Page 69 of Scourged

“Home,” she finally whispered back to Feran.

It pulsed through her like a drum, reverberating around her aching and traumatized mind.

She couldn’t remember when this place had become her home. When her life had shifted fully and she’d stopped referring to a quiet cabin in the woods on the outskirts of a crossroad town ashome.

The surprise she felt at the wave of homesickness for that perfect place was sudden, and foreign, and struck her like a punch to the gut.

She had no lost love for Andburgh. Her memories of that town and the people who resided there, for the man who called himself its lord, were far from happy. But there were three people in that town who she did miss, more than anything. Once, not long ago, her family was the only thing that kept her chin high. The only thing that kept hope in her veins was that one day, she would find a better future for herself than the one the other girls of Andburgh had before them.

Mixed with the homesickness and the surprise was something else: guilt. So muchguilt. Mariah dropped her chin to her chest to hide the tears burning behind her eyes, more shock and sadness pounding through her veins until she feared she might drown in it.

She had forgotten her family. Had completely forgotten about her brother, Ellan, and his annoying knack for being kind when the people around him didn’t deserve it. Had forgotten about her father, Wex, and his soft yet fierce protectiveness, his determination to raise a daughter who wouldn’t be crushed by what this world did to so many women who didn’t have anyone to teach them to stand on their own.

She’d forgotten about her mother, Lisabel, and her gentle healer hands and veiled golden eyes which held so much love and so many secrets. Mariah was so swept up in the excitement of her new life that she’d forgotten the one who’d made her who she was, who’d gifted her with what she’d needed to turn a situation she’d never expected to find herself in into one where she could make a difference.

Mariah was so lost in her thoughts she hardly noticed as they passed through the palace gates. It wasn’t until they passed beneath the statue of Qhohena, shimmering even in the dim waxing moonlight, that she blinked and pulled herself from where she’d drifted. She stared at the goddess’s serene face, arms open and outspread.

Your sister has spoken to me many times. So, why haven’t you?

When her only answer was her slow heartbeat and sound of water falling from the fountain’s outstretched arms, Mariah didn’t know why she felt so sad.

The horses stopped outside the stables, half-asleep stable hands rushing from the shadows to grab the reins of the weary beasts. Feran swung himself from their horse, landing firmly before offering a hand to Mariah. She took it, body stiff and sore and exhausted. He looked at her as she landed beside him, eyes dark and warm.

“Where do you want to go?” He asked gently, releasing her hand.

She wrapped her arms around herself, answering on instinct.

“My rooms. I want a bath.”

The water ranfrom the faucet, filling the massive porcelain bath with steaming, scalding water.

It would likely strip her skin raw the moment she stepped into it.

It wasn’t hot enough.

She wanted it to burn everything from her, to cleanse her to her bones. And even then, she feared it wouldn’t be enough.

It might never be enough.

The bathroom was unchanged. Her entire suite was unchanged—lived in, obviously used by her court during her absence, but that didn’t change the feeling of familiarity that washed over her the second she’d passed through those white doors gilded with a map of Onita.

Despite that feeling, these rooms still felt like those of a stranger. Of a person she’d once known before trauma shaped and forged her into someone new. Someone who did not enjoy baths because of how relaxing they were, but because they offered a chance to soak away the past. A simple means to a complicated end.

Mariah turned from the still-filling tub to meet her reflection in her bathroom mirrors. She had disrobed, leaving the sweater and leggings from her travels in a pile by the door.

A sudden wave of recognition washed over her as she stared at herself in those mirrors.

She felt like that butterfly she’d seen on the road. A being capable of complete metamorphosis. Not long ago, she’d been nothing more than a simple commoner, the outcast daughter of a healer and a soldier. Her life was uprooted, and she’d transformed into a queen apparent who wore resplendent gowns and attended balls with members of the continent’s elite.

She’d now undergone yet another metamorphosis. From royalty … to wraith.

For that was what stared back at her in the polished, floor-length mirrors. A wraith, her once-tanned skin now pale and sickly, cheeks sunken and eyes ringed in dark shadows. Her hair hung in limp, matted strands down her back, and her bones poked uncomfortably beneath her skin. Her collarbones were too prominent, ribs too visible. Even the generous, muscular curve of her hips and thighs had wasted away, leaving nothing more than a ghostly skeleton in its wake.

The only part of her that still looked familiar were her eyes, the forest-green ringed by dense grey and glowing with faint silver-gold light.

She was glad that even though her body no longer felt like her own, she still had her eyes.

Mariah stared at her reflection for many long moments, unmoving as the bath behind her filled and filled. The room became wreathed in steam, and she tore herself from the stranger in her reflection to turn off the faucets as the water neared the lip of the tub. She sank thankfully into the near-scalding water with an audible sigh. As expected, the water burned her skin, but she welcomed it.

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