Page 167 of Scourged

“Stand beside the throne, Mariah.”

Mariah nodded, obeying Liliane’s direction. Ryenne had mentioned briefly what this ritual might entail, but also informed Mariah that this was something the priestesses guarded close. While a queen and her court knew, no others did.

Hence the small crowd there tonight. There would be a more formal celebration later, when no weaknesses could be exploited.

For that was the secret.

Ryenne still held a piece of Qhohena’s magic—a meager, miniscule drop. Enough to fight off the infirmaries of time but not enough to heal wounds inflicted by more nefarious actors.

And if something were to happen to either queen before this final ritual could occur, the queen’s full power would be lost forever.

Mariah’s magic writhed awake as she met Ryenne’s stare. Liliane stood before them both, and from within her pale gold robes she withdrew a slender, wickedly sharp dagger.

“Your palms, Your Majesties,” Liliane said, voice timid.

Mariah flashed her a reassuring smile as she extended her right hand, just as Ryenne raised her left.

Liliane lowered the dagger to Mariah’s palm. “With these cuts,” she said, slicing the delicate blade across Mariah’s skin, the sting of pain hardly registering even as ruby blood burst free. Some splashed on the armrest of the throne, and Mariah’s eyeswidened as it disappeared, seeping into the shimmering gilded stone.

“With these cuts,” Liliane repeated, mimicking the cut on Ryenne’s palm, “we bridge the light between two queens. One whose time is setting, and the other who is rising. Waxing and waning, just as the moons in the sky. May their blood bind them to the realm, and to each other, for eternity.” Liliane bowed her head and stepped back from the throne, bloody dagger still clutched in her hands.

Mariah and Ryenne’s palms were still outstretched, nearly touching as their blood dripped, soaking into the seat that held the power of a kingdom.

Her arm shaking, Ryenne drifted her bleeding hand closer, fingers brushing Mariah’s. A single, delicate drop of gold shimmered in the open skin of the cut.

The final drop of magic.

An eighth and final bond.

Mariah met Ryenne’s gaze. One last time.

“Take it, Mariah,” the queen whispered. “I am ready.”

The world held its breath as Mariah turned over her palm, placing it atop Ryenne’s.

The second their hands clasped, palms meeting, the doors at the end of the throne room burst open.

Chapter 58

Mariah’s eyes whipped to the lone figure sprinting into the throne room, his face red with exertion and his eyes blown wide with fear, even as the magic flowed from Ryenne into her, that final drop of gold reuniting with her own well of power.

She couldn’t stop the way her hand tightened around Ryenne’s, refusing to release.

Her Armature moved before she even gave the order.

Drystan had his sword drawn, Quentin palmed his knives, Matheo and Trefor had unslung and notched their bows, and Feran swung his short swords in a slow arc. Sebastian moved toward the newcomer, hand on the hilt of his longsword, just as Andrian took a single step up the stairs, shadows unfurling down his arms.

“That’s close enough.” Sebastian met the messenger in the middle of the hall. He was young, hardly a man, his face dripping in sweat as his limbs shook.

“I … I have … a message …” he wheezed.

“How did you get in here?” Sebastian’s voice was harsher now, more clipped. His grip on his sword hilt tightened.

“Let me in … City Guards …” the messenger panted. “Message … for the queen.”

Everyone froze. Mariah still gripped Ryenne’s hand in hers, squeezing tight.

“Which queen?” Andrian’s growl was filled with dark, unending malice. Shadows leaked across the floor, weaving between the feet of Mariah’s Armature.

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