Chapter 31

Chapter 31

M ariah’s gaze swept her bedroom, Ciana’s tinkling laugh as she said goodbye to Mikael slipping past the closed door.

She’d excused herself a few minutes ago after Ryenne and Kalen had left. As she’d finished in the bathroom, she meant to rejoin them, but something held her back.

She hadn’t yet had a moment to herself within these four walls. She’d bathed, then slept, but there’d been no lingering. Not a second to pause and breathe and try to figure out who she used to be, before everything. Who she was now.

The plush white rug beneath the massive, quilted bed. The arching window, with a cushioned seat below. The marble floors and gilded walls, shimmering with royal, ancient decadence.

Ten queens before her had called this room home. What gave her the right to reside here, too? Despite her confident words to Ryenne, she was no queen.

Not yet.

Her feet moved to her nightstand of their own accord. Her fingers wrapped around the leather pommel, sliding the silver blade from its red leather sheath. The dragon wings on the cross guard gleamed in the pale allume light.

Mariah remembered the night she’d taken this dagger. How she’d scaled the walls of Lord Donnet’s keep, slipping into a poorly guarded room, plundering his trove, and taking her fill before leaving that town forever.

That sack of stolen gold still lay beneath her bed. Right next to …

Mariah strapped the dagger to her thigh, its weight the first welcomed familiarity, before dropping to all fours and peering under her bed.

Sure enough, there was that burlap bag, still bulging and heavy. But her hands didn’t reach for the gold.

She instead reached for the small, silver leather book beside it, somehow free of dust and dirt and anything else that should’ve accumulated there as it lay forgotten beneath her bed.

Mariah sat back, crossing her legs, as she turned over the book, reading the cover.

Ginnelevé. Her mother’s name. The name of every woman in their line, dating back to Zadione’s first priestess during the First War.

Mariah’s name. The last Ginnelevé priestess.

She almost snorted. Far more than priestess, in truth, but she supposed that was just a matter of semantics.

Her fingers fanned the pages, the centuries—millennia—worth of entries breezing past her eyes. The book was so small, but it seemed to grow in her hands as the pages buzzed past. As if the magic that preserved it also hid its true depth of knowledge. Despite all those entries, there were still empty pages at the back.

Right after the final entry. The letter written not on the pages of the journal, but on a single sheet of her paper. Her mother’s elegant script stared up at her as Mariah brushed the creamy page.

Fear burst through her, unannounced. Ever since things with the Royals started to decline, Mariah had sworn to keep her family out of her mess. When she’d blinded Lord Campion—who must have passed, replaced by his son in Khento—and killed Lord Beauchamp, she’d known she couldn’t return to them. Not until her position was more secure and a trip would be safe.

Now, though … Lord Donnet had been there, in Khento, with the rest of them. And Donnet knew . He knew all about her past, and her family, and where they lived in their small, perfect house at the edge of town.

If the lords wanted to strike at her, all they’d have to do was get to her family.

She forced a deep breath—in through her nose, out through her mouth. Like her father had taught her.

Her father. Wex would keep his family safe. Mariah had no doubt that if he had even the slightest feeling of something amiss, he would take Lisabel and Ellan and get out of town. They could ride, hunt, and fight; there were many small towns they could escape to and lie low in until the danger passed.

She’d learned all that she knew from her family. There was nothing she could do at present for them; going after them now would most definitely raise suspicion. She had to trust they could manage for themselves, at least for a little while longer.

Mariah snapped the book closed, staring at the cover. She felt that drop of magic woven into its core, ancient and wild and so like her silver light. Her fingers again brushed the leather.

“ If— when— you ever feel lost, truly lost, when you need a reminder of who you are and what you are capable of … that book will tell you everything you need to know. ”

Her mother’s words, shared so long ago beside a roaring fire, blazed through her mind. The hair on her arms stood on end.

Could her mother have known what awaited her? Perhaps she knew her trip to Verith would lead to a greater destiny, but everything that had happened after …

Mariah swallowed. No. Her mother hadn’t known what evil would be committed against her daughter. Perhaps she knew Mariah would feel lost, but there’s no way she could’ve known just how truly adrift her daughter would be.

“If you have help to offer me,” Mariah whispered to the silver journal, “I’ll take it now.”

She fanned the pages again, stopping on a page near the beginning.

And began to read.

They are coming. They move in the night under the cover of their wicked shadows. They mask the light of the moons, hiding our goddess from sight. Abominations, monsters, evil crafted from the darkest corners of the heavens. It is not known if the reykr are born soulless or if they are turned that way.

