Page 83 of Scourged

“I’m sorry, Andrian. But you can’t help me.” With those final words, her voice still a choked whisper, she moved around him, staying just out of his reach. Every instinct in her screamed, thrashed, pulled her back, but despite her resolve to listen to those instincts, she ignored them.

Mariah couldn’t give in to them now. Not with this.

His eyes tracked her. But he didn’t try to reach for her, to stop her.

Until his sharp inhale hit her like a drop of lead in her stomach. New emotions raced down their bond—horror,unfiltered and unmasked. And then rage, monstrous in its depth.

Her back was to him now. And in the camisole she wore, the skin of her shoulder blades was bare. Deep, roughly healed scars were on full display.

“Who thefuckdid that to you?”

His voice was quiet, a shadow of a sound, but filled with an endless, eternal rage. She could’ve sworn the temperature in the hallway plummeted several degrees, that unearthly shadows dimmed the sunlight outside.

Time froze. The world stood still. Mariah clenched her hands together so hard, she felt her nails pierce the skin of her palm. A trickle of blood dripped to the white marble floors, its splash echoing like a torrent down the hallway.

She gave herself to the pain as she turned slightly, looking back at him over her shoulder. He looked like a dark, avenging god, ready to tear the world apart once she confessed the identity of her torturer.

She swallowed thickly, blinking away the tears. So many tears. She was tired of them.

Her voice croaked, low and hoarse, when she answered him.

“You did.”

Chapter 33

Mariah was a ghost for the rest of the day, refusing to leave her rooms.

She took her shower, washing the sweat from her skin. Changed into a cotton tunic and butter-soft trousers. Then sat on her balcony, staring at the mountains, listening desperately for the wingbeats of eagles as the sun arched its way across the sky.

Mikael came and went, too, preparing a quick dinner that he left in front of her before leaving with a sad smile on his face. She ate the food, not feeling enough to taste it. Her hunger had vanished, but her body was still starved, and she now valued food far more than she ever thought she would.

Every time she blinked, she saw the look on Andrian’s face as she told him how she’d received her scars.

And each time her eyes closed, she hated herself a little more. Because while those scars on her back were caused by his hand, she knew—knew—he hadn’t been the one to hurt her.

But she’d decided to hurt him back, anyways.

When the sun set and the stars twinkled in the sky, she moved from the balcony to her bed, settling herself into the silksheets and down comforter. She fell freely into her despair and misery, like a star falling from the heavens.

But instead of falling into the vast emptiness of sleep, she awoke in a crystalline meadow, snowdrop blossoms blooming around her, the entire scenery awash in a vibrant, golden glow.

Despite the color, it didn’t feel like sunlight. This light was less harsh, more subdued, more subtle. The way it brushed her skin was calming and almost … feminine. Somehow, impossibly, the setting pulled a certain peacefulness through Mariah, something she hadn’t felt in far too long.

A figure stepped into the clearing. The light receded, revealing a woman. Golden hair, golden skin, golden eyes. Even her robes were gold, spilling around her. Much as they did in the statue of her likeness adorning the palace courtyard built in her honor.

Mariah pushed to her feet, toes curling into the cushiony grass. When she spoke, her voice was low, inadvertently reverent. A reaction she couldn’t help.

“Qhohena.”

She also realized she was dreaming.

The goddess smiled, face glowing and beautiful. While her sister was the picture of death, everything about Qhohena embodied life. Flowers were woven into her hair, and golden vines wrapped up her arms and down her legs. Her hair was a cascading rivulet of gold, like a gilded waterfall down her back. On her fingers twinkled rings of precious gemstones, and her full figure embraced feminine virility in its truest form.

Qhohena turned her lovely, youthful face to Mariah and smiled. It was like being touched by eternal life itself, nearly knocking Mariah off her feet with its potency.

“Mariah, my daughter. It is so good to meet you.”

Mariah knew her mouth gaped. Knew she was stunned by the goddess’s presence, a mystical figure she’d grown up hearing about, but a part of herself had doubted even existed.

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