Chapter 47
Mariah tugged a loose tunic over her shoulders, weaving through the throngs of people. Some gave her a curious look as she passed, though she tried to hide her face as best she could. Her stomach rumbled furiously and she grimaced.
Matheo—as ill-timed as his interruption had been—was right; it was well past when they normally made their way down for lunch, and she was starving. It didn’t help that too many complicated emotions were still bubbling in her chest, stretching her thin.
Mariah glanced up and down the streets of Eyarfell. She felt Andrian and Matheo at her back, tailing her closely but still giving her space. She didn’t think she’d ever seen the city this busy before.
Turning toward the great hall that also served as a cafeteria and gathering place, she realized why.
Normally their training would drive them to the hall before the rest of the city came to eat, allowing them a few moments of peace. It had created an illusion, a mirage that Mariah had forgotten wasn’t reality.
Because Leuxrithians did everything as a community, even in a city as large as Eyarfell. That included sharing their meals.
Despite the throngs of people, Mariah’s skin didn’t prickle with discomfort until they reached the great hall and pushed open the doors. She stepped past the threshold into the cavern, and every set of purple eyes within swung to her.
Their looks were friendly enough. A few people closest to the door gave her polite nods, welcoming smiles on their faces.
The door slammed behind them, and their gazes shifted past her, landing on the man to her right.
Mariah’s heart hammered in her chest, and she resisted the urge to wipe her hands on her pants.
What was once friendly flickered into hostility, what was once welcoming became distrust. Tension settled over the cavern, heavy and thick. The dull roar of pleasant conversation dwindled into a murmured trickle of agitation.
Why couldn’t a single thing go right today?
They could run. They could retreat to their apartments and ask for food to be brought to them. They could hide away from all these eyes simmering with hate—not for her, or even really for him. But for the god who’d sired him, for the magic in his veins that he’d never asked for.
Something in Mariah twisted and settled. No. Andrian had spent enough of his life running. Truthfully, so had she. He may not be ready to tell her what happened in Khento, but she would no longer let people convince him that he was a monster to be feared.
She would no longer let him convince himself.
Mariah met his gaze. She saw it in him—the urge to run.
Instead, she reached out, grasping his calloused hand in hers. Gripped it tight as she stepped into him, her lip faintly lifting in a snarl.
“Ignore them,” she whispered fiercely. “Because you are mine.”
Heat flared in his eyes, only to be quelled a moment later. His throat bobbed as he swallowed, but he gave her a tight nod.
Good enough, she supposed.
With her chin lifted, Mariah led them through the cavern to the array of food set in the center of the room. She ignored the continued stares. The soft mutterings.
She only held tight to Andrian and refused to let go.
“We’re seeing you a bit later than usual.” The man behind a table laden with fresh fruit and bread smiled kindly at them. It was the same volunteers every day, and Mariah was thankful there were a least a few friendly faces in that massive space.
Mariah returned his smile, though it was forced and tight-lipped. “Lost track of time up on the mountain.”
Matheo snorted.
The man gave a knowing smile, but she didn’t miss the quick glance he gave Andrian. “You can sit at the council’s table, if you’d like. It’s a little more private—”
“Thank you, but that won’t be necessary.” Her chin was still lifted. She didn’t say the rest of what she wanted to, though she thought it.
Their misplaced hate cannot drive us away.
The man hesitated but nodded. “Of course, Your Majesty.” He gestured to the spread. “Enjoy your lunch.”
They filled their plates with sandwiches and fruit. Andrian was silent, sunken into himself, but he followed her like a shadow. Matheo was already halfway through his first sandwich when he pointed to an empty table near the right wall of the cavern.
Mariah’s bond with Andrian might’ve been silent and closed, but as they wound through the crowds, she could feel him slipping away.
She had resolve. She knew the truth about him and who he truly was.
She also knew he’d always struggled with seeing it.
Gods, she needed to know what Kol made him do in that castle.
They sat, backs to the wall, Matheo across from them. They ate in silence, the stares in the room still grating, still piercing, but survivable.
At least, so she thought.
They’d almost made it through their entire meal. Had almost cleared their plates, ready to get out of this stifling room, when he approached.
The young man was unassuming. Pale skin, a shock of blond hair, light purple eyes. Yet the scowl he wore, the look of pure, desperate, soul-deep loathing, was anything but.
