Chapter 26

Chapter 26

M ariah hadn’t woken when Sebastian and Matheo roused for their respective watch shifts.

She hadn’t woken when the sun crested the horizon or when the songbirds rang through the thick canopy overhead.

It was only when the twin crescent moons finally slipped from the sky that her eyelids fluttered open as if her body craved every moment of rest beneath their light. There were rustles and muted conversations as her Armature cleaned the camp and ate a meager breakfast. A horse nickered a few yards away, pawing at the earth.

But all those sounds faded away as she opened her eyes, adjusting to the morning light.

A black butterfly rested on the forest floor beside her, ebony wings slowly opening and closing. Its antennae twitched as she exhaled, breath rustling its delicate wings.

As she watched the butterfly, she had the distinct feeling the butterfly watched her back. Something threaded through her gut—something gold and silver and familiar, reaching desperately for the small creature sharing her waking space. She slowly lifted her arm, giving into instinct as she reached for the insect. The desperation to touch it, to confirm it was real , consumed her.

But before her fingers could brush its silken wings, the butterfly took flight, fluttering as it hovered just over her head. Mariah rolled onto her back as she watched the butterfly dance in the air, her hand still lifted, tracing its pattern. It was a shadow dappling the morning light, a ghost playing in the sun.

“Mariah?” A familiar, gentle male voice pulled her from her reverie. Her attention snapped from the onyx insect, meeting a concerned set of hazel eyes.

“Good morning, Seb.” She pushed to her feet, taking the blanket she’d wrapped around herself in the night with her. She still only wore that awful, disgusting monstrosity of pink tulle, along with the warm wool cloak. As she stood, she winced; the skin between her thighs had been rubbed raw during their desperate flee. Everything burned and scalded.

She needed this dress off her. Now. Needed to feel human again.

Sebastian still watched her as he bridled his horse a few paces away. He paused, taking a hesitant step toward her. “How are you? Do you need anything?”

Mariah gritted her teeth. Pulled an inhale through parted lips. Her hands shook as she clutched the blanket to her tighter.

“Clothes. I need clothes.”

Sebastian’s eyes widened. “Shit, I—of course. I’m so sorry.” He glanced over her shoulder. “Matheo!” he called, before looking back at Mariah. “Ciana packed you some. Matheo is carrying them. I’ll help you?—”

“No. It’s okay. Thank you.” She didn’t need his help. And the mention of Ciana …

Goddess, she missed her best friend.

Mariah turned, and on aching feet, crossed the clearing to Matheo.

Halfway across, a dark shape emerged from the shadows of the trees, and Mariah paused. She met Rylla’s gaze, recognizable hazel eyes gleaming in the morning light.

They watched each other—for how long, Mariah didn’t know. But something settled in her, and she released a sigh. The cat blinked, tail swishing.

“Thank you, Rylla.” The panther’s tail twitched again. “It seems we have much to catch up on once we arrive back in Verith. But, in the meantime … thank you.”

The panther dipped its head, just once, before melting back into the shadows.

“Mariah? You okay?”

Mariah swallowed, turning to Matheo. He held his horse’s reins, watching her with raw concern.

She forced a smile to her face, and on shaky legs, walked to meet him.

“Morning, Matheo.” She reached out a hand, but not to him. Stepping to his horse’s side, she ran a hand down the chestnut mare’s neck before scratching her just below her mane. The mare swung her head to Mariah, brown eyes taking her in as her warm breath huffed against her arm.

The brush of the mare’s muzzle against her skin turned her smile just a bit more genuine. Made her forget the burning of the torn tulle on her skin. Grounded her on this earth, just a bit more.

She missed her buckskin gelding, Kodie. And for the first time in so long, she allowed herself to be excited to see him again.

“What’s her name?” she asked Matheo, voice quiet as she continued scratching the mare’s neck.

“This is Ruby.”

Mariah huffed a laugh—a faint, weak chuckle, but a laugh, nonetheless. “Ruby?” She turned to Matheo, finding him wearing a broad smile. “Couldn’t have come up with something a bit more creative?”

He shrugged. “I didn’t name her, but I think it fits. She certainly is a gem for me.”

“You’re lucky indeed to have earned the trust and affection of a red mare.” Mariah ran her hand lightly down Ruby’s face, over the wide white blaze, as her smile faltered. “I need—I need clothes.” She tripped over the request, and as heat flooded her cheeks, she knew she was flushed.

Gods, she hated that blush.

Matheo’s smile softened. “Of course.” He turned, reaching into one of the saddlebags tied to Ruby’s saddle. He pulled out a rolled-up pair of cotton leggings, underclothes, and a wool sweater.

So much—gratitude, joy, sadness, homesickness—welled up in Mariah as he handed them to her. Tears burned behind her cheeks, and her chest heaved and cracked.

