told Donnet or his cronies that I’m planning on leaving. I’m going tokillher—”

“It has nothing to do with Annabelle,” Lisabel sternly interrupted. “Or Donnet. Just … open it.”

Mariah’s red-hot anger bubbled into icy fear, like a hot metal dipped into cold water. The look on her mother’s face held her tongue, biting down on the barbed remark trying to escape. Her eyes flashed to the sealed letter, noting the fine cream parchment and the sheen of the gold seal on the back. Slowly, she forced her legs to move towards the dining table, her limbs suddenly leaden with the strange, heavy feeling of dread.

She reached the table and took the letter from her mother’s outstretched hand, glancing into those golden-brown eyes that had always been the rock grounding her swirling chaos, had always been so strong even when faced with so much. A soft, knowing smile spread across her mother’s face, a clear attempt to soothe whatever whirlwind was threatening to spin through Mariah at that moment. Mariah lifted an eyebrow at her mother, but Lisabel only dropped her gaze to again stare at the parchment now clasped firmly in Mariah’s hand.

Mariah watched her mother for a few more heartbeats, running her thumb across the smooth parchment. It felt incredibly fine, soft as silk beneath the pads of her calloused fingers. Pulling every scrap of resolve she had to her, she lowered her gaze to the paper, and read the words written in delicate, feminine calligraphy on its front:

Ms. Mariah Salis.

Mariah swallowed loudly, unsure if the sudden dryness in her mouth was caused by that still-present hangover or by the letter. She flipped the parchment over, eyeing the gold wax seal up close, and her heart dropped out of her chest to the worn, wooden floor.

Now she wassureshe needed to throw up.

She knew that seal; it had been drilled into her from her very first days of schooling. The personal seal of the Queen of Onita, sent from the great palace at Verith, the glimmering coastal capital of their kingdom. With shaking hands, Mariah slid a finger under the seal, breaking it. She carefully opened the letter, a bolt of pure, unadulterated excitement tinged with the sharp sting of terror lancing through her as she began to read.

Ms. Mariah Salis:

From the desk of Her Majesty, Queen Ryenne the Fair, of House Shawth.

Over twenty-one years ago, our beloved Golden Goddess, Qhohena, the light of the Golden Moon, made it known my time as your queen was nearing its end. An abdication occurred, and that night, a single drop of my magic was sent forth into Onita, seeking out the one who is Goddess-blessed and worthy of ascension onto the Golden Throne of Onita.

Since then, I have held onto what remains of my magic the best I could to protect our future queen from harm; however, my magic, the blessed magic of Qhohena gifted only to the Queen of Onita, now calls to its new lady, and it is time for the Choosing.

As a recipient of this letter, you, dear child, are an Onitan woman who has not yet exhibited any Goddess-blessed magic of your own and who may have received that drop of the Queen’s power upon the completion of the Abdication all those years ago. While I cannot compel your attendance, your presence is hereby requested at the Queen’s Palace at Verith within seven days’ time. There, you will present yourself before me for the Choosing, at which time my magic will finally identify who it selected to be the next Queen of Onita.

I, and all of Onita, await you.

In Qhohena’s Name,

Queen Ryenne Shawth

Mariah read the letter again to herself, unable to form a cohesive thought.Abdication … Queen … Choosing.Words and thoughts continued to form and dissipate in rapid succession.

Ellan, of course, was the one to break the tense silence. “Well, M, what does it say?”

Mariah, without glancing at her brother and keeping her voice soft and controlled, read the letter aloud to her sitting family. A heavy pause settled upon the house, the air growing stifling and thick.

“Today is my twenty-first birthday.” Mariah’s words were still quiet, her voice revealing nothing beyond cold detachment. “And I thought I might actually, finally, be able to be free. That the worst that might happen is our dumbass lord discovering my intentions to leave and trying to stop me.”

No one spoke a word as something shifted within Mariah, that frozen tundra melting to something hot, burning, consuming.

This was worse than Donnet intervening in her life. It wassomuch worse. While she was sure she could’ve handled the lord, could’ve slipped through his grasp no matter what, this was something else entirely.

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