Chapter 33

Chapter 33

M ariah was a ghost for the rest of the day, refusing to leave her rooms.

She took her shower, washing the sweat from her skin. Changed into a cotton tunic and butter-soft trousers. Then sat on her balcony, staring at the mountains, listening desperately for the wingbeats of eagles as the sun arched its way across the sky.

Mikael came and went, too, preparing a quick dinner that he left in front of her before leaving with a sad smile on his face. She ate the food, not feeling enough to taste it. Her hunger had vanished, but her body was still starved, and she now valued food far more than she ever thought she would.

Every time she blinked, she saw the look on Andrian’s face as she told him how she’d received her scars.

And each time her eyes closed, she hated herself a little more. Because while those scars on her back were caused by his hand, she knew— knew —he hadn’t been the one to hurt her.

But she’d decided to hurt him back, anyways.

When the sun set and the stars twinkled in the sky, she moved from the balcony to her bed, settling herself into the silk sheets and down comforter. She fell freely into her despair and misery, like a star falling from the heavens.

But instead of falling into the vast emptiness of sleep, she awoke in a crystalline meadow, snowdrop blossoms blooming around her, the entire scenery awash in a vibrant, golden glow.

Despite the color, it didn’t feel like sunlight. This light was less harsh, more subdued, more subtle. The way it brushed her skin was calming and almost … feminine. Somehow, impossibly, the setting pulled a certain peacefulness through Mariah, something she hadn’t felt in far too long.

A figure stepped into the clearing. The light receded, revealing a woman. Golden hair, golden skin, golden eyes. Even her robes were gold, spilling around her. Much as they did in the statue of her likeness adorning the palace courtyard built in her honor.

Mariah pushed to her feet, toes curling into the cushiony grass. When she spoke, her voice was low, inadvertently reverent. A reaction she couldn’t help.

“Qhohena.”

She also realized she was dreaming.

The goddess smiled, face glowing and beautiful. While her sister was the picture of death, everything about Qhohena embodied life. Flowers were woven into her hair, and golden vines wrapped up her arms and down her legs. Her hair was a cascading rivulet of gold, like a gilded waterfall down her back. On her fingers twinkled rings of precious gemstones, and her full figure embraced feminine virility in its truest form.

Qhohena turned her lovely, youthful face to Mariah and smiled. It was like being touched by eternal life itself, nearly knocking Mariah off her feet with its potency.

“Mariah, my daughter. It is so good to meet you.”

Mariah knew her mouth gaped. Knew she was stunned by the goddess’s presence, a mystical figure she’d grown up hearing about, but a part of herself had doubted even existed.

It was hard to believe in a goddess who never answered your prayers.

Mariah hardened. Her mouth snapped shut, jaw clenching, fingers balling into fists.

All this time. After everything that had happened. Every bit of abuse and torment she’d endured, and Qhohena hadn’t come once. But now, when Mariah was safely home and healing, of course, the goddess would lift her veil.

Qhohena’s Chosen, her ass.

“Why are you here? Why have you come?” Mariah’s voice was cold, flat. Emotionless.

This may be a goddess, but she’d never groveled once in her life. She didn’t intend to start now.

Qhohena halted, surprise illuminating her too-bright features. “You are … upset?” The goddess sounded confused as if she could not comprehend Mariah’s frustration. Her pain.

Mariah answered with silence. She wasn’t sure she could trust her voice to speak for her.

The goddess stared at her open palms. Her feet were bare, and the grasses of the glade wound their way up her feet as if claiming her back into the earth.

“I am sorry,” the goddess whispered, as gentle as a night breeze. She raised her eyes, and Mariah saw them lined with droplets of gold.

Qhohena was crying.

“It has been many, many millennia since I have interacted with humans. Your lives are so short, and you endure so much pain that I no longer know when I need to interfere. Because if I were to help every time someone cried out for me, I would fade away into the universe, my powers spent.”

Mariah’s brow furrowed. “But … you are a goddess. Your powers are infinite. Are they not?”

Qhohena smiled sadly. “They may seem endless, but I assure you, they are far from it. Like all things in nature, we have our limits. And as the years—centuries—have passed, I find myself wasting away. Especially without the grace I gave away long ago.”

The golden threads, deep in Mariah’s gut, stirred in response. “That grace. It’s the queen’s magic, isn’t it?”

The goddess nodded, hair shifting like molten gold. “It is. I feel it in you. And while I do miss that part of myself … it belongs to you now. To Onita.”

They stood in silence, Mariah’s mind spinning over Qhohena’s confession. She tilted her head to the side, expression softening as she regarded the goddess.

“You didn’t answer my question.”

Qhohena smiled again. “You wonder why I am here. Why I have come.” She turned, lifting a golden arm. She spun her hand in a circle, and from it fell golden threads of light. The light settled on the ground and moved, weaving and winding until soon, a great golden boulder rested in the center of the meadow. Qhohena lifted her skirts and settled herself atop the boulder, her movements delicate and graceful. She looked back to Mariah, resting a hand on the stone.

“Sit with me, daughter. Let me try to explain what I can.”