It does not matter. No light has ever burned out their darkness. The most we can hope is that they pass us over, that they continue on with whatever unholy task their fallen god charges them with?—

Mariah’s chest heaved as she slammed the book shut, tears choking her throat as her heart pounded in her ears and beat against her chest. She threw the journal across the floor, a sob shuddering out of her as she scrambled away from it.

Shadows … abominations … monsters … evil … soulless.

Reykr .

She pressed her hands against her ears, trying to stop the pounding.

She’d felt that darkness. During the bond. She’d chased it out with her light, leaving only the soul behind.

The reykr soul behind.

No light has ever burned out their darkness.

Mariah whimpered.

Three times. Three times she’d given that journal a chance, and each time, it had stripped her soul from her body and left her raw and bleeding on the floor.

Her bedroom door slammed open. Small, soft hands gripped her forearms, pulling them away from her ears. Wide, concerned amber eyes filled her vision.

“Mariah! Mariah, what’s wrong? What happened?” Ciana’s voice was muffled as if Mariah were trapped underwater. “Matheo! Get in here!”

Mariah still hid against her nightstand, shuddering and sobbing and far away, as Matheo raced in, sliding to a halt when he saw her. He knelt beside Ciana, gentle hands gripping her, silver and sky bond tugging in her gut.

“Mariah? Are you alright? Just breathe, it’s okay. You’re safe. We’re here, you’re home, and you’re safe.” A tug on their bond punctuated each word he said.

And with each tug, Mariah felt herself rising to the surface. Far enough for her to shudder a breath, gasping, and managing two words.

“ Take it. ”

Ciana and Matheo shared a glance. “Take what?”

Mariah lifted a shaking hand, pointing at the journal lying a few feet away.

“Take it,” she repeated, still whispering. “Keep it hidden and safe, but get it away from me.”

Ciana leaned away from Mariah, taking the journal. She looked at it curiously, reading the name on the cover. “I remember this. Your mother’s journal?”

“Said it would help me,” Mariah forced out, chest still heaving. “But all it does is cause pain.”

“What did you read in it, Mariah?” Matheo’s question was gentle, but his curiosity carried an edge.

Mariah swallowed, meeting his hazel stare.

“ Reykr ,” she whispered. More tears burned in her eyes, clogging her throat.

Gods, she was tired of this. Of being so fucking afraid . Her heart was telling her one thing—that everything she’d just read was the dramatic ramblings of some old, ancient relative. That her shadow-wielder was not like that, that she had burned out whatever darkness was planted in him, and now his familiar shadows sang only for her.

But her body remembered the crack of a metal-tipped whip, the fire as her skin was split. Her mind remembered the image of his lips meeting another’s. Her skin remembered greedy hands stealing her humanity from her, piece by piece.

“Hey. Mariah. Look at me.” Ciana was back, gripping either side of Mariah’s head.

“Whatever you just read, it isn’t true. You said so yourself; this is just a journal from the women in your family. Mostly gibberish. You are safe here. And you are strong . Trust yourself, trust your heart, and fuck all the rest.”

Mariah couldn’t speak. Only nodded, refusing to break from Ciana’s stare, latching onto that warm amber like it was her last lifeline at sea.

“I will take the book. I’ll keep it safe and hidden. If you want to see it again, all you must do is ask. But right now, I need you to forget. Focus on the future. The past is done, and we’re leaving it there.”Ciana released Mariah, stepping back with Matheo to give Mariah space.

Mariah just kept breathing. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Her heart slowly stopped pounding in her ears, her blood no longer rushing through her veins. Her magic had remained unusually quiet, curled in her belly and watching her with slitted eyes.

“You should get some rest,” Matheo murmured.

But Mariah was already standing. Her knees still shook, but she forced herself upright. Ciana gave her a quick nod, clutching the journal to her chest before she spun and left the room in a flurry of golden curls.

Mariah turned to her window and the cushioned seat. “Can you get Trefor?”

“Trefor? Uh, sure.” Matheo shifted as Mariah settled at the window. “Mariah, are you okay?”

“Just want some sun,” she said softly, staring out her bedroom window. “I need a moment. And to speak to Trefor.”

Matheo lingered for a moment, hesitating, before he finally heaved a sigh. “Of course. I’ll be right back. Quentin will be outside if you need anything.”

Mariah nodded absently, not looking back as he left the room.

She felt a little guilty for being so cold, but she didn’t have it in her to put on a mask. She would apologize to Matheo later and give him a healthy thanks. For being there and pulling her back from the abyss.

Right now, though … her fingers toyed with the winged cross-guard of her dagger.

Right now, she just needed the sun.