Chapter 69

Chapter 69

M ariah’s rage, her terror, was a living, breathing monster.

That beast in her soul was awake; its hot exhales tickling the back of her neck as it wrenched control from her, pushing a roar of anguish into the air.

Her Armature. Her family.

She was too late.

No wonder the bonds in her mind were so silent. She didn’t know when they’d been captured, but it must’ve been mere minutes after they’d entered the castle grounds. Mariah had kept the bonds closed, wanting to wait until escape was feasible before checking in. Not wanting to feel distracted . She hadn’t even bothered to check on them.

What a fucking fool.

There was still one bond blazing in her mind, the only one she couldn’t close. But just as hands grabbed her from behind, it too was snuffed out, its sudden loss pulling a mangled cry from her chest. The familiar weight of deistair cuffs snapped around her wrists, that vile black and gold wall severing her from her magic.

But that beast … the deistair did not cage it. It was still free, floating and clawing and raging beneath her skin, at the back of her mind, whispering for freedom.

Not yet , Mariah whispered back. It calmed, curling around itself with angry, slitted eyes.

Mariah turned her own wrathful, broken glare to her family, bound and bruised and bloody on the central platform. To the creatures straight from nightmares holding serrated claws to their throats.

Too late.

Her family was captured by demons, all because she’d been too afraid to confront her own.

Lord Shawth rose from his seat on the dais near Mariah. He faced her, pushing his hands into the pockets of his embroidered black and red suit. His pale blond hair was greased, and his watery blue eyes shone with excitement.

“Ah, Your Majesty!” He clapped his hands, silencing the chatter from the risers.

Rough hands on Mariah’s shoulders shoved her forward between the gallery stands and the lord's dais. More of the garden came into view; guards and more demons lined every exit, the men shooting the monsters nervous glances. Below her family’s platform squatted a mound of black stone, its vileness tangible even from the distance.

She knew that stone. Had touched the same substance in that abandoned apartment, the one where horrible atrocities were committed on the gods most sacred night.

Mariah’s world went quiet, narrowing like a predator on her prey. The beast prowled beneath her skin, watching, feeding her rage.

“I am so glad you could join us!” Shawth boomed, cheeks flushed an excited shade of cherry red. “I was sorry to have to interrupt your coronation—congratulations, I suppose—but this day has been many months in the making. Maybe even years; it is hard to say. I wouldn’t want you to miss it.” He chuckled, grinning darkly, showing too many yellowed teeth.

“My esteemed guests!” Shawth faced the galleries. “You are representatives of Onita’s finest. I assume some of you have met her, but I would like to be the first to introduce you to the eleventh Queen of Onita, Mariah Salis!”

The attendees in the galleries hissed and booed and jeered. Shawth’s grin widened.

“Now, now! That is no way to greet a queen. Especially with her family in attendance. They deserve our respect!” He turned halfway to Mariah. “Isn’t that right, little queen? Why don’t you tell us all how deserving your healer mother and soldier father are of our deference?”

Mariah could nearly taste the venom in Shawth’s words.

“Let them go, Shawth.” The earth trembled at the darkness—the threat of broken violence—in her voice.

A gasp rippled through the crowd. Shawth exaggerated his surprise, leaning back on his heels and splaying his fingers across his face. But he couldn’t hide the morsel of doubt and fear that flickered in his eyes.

“Oh … my, is that what you truly want, Your Majesty? I did not think their presence would bother you.” His ruthless smile returned. “I find it hard to believe that you ever truly cared for their well-being. In fact, I find it hard to believe that you truly care for anyone other than yourself.”

He tapped a finger to his chin, a mockery of a pensive expression. “How often did they cross your mind after you were Chosen to live in your pretty palace? All that time, and you only wrote them one letter, and a sad excuse for one at that.”

Mariah wanted to feel more anger. Wanted to give herself to her rage, to her blind fury. Wanted to let the beast in her soul take over and loose her sword and dagger upon this crowd of rotting, jealous monsters.

But she couldn’t do it. Not even as the galleries grumbled and whispered, not even as Shawth’s smile turned smug.

Because Shawth had confirmed her worst fear. That her letter—that short, pitiful, desperate excuse for a letter—had never made it to its destination.

That she had failed the only people who had never let her down.

Shawth’s words fell around her like coins tossed into a well, and she was pulled down with them. Her shoulders sagged with the weight of her guilt, her head hanging with her shame.