She still waited for the dream to shatter, for the nightmare to claw back in.

With a heavy inhale, she clutched the clothes to her chest, and started for the trees and the stream they’d crossed the night before.

A rustling that followed her had her pausing. She glanced over her shoulder to see Matheo following.

“What are you doing?”

Matheo flushed. “Sebastian would kill me if I let you go wandering off alone.”

Mariah frowned. “I need to change. I’d like a moment of privacy to do so.”

“I know, but—” Matheo glanced over her shoulder. He snapped his mouth closed before giving her a tight-lipped smile and stepping back. “That’ll work. Thanks, Rylla.”

Mariah whirled to see the black cat again lurking in the shadows, hazel stare pinned on Matheo. As if in warning.

She couldn’t stop the laugh that bubbled out of her. It was faint, and weak, but still … she laughed. She continued into the trees, whispering to Rylla as she passed.

“These boys mean well, but sometimes a girl needs some space.”

The panther’s tail brushed her legs as she walked to the stream.

The water was so cold it burned.

Mariah had tossed her shredded, filthy pink rags on the bank before plunging in, desperate to wash even just a single layer of the hell she’d endured from her skin. Rylla lingered downstream, far enough to give her privacy, but close enough to be the watchful eyes that eased her Armature’s worries.

She lingered in the water as long as possible, scrubbing and scrubbing and scrubbing, sitting on the smooth pebbled bottom. It was only when her teeth chattered that she finally emerged from the stream, finding a small, folded travel towel placed beside her clothes. Mariah smiled at the disappearing wisp of black fur, before drying herself and slipping into her once familiar clothes.

The warmth that encompassed her was instant. And unfamiliar. The clothes hung loose on her thin frame, but they were hers. And the way it felt, having that much softness touching so much of her raw, damaged, tortured skin …

Her hand flew to her mouth as she sunk to her knees in the soft moss along the banks of that babbling, lively stream. A sob choked up her throat, anguish shredding delicate threads.

Mariah remained like that for what could have been a century. Trying to hold herself together, even as the fraying edges slipped and unraveled and burned, pain and despair rising around her.

Until she saw it.

The black butterfly hovered before her, dipping and swaying in the light breeze brushing through the canopy. It wove a delicate dance, and as Mariah’s eyes tracked its movement, her own soul lifted, taking flight. Dancing in the morning light with the onyx insect.

The butterfly shot up into the trees and disappeared from Mariah’s sight. She stood for a few more moments, staring at where it had disappeared, before she took a deep, steadying inhale and strode back up the hill towards the camp.

When she arrived, it was no longer a camp. Everything was packed and readied, her Armature standing beside their horses. Feran held a pair of boots and socks in his hand, greeting her with a gentle smile. She returned it, bare feet crunching the icy ground.

“Are you alright, nio ?” The too-familiar voice fixed her in place. A voice that had her soul singing and sent fear and panic racing through her limbs.

She turned, slowly, to face Andrian. That nickname, one she hadn’t heard in many long, tortuous weeks, twisted a knife further into her gut. All the pain, all the heartbreak she felt was etched plainly across her face.

The entire clearing fell silent.

Mariah held Andrian’s gaze for seven long, tortuous heartbeats, before she found her words amongst the shreds of her soul.

“You never told me what that means. What it meant.”

Andrian blinked in shock. “It was stupid of me to lie to you, that day in the library. But … you never asked again.”

Mariah squeezed her eyes closed. It was too much. She knew he recalled none of what had happened, but she had no idea how far back that went. How much of what they’d shared was real, and how much was just the work of a nameless darkness that had kept Andrian shrouded and wreathed in a mental prison as strong as her iron cage.

“I did. I asked again. The same night I lost you, I asked.” She opened her eyes to meet his stare once more.

“But now, I don’t think I want to know anymore.”

She turned, striding to Feran with as much purpose as she could muster. She could feel the pain between their bond snap and sunder her soul, knew it would be etched on his heartbreakingly beautiful face. But she did not let it buckle her, did not let it show beyond the slight tremor to her hands as she took her socks and boots from Feran and slid them onto her feet.

She kept it all bottled up, even as she settled on Feran’s horse. Even as his warmth wrapped around her.

As they rode from the clearing, through the forested foothills of northern Onita, only one thing kept her from tumbling headfirst into the bottomless despair of her thoughts.

Delicate, white snowbell blossoms had pushed past the last of the winter frost, their arched shape hanging over green stems. The symbol adorning the queen’s crown, representing the rejuvenative magic of Qhohena and how, despite all hardship, life always emerged victorious.

Passing field after field of the beautiful white flowers, none of them speaking into the cold quiet, Mariah wondered if they had it all wrong.

Maybe life never won; it was just death donning a prettier face.