Page 63 of Scourged

Now, she just looked … weak. Starved.Broken.

“Yes, Andrian,” she said, voice still muted. “It’s been nine weeks. Nine weeks, I—we have been trapped here.”

He was paralyzed, rooted to the ground, blocks of ice thick around his feet. “I don’t remember any of it.”

An emotion filled her face—not quite sadness, or pity. But true, raw heartbreak.

“I know.”

A rustling across the gardens, where the dark castle pierced the sky, shattered the moment. A heartbeat later, Quentin burst into view, panting lightly as his red hair was in tossed disarray. His expression lit up when he saw Mariah, and he shoved past Drystan and Sebastian to pick her up in another great hug.

Quentin set her back down as quickly as he’d raced in, shooting a look at the rest of them, eyes lingering for a moment too long on Andrian with shock, anger, and distrust. “I think word is spreading about a commotion in the gardens. We need to get the fuck out of here.Now.”

“I know.” Sebastian nodded and glanced at Mariah. He then shifted to Andrian, expression hardening as his mouth opened to say something else.

“Sebastian, no.” Mariah reached out a hand, resting it on his arm. “Stop. He’s coming with us. I’ll explain everything when we’re out, I promise. But I was not the only one held prisoner in this place.”

Sebastian stood still as a statue for a few heavy heartbeats, his stare never breaking from Andrian’s, before he nodded. “As you wish.” He twisted on his heel, about to lead them away from the castle and to the dark safety of the trees beyond.

“Is … is someone there?”

Everyone froze as the faint, feminine voice rang across the quiet gardens.

“Shit,” Quentin whispered. “We need to move.”

“No, wait.” Mariah raised a steadying hand.

Andrian watched them all, expression and mind vacant.

Nine weeks. Nine weeks, missing from memory, trapped in a black bit of despair and unfamiliar darkness.

Mariah stepped around him, peering into the shadows. Hesitancy raced from her through their fresh, aching bond.

“Anniliese?” she called softly into the dimness.

A dark-haired woman stepped out from around a willow tree, dressed in a fine jade robe, face powdered and hair pressed.

A Royal. Somewhere, in a far distant memory, Andrian recognized her. Some spoiled daughter of another lord he’d met once or twice.

“What … what is this?” The girl’s voice was high-pitched and clearly terrified, eyes widening as she observed the group of men bearing more weapons than was ever reasonable.

The panther lurking behind Matheo certainly didn’t help.

“Anniliese,” Mariah repeated, this time far gentler than Andrian would’ve ever expected. “We’re leaving. Now. You should come with us.”

The girl—Anniliese—cast them all a wild glance. “Leaving? To where?”

“Verith,” Drystan answered quickly, steady voice like an anchor.

Anniliese shook her head. “You’ll never make it. They’ll catch you.”

“Not if we move now. We will make it.” Mariah’s voice trembled, just once, but she held her head high. Andrian could feel her fear but noticed how she refused to let it touch her body.

Anniliese’s fingers toyed with a silk ribbon on her robe. “I … I cannot go with you. I belong here, with my father.” She turned to Mariah, pinning her with a stare that made Andrian’s hackles rise.

“I couldn’t sleep tonight and thought I would take a walk through the gardens to calm my head. I had been thinking about what you said, and maybe it’s fate we met again.” She drew in a breath. “I still do not accept you. I likely never will. But I understand what you told me, and I believe you. You can’t giveup your crown, even if you wanted to. Even if I still believe the Goddess made the wrong choice.”

Drystan loosened a low growl, and Quentin palmed his knives. Andrian’s shadows twitched around his fingers, but a raised hand from Mariah had them all falling still.

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