Chapter 60

Chapter 60

H er family.

Her family.

Her family.

It was a taunt that ran through her head on a loop, laughing at her as it wound its noose tighter and tighter.

They have her family.

It was like her worst nightmares had come to fruition. All the reasons she’d been so hesitant to mention them, to visit them, to ask them to visit her. She’d kept her distance on purpose ever since that first meeting with the lords that had resulted in the death of Lord Beauchamp. She’d created powerful enemies who’d made their commitment to her destruction more than clear. Her fear grew with Donnet’s presence in Khento, but that same fear kept her trapped in stasis, too broken to send word.

And when she finally summoned her courage to send that short, unassuming letter, it was too late.

She should’ve known. Despite the goddesses she felt breathing down her neck, any higher power had abandoned her long before tonight.

The tip of her dagger, the one that had belonged to her mother’s father, the same one she’d stolen back from that greedy lord along with a sack full of repossessed coin, dug into the messenger boy’s slender neck. A bright red bead of blood dripped down his skin, splattering on his soiled trousers.

“What’s your name?” Her voice was too soft, too quiet for her ears. She was detached, not present in her actions.

That same beast she always knew dwelled beneath her skin had taken over, just as it had the day of the parade, on the rooftop with the assassin. She’d given into it then, surrendering to the sweet bliss of its anger and power and vengeance, and she gave into it now.

Vengeance was a drug; she lost herself to it.

The messenger boy blubbered. “Pl-please … Your Majesty … I was just doing a job?—”

“Shh. That’s enough.” She tsked. “Yes, you were doing a job. But doing a job doesn’t excuse you from what you know. And you will tell me what you know.” She pulled the dagger back, twirling it against her thumb. “I’ll ask one more time. A name?”

The boy’s lip trembled. “Finn, Your Majesty. My name is Finn.”

Mariah hummed. “Finn. Pleasure to meet you.” She dropped her dagger again, leveling it with the crook of his neck, right where she’d previously drawn blood. “Now, Finn. I need you to tell me exactly who sent you and where you came from.”

The boy swallowed. “Your Majesty, I don’t understand. I told you, I was sent from Khento.”

“Yes, yes. I know. Khento.” She sighed. “But I recall at least a half dozen lords currently residing in Khento. So, which one sent you? Who is your employer?”

The boy’s eyes were light brown and blown wide with his terror. “Lord Shawth, Your Majesty. I work for Lord Shawth.”

She cocked her head. “Did he not want you to tell me that you work for him?”

More tears sprang to the boy’s eyes. “Please. Your Majesty, please. I don’t know anything—just what I was told.”

Her dagger pressed further into his throat. More blood dripped over the blade onto his stained trousers. The animal beneath her skin watched it fall, fascinated by the metallic scent filling the air.

“I don’t believe that, Finn.”

The boy was shaking harder now. “Your Majesty?”

Mariah nodded, more to herself than to the boy. Her Armature shifted on their feet behind her, hands readied on their weapons.

But she had no need for them. Not right now, not at this moment. Not when the full power of the queen hammered through her veins, not when immortality wrapped itself beneath her skin.

Not even the figure who stood closer than the rest, the shadow at her back. She could feel him, feel where his soul connected to hers. Felt her same anger blazing through him, the same need for revenge.

Mariah knew a few of the others likely shied away from her holding a knife to a boy’s throat.

She was thankful that at least the one her soul had wound itself closest to did not.

“I think you know far more than you think you do. I think you saw things in the castle at Khento. Things that you’re ready to share with us.” Mariah pushed back, standing, her dagger hanging loosely between her fingers.

Finn looked up at her, eyes still wide, terror still flushing his cheeks.

“I’m going to ask you some very specific questions, Finn. And how you answer them is going to determine whether you live to breathe the fresh air again or if you will die in the bowels of this palace, doomed to live the rest of your days with only the company of the rats. Do you understand what I’m offering you?”

Finn nodded fervently; more blood from the wounds at his neck dripped onto his filthy pants.

“Good. Now.” Mariah tightened her grip around the hilt of her dagger. The dragon wings on the pommel dug into the skin above her thumbs. “When you were in Khento, before you were sent here. Did you see them?”

The boy’s lip quivered. “See who?”

The wing bit deeper. “The people the lords took, the ones being held captive in Khento.” She knelt again, this time leveling the tip of her dagger at the boy’s belly. “ My family .”

She’d heard Finn’s delivered message; his dreaded words still rang through her ears, clattering against her skull. But she could not deny the part of her clinging to some foolish hope, that this was just a trick, some ploy to draw her away from Verith.

She could hold herself together, at least until her nightmares were confirmed.

All the blood drained from the boy’s face. “I … don’t … I don’t know, Your Majesty?—”

Silver-gold magic rushed from her skin, wrapping around the boy’s arms. They bit with her fury, and Mariah could feel the tiny cuts and slices they made across Finn’s skin like thousands of teeth attacking his flesh. Finn yelped in pain.

Somehow, she could taste it. His blood. The tang of his fear. The salt of his desperation.

“You know, Finn. I know you do. Who did you see?”

The boy shuddered, his eyes closing, another tear slipping free.

“There was …” He gulped down a sob. “There were three people brought in. The day before I was sent here with my message.”

There was a roaring in her ears, the beast in her chest thrashing wildly. But she was still, emotionless.

Empty.

“What did they look like? The people you saw?” Her voice was icy and detached. It didn’t sound like her own.

“There was a man,” Finn said, voice shaking as he reopened his eyes. “He was tall but old. Older. A soldier, or he was one at some point. His hair was gray, but not too bad.”

More screaming stillness. “And the other two?”

“A kid. Boy. Older than me? I don’t know. He had auburn hair. And he must’ve had magic because they had the cuffs on him.” Finn’s eyes widened as if realizing what he’d just said. He quickly deflated, sagging in his chair. “They only use the cuffs when someone has magic.”

The stillness was fracturing into a storm, crescendoing towards something uncontrolled.

She knew far too well what those cuffs felt like. The way they bit into the skin, the way they erected a wall between a person and their soul.

“And the third?” she whispered, deadly and quiet.

“A woman,” Finn said, still sagging in the chair. “The same age as the man. Curly dark hair, but it was going gray. She looked very kind and gentle. Like a healer. All the healers I’ve ever known have been kind.”

He has no idea.

Mariah snapped her magic back as she stood and whirled from Finn. The boy released a sob, but Mariah didn’t hear it.

Not when her eyes clashed with a familiar tanzanite glare, shadows and death whispering around him.

It was only then, in the safety of that glare, that she let herself falter. The animal whimpered, sidling away, relinquishing control back to her.

With control came the pain, washing away the blessed numbness.

“They have them. They have my family.” She staggered a step forward. Andrian surged, catching her in his arms. His scent of rain and sandalwood wrapped around her, the only comfort in a dark and dim world.

There was movement behind her. Murmurs and shuffles, a soft whine from the boy’s throat and trudging steps as Finn was hauled from the room.

She didn’t know where they were taking him.

She didn’t particularly care.

A hand rested on the back of her head. Brushed down her neck, over the short length of her hair. Across the exposed scars on her back, the low scoop of her dress.

“We’ll get them back, nio . I swear to you.” Andrian’s words were a rumble against her cheek. She still felt his fury, his simmering thirst for blood that was answered in her own soul.

Mariah did not doubt his conviction.

She only doubted his ability to make it a reality.