Page 165 of Scourged

Mariah held the gaze in her reflection for two more heartbeats before turning away.

Brie had also somehow found attire suitable for her Armature in less than a day. They all wore a dark, regal gray, delicately embroidered with patterns of silver and the faintest lacings of gold. Their weapons were on full display—short swords crossed across their backs, longswords sheathed at their hips, daggers and knives in baldrics across their chests. The ladies of her court were also there, each wearing a gold dress so pale that it almost looked silver.

And beside her stood Andrian, no weapons in sight except for the faint shadows twining down his arms. Mariah knew his black-bladed dagger was on him somewhere, hidden beneath his jacket.

Hopefully, though, there would be no need for that tonight.

Everyone was gathered and waiting. Her court, her friends, her family. Andrian stepped closer to her side, and she inhaled deeply.

“I don’t have much I need to say that hasn’t already. I wouldn’t be standing here, right now, if it weren’t for every one of you. I’m happy to be home, but I’m ready to fix the things that are broken in this world. And with your help, I know I’ll be able to.” She drew in another breath, expelling it through her nose. “So … let’s go make me a queen, shall we?”

Feral grins and wild smiles answered her. She placed her hand on Andrian’s waiting arm and stepped out of her rooms and toward the next part of her future.

The throne roomwas quiet and dim, lit only by thelunestairpillars at the front of the room, and the candles scattered in a circle around the throne.

And on that throne sat Ryenne, wearing her usual gown of crushed red velvet, the snowdrop crown of Onita on her brow.

Mariah bit her cheek to hold back her gasp of surprise. She’d known her rise into her power would weaken Ryenne, had remembered how old and frail the queen was when she’d visited Mariah after her return from Khento. But nothing could’ve prepared Mariah for Ryenne’s appearance now, for the way her skin sagged around her face and her body curled in on itself on the throne as if lacking the strength to even remain upright.Beside her sat her own Armature, looking as frail as their queen, and at the foot of the dais steps stood the last ladies of her court, ladies who likely never imagined they would somehow outlive their ageless queen.

Mariah’s gaze swept over Delaynie’s mother. And her father, a member of Ryenne’s Armature. Her heart squeezed in her chest at the realization that no more than twenty years after finding each other, they would be separated by the same gods who’d made their daughter’s life possible.

Swallowing her sadness, Mariah strode down the long throne room, heels clicking against the marble floor. Her court flanked her—Andrian on her right, Sebastian to her left, the rest of her Armature and ladies following behind. Their footfalls rang eerily through the nearly empty cavern, heralding a melody of change.

Kalen, seated beside Ryenne, pushed to his feet as they neared the dais steps. His face pinched with exertion, his once-youthful body now hunched and frail. Mariah halted, the rest of her court fanning out behind her.

With all the strength he had left, Kalen set his shoulders and lifted his chin, representing his queen as her consort, one final time.

“Who approaches the throne of Queen Ryenne of House Shawth, Chosen of Qhohena, Protector of Onita and Lady of Verith?”

Mariah paused before the steps, hands tightening around her skirts as a wave of apprehension and fear and sickening dread washed over her.

She knew she wanted to be queen. Knew in her soul, in the place beside those silver and gold threads that twined and danced together, that this was an inescapable destiny. But her hesitation came from a dark place born in a cold and lonely cell in the bowels of a loathsome northern castle. From a desire tochange her kingdom for the better after it was so twisted by foul greed and a wicked sense of possession.

It came from the crack of a whip, the sundering of her skin, the slow drip of blood down her back. From sweaty hands on her skin and in her hair, touches she’d locked away from herself—until now.

She was lost to those memories for too many tense beats of her heart. Lost in herself, at the magnitude of what she’d endured, the realization that despite this being her fate, she would never succeed. Not like this, not as damaged as she was.

Until the faintest of touches across her spine brought her back. A touch from a warm, calloused hand, skin she recognized as well as she did her own. It swept across her scars, revealed by the open back of her gown and the short length of her hair. She twisted her glance over her shoulder to meet a pair of tanzanite eyes with shadows dancing in their depths.

She almost—almost—swore she heard his voice whisper in her head, the stroke of his consciousness down the one bond that she could not close.

“Are you alright,nio?”

She wasn’t, but with him … maybe she could be.

So, she let her lips turn up into a soft smile and nodded. Something small but enough for him to see.

There were more words there, but she didn’t know if they were from the bond or her memories.

“Show them what moonlight really looks like.”

Still smiling, she returned her attention to the dais, where Kalen stood and Ryenne sat, their expressions regal and expectant.

“I do.” Mariah drew in one more breath, pushing back her shoulders. “I lay claim to the power of Qhohena, the throne of Xara, and the kingdom of Onita.”

Silence answered her. Kalen turned, glancing down at his queen. Offering his arm, Ryenne laid her hand on his, and with shaky legs rose from her great golden chair.

Despite her weak appearance, she was steady once she stood, head held proud and ocean-blue eyes shimmering with centuries of life. She leveled that stare on Mariah, heavy enough to make Mariah’s skin itch and her throat tighten.

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