Chapter 58

Chapter 58

M ariah’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.

The messenger’s face lifted, his gaze settling on Mariah.

“Queen Mariah.” He gasped. “The message is for you. It’s urgent.”

Andrian spun to Mariah. She blinked at him, just once, before looking back at the boy.

“Speak.”

The boy sagged with relief before he remembered his task. He drew himself up, face still flushed, fear shining in his brown eyes.

“I come with a message from Khento.”

Mariah’s blood turned to ice.

She’d prayed dozens of times in her life. To Qhohena, to Zadione, to any god who would listen.

This time, she sent a prayer to every last one, a desperate plea and cry for help.

Not them. Please, tell me I wasn’t too late.

Not them.

Please.

But of course, gods have no control over the actions of men.

“The Royal Lords of Onita have taken the Salis family. They are being held at the castle in Khento, the seat of Lord Victor Shawth. The Royals hope the Queen finds the urgency in this situation and comes willing to reach an amicable solution.”

The boy’s words were robotic, memorized. They flowed through Mariah’s mind like a river, meandering and bathing and drenching her in fear the likes of which she’d never known.

Mariah dropped Ryenne’s hand. The old queen slumped forward in the throne, Kalen rushing to her side to catch her before he too collapsed, sprawled across his queen’s lap. The rest of Ryenne’s Armature followed, sagging into their chairs upon the dais.

The room erupted into chaos, but all Mariah could hear was the steady drip of her bright red blood against the gold stone of her throne.