“What do you want?” Her words were a hoarse whisper. The crowd fell silent. A light breeze rustled the leaves of the flowering trees and the sweet-smelling blossoms.

“What do I want?” Shawth laughed, his head tipping back before stepping down the dais, hands still in his pockets. He passed Mariah’s Armature, ignoring their baleful, hateful glares. His cool, watery gaze slid down Mariah, mouth curving into a sneer.

Beside her, Andrian strained against the hands holding him. Mariah stilled him with a quick glance, his brilliant eyes wide with panic and fear and rage.

She blinked slowly and turned back to Shawth.

“Just tell me what you want. Tell me what you want and let them go.”

Shawth chuckled. “My dear, little queen. If only it were that simple.” He lifted a brow. “I don’t want anything you can give me. I want everything . Do you not understand?” He spread his arms wide, and something cracked in Mariah’s chest.

“I want your throne. Your crown. Your magic. I want your power . I want all of it. Why should you be the only one amongst us who carries the might of a god?” He snorted. “It has all been promised to me by someone far stronger than your little moon goddess.”

He gestured behind him to the platform with her family. To the creatures who held them, leathery wings shifting in the warm air.

“Do you see them? They are gifts from my new benefactor. That is strength, to be sure, but it is not power. Not like what you have, just by being the right slut born in the right year.”

Mariah’s gaze darted helplessly between Shawth and her family. Her father’s eyes blazed with fury, but he gave her the smallest shake of his head.

He wanted Mariah to stand strong. To not give in. To not give this man what he asked.

Beside him, her mother lifted her chin. The stoic rage shining in her eyes was enough to wrench a small, choking sob from Mariah’s lips.

Wex and Lisabel Salis were strong. The strongest people Mariah knew.

But Mariah … was not. Not like them. The demons tightened their grips, pressing claws closer to her family’s throats. Her Armature was chained and bound before her, raging and helpless.

Her guilt, her shame, her empty rage pounded through her until everything around her drowned.

Selfish.

Pathetic.

A shameful daughter.

An unworthy queen.

Something cracked deep in the darkest crevices of Mariah’s soul. Something that had remained strong, even when she was held captive. Something even the strike of a metal-tipped whip couldn’t break.

Shawth saw her fracture. He leaned forward, still grinning, foul breath brushing her cheeks.

“Do you know why we let you go?” He chuckled. “I’ll admit, we had fun sending our friends from the Kizar Islands to torment your Armature during your stay with us. But we soon realized that we could never break you here. As much as we did not wish to admit it, you were too strong. You care very little for your well-being and your body. Which I suppose we should have known, given your reputation.”

Mariah was numb to the laughter that rose around the gardens.

The whore queen.

“I will admit, we were stumped for a time. Until Lord Laurent helped us make an invaluable realization.”

Andrian’s father sat in his chair upon the dais, expression a careful, solid mask. But despite his efforts, the wicked delight that glimmered in his eyes was impossible to ignore.

“You have a weakness, Mariah: your ability to love. You don’t love many, but once you do …” Shawth glanced once at Andrian, then to her Armature, then finally to her family. “Once you do, you would tear the world down and spit upon its ashes to keep that love safe.”

Mariah’s heart thumped against her chest. Had she really been so easy to read? She’d said almost those same words to Andrian before they’d left.

She’d tried to make love her retribution, but it all turned out to be her weakness.

“We knew about your Armature and the Laurent heir; your ties to them were obvious. But it was our esteemed Lord Donnet, who reminded us of all you’d left behind in Andburgh. With a little help from the true god of Onita, we had them brought here. For safekeeping, of course.”

“What do you mean by true god of Onita?” A force beyond her control yanked the question from Mariah’s mouth. Likely that beast still crawling beneath her skin, growing more agitated as the seconds ticked past.

She contemplated giving over control to the beast of her rage. But she clung to the last broken pieces of herself, if only for the hope that she might, somehow, be able to bargain her way out of this.

She’d gladly toss herself, her magic, and her crown at Shawth’s feet if it meant her family—both those of blood and those she’d selected for herself—could leave this place free.

Shawth blinked down at her, brow twisting with curiosity. His empty eyes flashed, and something dark and sinister slid across his features.

“Patience, little queen.” He tsked. “You will meet him before the day is done.”

The beast in Mariah’s skin stilled.