Mariah would have sent her magic out in a flash, would have shoved him away from their table or pinned him to the floor. The second she saw that look on his face, she would have done whatever it took to keep him away.
But she didn’t have her magic. She only had a meaningless title and a dragon-winged dagger on her thigh.
“Is what the Oracle says true?” The Leuxrithian’s question was simple, but his tone was edged and jagged.
Mariah slowly rose from her seat, tension coiled in every inch of her body. “What does the Oracle say?”
The young man shifted his gaze to Andrian. His head was bowed, staring at his empty plate, even as his hands balled into fists.
“He’s one of them, isn’t he? One of the shadow touched.” The man’s voice pitched lower. “A reykr.”
The hall had fallen deathly still. A few rose from their seats, craning their necks. Most simply watched the exchange, all that hate and fear and distrust gleaming in their eyes.
Mariah was sick of it.
“Hey, asshole.” Matheo shot to his feet. His glare was hard and fierce, so very different from his usual lightness as he loomed over the man. “It costs nothing to leave people alone. I suggest you go away, before I make you—”
“Matheo.” Mariah’s command cut him off, no more than a murmur but still firm. Her Armature glanced at her, protective anger swirling in his hazel eyes, but he listened.
Though he didn’t step away from the man.
“I will tell you all the same thing I told your Oracle.” Her voice was soft yet carrying, laced with all the violence bubbling just beneath her skin. “I’m grateful for your refuge and hospitality. I know how Kol has used your people. But—”
“So, he is one.” More blind hate rose in the young man’s eyes. “You should not trust him, Your Majesty. All the reykr are children of darkness. He belongs to evil.”
“He belongs to me.” Mariah’s snarl echoed through the silent hall.
Each time she had to make that statement, she could feel the effect of it weaken.
A chair scraped, harsh in the silence. A dark blur moved around their table, shouldering through the crowd, heading for the exit.
“Fuck,” Mariah muttered. Shoving aside her plate, she leaped over the table, sliding off the other side. She paused once, glaring at the young man who’d let his fear get the best of him.
“He may have darkness in him,” she growled, “but when has darkness ever made something evil? Don’t you worship the night itself?
” She took a menacing step. For the first time the young man’s anger faltered, something like uncertainty slipping in.
“Why don’t you ask Callamus how much you should fear the dark before you blame a man who has only ever wanted to deserve the light. ”
Mariah turned on her heel, pushing through the crowd after Andrian, even as he vanished through the doors.
The streets were still congested, and Andrian was nearly running. Mariah lost him a few times as he slipped in and out of the cover of his shadows, earning him more hisses and glares. There was a manic energy to him, an instability she could feel even without their bond.
Her hand finally grazed his arm as they turned down the hallway to their apartment, but he shrugged her away. Even when he burst into their rooms, he still evaded her grip, striding straight to the wall of windows.
Mariah paused in the middle of the room, catching her breath. Andrian was tense as he stood looking out over the city, down at the lake below.
They stood in silence for a long moment. All those words, everything they knew, everything they’d shared swirling between them.
“It’s not true, Andrian—”
“Yes, it is, Mariah.” There was so much sadness in his voice. All that brokenness he tried so hard to hide away.
Mariah pushed her shoulders back. “Then tell me what happened in Khento. What did Kol make you do that makes you think you can’t be saved?”
Andrian’s heaved a great sigh, shoulders rising and falling. He turned slowly from the windows. That stray dark curl fell across his brow, and when he lifted his brilliant blue gaze to hers, everything shattered.
“I killed my father.”
There was a pause in the world. A deep inhale of breath.
Mariah shook her head. “You…killed Kol?”
“Not him,” Andrian snarled, rage rising in him like a storm.
“The man who raised me. Julian Laurent.” He took a staggering step forward, lifting his hands.
“I let Kol take control of my mind. I gave him control, handed it to him on a silver fucking platter.” His lip curled, still staring at his hands.
“I slid my sword into his heart. I still feel his blood on my hands. My hands.” He lifted his gaze back to hers, and she saw straight into his soul. “Not Kol’s. Mine.”
Mariah’s mind was blank. Her jaw hung slack. Confusion and sadness whirled through her on a silent maelstrom.
This was what he’d been so afraid of telling her? This was the confession that had plagued him?