Mariah hesitated before striding through the meadow. She hoisted herself onto the boulder, far less gracefully than Qhohena, nearly sliding off the smooth stone. But the rock was warm, and she was instantly surrounded by the goddess’s scent: honeysuckle and snowdrops and moonlight.

“My little sister,” Qhohena began, “is far more cynical than I am. She always feared for you and how the weakness of your human heart might one day be used against you. Perhaps because even she, despite not being human, fell victim to that weakness.” The goddess sighed. “I tried to remind her that love is not always a weakness, but … you have met her. You know how persuasive she can be.”

Mariah remembered a half-forgotten dream, one obscured by exuberant joy and incapacitating pain. “It was Zadione,” she breathed. “Zadione was the one whispering to me all those years. Warning me that love is a weakness.”

“Yes. She wanted to ensure you were warned. That you felt prepared for whatever your life might bring. I told her that no matter what she did, you would still make your own choices, and she could not stop you.”

Mariah soaked in the boulder's warmth. An inky streak of misery wormed its way through her, and it pulled the next words from her throat.

“I should have listened to her.”

“Mariah.” Qhohena’s voice was firmer now, no longer the same melodic softness as before. Mariah looked at the goddess and shrank away from the fire and heat roaring in her golden eyes.

“Your love does not make you weak. It never did. It was always your destiny to feel as you do, and it was wrong of my sister to interfere with that. She will never admit to it, but she knows it now, as well as I do.”

Mariah blanched. “What do you mean, I was always destined to fall in love?”

Qhohena held her stare, eyes blazing. “The stories of our world are always destined to repeat themselves.”

Mariah opened her mouth, about to ask what the goddess meant, but snapped her lips shut. She could tell, from the look on Qhohena’s face, that she would not get more on that subject tonight.

So she turned away, looking out instead across the clearing. She swallowed past the lump in her throat, annoyed that it was there.

“But …” Another swallow. A lift of her chin to drain the emotions away. “Why him?”

She felt Qhohena’s demeanor shift. She glanced to find the goddess now slightly slumped, regarding Mariah with so much sadness.

“We do not get to choose these things, my daughter. Not even the gods.”

“If not the gods, then who?”

Qhohena blinked, slowly, before turning away to stare at the sky. Her form flickered. She didn’t answer.

Mariah watched her intently, brow furrowing, before asking another question lurking in her mind.

“Why are you here, in my dreams? And why was Zadione able to visit me in the flesh?”

Qhohena’s body solidified again. “Our bond with you is built through trust. Mutual trust. Zadione has been visiting you for a long time. You inherently trust her more than you trust me. Which is understandable, and I do not fault you for that.” Qhohena steeled a breath. “However … I hope to change that. So next time I might visit you outside of this plane. We can never appear to anyone other than you, but we want you to know that we will always be here for you. To guide, and to offer strength.”

Mariah held her tongue at the surge of frustration. The goddess could promise such things all she wanted, but she’d still let Mariah be captured, abused, broken.

Qhohena saw it all.

“While I wish my sister had waited to visit you … I want you to know that I am glad she did. She could save you in that place because of it. I wanted to help. Please believe that. But you were not ready for me, and the support of my sister was more than enough to get you out.”

Mariah stared down at her hands, wringing themselves in her lap. Qhohena’s revelations changed nothing … Didn’t they? How hard was it for Mariah to believe that the goddesses were strengthened only through trust, and without it, their actions were limited? It was a convenient truth, to be sure. But did its convenience make it a fallacy?

“I forgive you.” Mariah’s words were breathed out on a gentle, honeysuckle breeze.

Qhohena’s light pulsed, as if with relief. “Thank you, daughter?—”

“But I want to know,” Mariah said. “Why now? What changed? Why not let Zadione continue to be the one to speak to me?”

Qhohena lips parted, her brow scrunched, before lifting a golden hand. It reached for Mariah, sweeping a strand of night-dark hair away from her face. The goddess rested her fingertips on Mariah’s cheek, and Mariah drew in a sharp inhale at the touch. It was like being touched by life itself. Invigorating. Exalting. Like drinking an elixir of immortality.

“Because you are hurting, my daughter. Not physically—my sister tended to those wounds, as is her specialty. But your conflicted emotions about the reykr are tearing you apart. Breaking you, from the inside out, more than what you endured in that place ever could. I am here with you tonight because I needed to remind you of who you are. This world needs you—all of you—now, more than ever.

Mariah gulped, hesitating to ask her next question, but knowing she had to.

“And what does he have to do with reminding me who I am?”

Qhohena smiled. “Because he is your past, your present, and your future. There are forces at play that are far greater than us gods, and as I said, all things in nature eventually repeat themselves.”

The meadow was beginning to shrink, the surrounding light dimming. Qhohena’s touch on Mariah’s face increased in pressure, even as her body faded.

“You will not find yourself until you learn to trust him again.”

The goddess’s voice faded into a whisper on the wind as Mariah slammed back into her body, gasping in her bed.

“ Make that love your retribution, Mariah.”