Something was very, very wrong. Mariah wrapped herself around the beast, begging for just a few more moments.

Please. Please, I have to try to get them out. Please.

“Whatever you want, Shawth, I’ll give it to you. Partake in any ritual, swear any oaths, drain my entire body of blood. Just … please. Let them go. ”

Muffled bellows of revolt rolled through the gardens, even as the risers fell into a still, breathless silence. Mariah slumped her head, chin hitting her chest.

She fell to the grass, knees meeting the soft ground with a quiet thud.

Somewhere, she heard Andrian’s roar of fury. The guards struggled to contain him, dragging him away from her as he cried her name. Her Armature thrashed against their bindings. Their desperation leeched into the air; desperation to escape, to claw their way to their queen, to pull her up from her knees.

But Mariah was done fighting. Her family had given her everything. Taught her how to be strong in a world that would try to keep her weak. She could not pay the price her defiance now demanded.

Shawth had won.

Shawth crouched down before her, groaning slightly as he wobbled on his balance.

“Whatever I want?” he whispered. “So, you offer to me your blood by your own free will?”

“Yes,” Mariah breathed. “Whatever you want from me, I’ll give it willingly. But only if my family, my Armature, and my court can go free. Let them go to Kreah. They will leave the kingdom and will never bother you again.” She didn’t dare raise her gaze. Her words were steady and sure, but she didn’t trust herself. Didn’t trust her resolve if she looked anywhere but at her knees.

The gardens were silent, and her heartbeat thundered in her ears. The beast in her chest was snarling and thrashing. She did her best to soothe it, desperate to quiet the rage. She had no magic to push it back, so it raged against her, and she weathered it as rocks weathered the waves of the sea.

For her family, Mariah could do this. For as long as it took to get them out, to get them to safety, she could do this.

Shawth rose. Mariah’s gaze followed him, and he stared down at her, puzzled.

“Hm,” he said, crossing his arms. “How disappointing. I had expected you to fight harder than that.”

“You’ve won. What’s the point of fighting?” She glanced at her mother.

She shouldn’t have.

Lisabel’s expression almost tore Mariah in two. There was no disappointment on her mother’s face, only heartbreak. Pure, terrible, awful sadness glistened in Lisabel’s golden-hazel eyes.

“I’m sorry.” Mariah blinked, a single tear falling from her cheek, before she stilled.

She’d spoken those words out loud.

Shawth watched them, and his puzzlement faded away to wicked delight.

“You have all heard it,” he said, raising his voice so it carried across the gardens. The sun burned down on them, far more intense than it should have for the late northern spring. “An ascended queen has offered her blood to us willingly. Our god shall have his offering, and the curse will be lifted.” Raucous cheers answered him, even as cruelty sparkled in his eyes.

Dark cruelty. Inhuman cruelty. Otherworldly cruelty.

“Of course, our god needs the pretender queen alive. But she has offered her blood, and her blood, he shall take.”

The beast roared in Mariah’s ears. Her heart hammered in her chest. Her lungs froze, fingers curling into desperate, reaching claws. Her muscles strained against the hands holding her. She lurched to her feet, throwing herself forward, taking a single, feeble step.

Toward her family. Toward her mother.

The demon holding Lisabel tightened its grip, its serrated claw digging further into her neck. A scream she did not hear pulled itself from Mariah’s throat.

The journal. The dagger. Our family. I want to know, I need to know, I need you?—

So many thoughts and memories and dreams and hopes slammed into Mariah. Bitter regret and frantic rage pummeled her, battering her broken soul. If she could just get to her mom, could just get that monster away from her, then she could understand …

Lisabel’s mouth opened, a single tear sliding down her bruised and bloodied face.

My light , she mouthed. It’s okay, my light. I forgive you, my light. I am so proud of you …

Over and over and over. More tears landed on Lisabel’s swollen lips. The demon behind her parted his maw in a ravenous growl.

Shawth turned to the creature, his eyes alight.

“With the blood of the usurper, may the true god be set free.”

The demon snarled in feral delight.

My light ? —

The words were frozen on Lisabel’s lips as the demon’s serrated claw pulled a jagged line across her throat, biting deep into the delicate flesh. Dark, ruby blood burst from the wound, splattering the aberrant below the platform in a violent, macabre waterfall of death.

When her mother’s lifeblood met the cursed stone, Mariah erupted.