Page 96 of Scourged

Clamminess washed over Anniliese’s skin, the air too hot. She remembered the part she’d been asked to play. Even at the beginning, when she was all too eager to rub her victory in Mariah’s face … something had never settled right in her stomach. She swallowed past a lump in her throat, remembering Andrian’s empty stare and blind obedience, only shaken when in the presence of the young queen.

Anniliese would never tell Mariah, but that night she’d kissed Andrian at her father’s behest, she’d raced to her room, sick for hours. She’d sat in the shower until her handmaids had to drag her out, desperate to wash the disgust and shame from her skin.

She shook her head, delicately clearing her throat. She’d done what she had to do to support her family. Just as she’d always done.

Anniliese wound her way down the upper-level halls, inching closer to her rooms in the west wing. She strode past the northern hallways, a part of the castle reserved for the members of House Shawth. It housed not only their residential rooms but their family coffers and troves.

Her steps quickened.

She did not fear House Shawth. They were the most powerful of the Royal families and had led Onita with strength and dignity for centuries. As their gracious hosts, her family was indebted to them for leading this battalion against the unworthy claimant to the throne.

But she couldn’t stop the shiver of fear scraping down her spine each time she walked by this section of the castle. How an air of darkness, of misery, of fate, seemed to reach out with clawed talons, wanting to reach itself around her and draw her down into the whispering deep.

It was a figment of her imagination; Anniliese was sure of it. She just wasn’t used to living in a castle so large and ancient.She’d spent nights in the palace, certainly, but that was the palace. A place she’d thought to one day call her home.

She was just unfamiliar with this place, that was all.

But each day, it became harder and harder to deny how the darkness grew in force and strength. How it cried out to her with increasing fervor, a dangerous temptation that scared her far more than it intrigued her.

And today, it was almost unbearable. She was nearly running by the time she reached the end of the hallway, fleeing from whatever invisible force chased her and called to her at the same time. She rounded a final corner and kept running.

Anniliese halted when she reached her guest wing and slumped against the wall, catching her breath as her mind churned. It had never been so bad before. She wondered if anyone else noticed, if the castle staff who ventured there could feel it. It was now past the point of her imagination; what she’d felt just then was undeniably real and terrifying.

Mariah’s words to her before she’d fled the castle gardens with her Armature in tow, flashed through her mind.

“I understand why you feel you must stay. But stop letting these men run your life as if it wasn’t your own. You know, deep down, that isn’t what you want.”

Anniliese straightened.

She certainly felt no affection for the young queen. Mariah was brash and rude and unpolished, all the things Anniliese was not. But, for whatever reason, when Mariah had asked Anniliese to abandon her family and go with them … she’d hesitated. And then, even when she’d said no, Anniliese had turned her back and made for the castle without sounding the alarm.

She hadn’t said a word about that night to anyone. And still, she didn’t know why. A weakness had sprouted that night, one she hadn’t been able to overcome.

However, there was something about those last words that lingered. Some truth in them. Anniliese pushed her head higher and made her way to her chamber doors. A handmaid greeted her, having already drawn a bath and laid out her evening gown.

As she was cleaned and primped and dressed, she resolved to ask their gracious host about the darkness she’d felt. She was, after all, a lady of a great house.

She deserved answers about the place where she currently rested her head. And answers she would get.

Anniliese satbeside her father in the private dining chamber, picking daintily at the lemon tart she’d been served for dessert. A glass of sparkling wine also sat in front of her, untouched.

She wanted her wits about her tonight as she asked her question.

Across the table sat Lady Shawth, her silver-streaked auburn hair coiled into a crown atop her head, her hazy eyes empty and emotionless. The Lady of Khento was quiet, but of just the right breeding to bear Lord Shawth’s sons. Those sons were too young to join them at the table, but Lady Shawth seemed ambivalent to the absence of her children.

She seemed ambivalent to most things, actually.

Her husband sat beside her, whiskey tumbler in hand, leaning back in his chair as he jested with Anniliese’s father, Lord Hareth. Anniliese speared a piece of her tart with her fork as Lord Shawth roared with laughter, her father chuckling forcefully in answer.

Anniliese felt sorry for her father sometimes. He was a widower—her mother had died many years ago, leaving him alone with a daughter, a castle in Ettervan, and no male heirs.Anniliese had a baby brother once, very briefly. But that baby brother was the same life that took her mother from the world before following her quietly into the afterlife a few days later.

She chewed on her tart, the bitter sweetness pleasant on her tongue, remembering those early days after her mother and brother had passed. It had made her Choosing even more critical. The Royals had all been informed of Ryenne’s abdication, and the future of Anniliese’s very house hinged on her ascension to the throne.

That was what her father had told her every single day as she’d grown up. She had to be perfect, the ideal image of Onitan Royalty. One who the magic could not possibly pass up.

Then Mariah had stolen that from her, and she’d returned to her father with her head bowed and an apology on her lips. All their plans slashed to pieces.

Anniliese’s fork clattered to her plate. Lord Shawth paused in his animated storytelling, and her father shot her a frustrated look. Even Lady Shawth’s dead eyes flickered away from her glass of wine.

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