Chapter 5 A Request
A REQUEST
Marina
Marina was ten years old, standing in the dense, damp heat under the dome of her mother’s training grounds.
Two mages were squared across from her. Their forms were pillars with cloaks rippling behind them like flags in the wind, hoods drawn to hide their masked faces. They were mortals. A man and a woman.
Their deaths came in a simple rise of Marina’s arm. A cut of darkness to the pumping arteries in their necks. They fell to the ground just as swiftly. Victory burst in her chest alongside a chill that dripped like ice water down her back.
Their mortality stunned her—how fast their lives ended.
But she’d done what was asked of her.
Kill them, Mother had said moments prior. Show them how powerful you are.
And yet, Marina’s body was rigid as she gaped down at the lifeless mages sleeping in their own blood.
A sharp pain prodded in her chest.
She pressed her palm against her sternum, applying pressure to the constricting of muscles and her loss of breath. Still hidden by the veil of her Night, she assured herself nobody could see her.
The dark fog began melting away, and slivers of the light sliced through.
Show her how powerful you are.
Without Mother’s validation, would she be cast aside like Naia?
Before she’d stepped onto the grounds, her sister was folded on her knees before the mages, trembling and afraid. Mother’s disappointment did not go unnoticed, her lip curled, glaring down at Naia in disgust.
Power was the way to Mother’s heart.
Marina rolled her shoulders back and forced her chin up.
She swallowed the bile snaking up her throat.
This is what Mother wants of me.
Puddles of sunlight swelled through her Night as the last of its blanket dissolved around her.
Don’t show weakness.
Marina exited the grounds and traveled up the moonstone staircase to her parents’ box. Though, she was surprised to find that Mother had already departed.
Dread hardened like a stone in her stomach.
Did she see me?
She paused at the threshold.
Naia lifted from a crouched position in front of Father, her silver hair braided like a crown around her head. She kept her gaze down at the floor, but Marina could spot the tear stains on her tan cheeks as she passed by. A cloud of tropical fruit and florals wafted in her wake.
Mother had probably made her cry, which explained why she was no longer there.
The assurance eased some of Marina’s nervousness.
Her eyes flicked to Father, sitting in his regal, wing-backed chair.
Marina stared over her shoulder at the empty entrance of the box, fighting the impulse to run after Naia and console her. Mother wouldn’t approve. She’d made herself clear time and time again that Marina was forbidden to associate with her older sister.
She has hated you since you were born, Mother always said.
And Naia rarely ever made an effort to speak to Marina. Proof that her older sister wanted nothing to do with her. Marina told herself the feeling was mutual.
She rubbed the pad of her thumb and middle fingertip together, slowly turning to approach Father.
If Mother spoke to Naia in a demeaning way, he wouldn’t be in good spirits. He never was when Mother offended Naia.
But he’d finally visited the training grounds and witnessed Marina’s power. For the first time in ten years. And she’d been too eager to hear his praise.
She cleared her throat to announce her presence, uncertain of what to say to him.
Father’s fingers paused from massaging his temples.
He rose from his seat and moved like a graceful flit of wind to face her.
Baby’s breath blossomed in his strands. His earthy eyes and dark hair were the only resemblance she had of him.
But even then, her waves were marred with Mother’s genes: a singular pale strand that framed her face.
She regularly hid it with glamor, despising anything too bright.
She had a full-hearted desire to hold these traits of hers close, as if they were pieces of him he’d given her.
Marina assessed Father’s creased brow and the strained skin around his gaze as he regarded her with a pained look. “Excuse me, Marina. I must go,” he said, stepping around her.
Earlier that morning, the servants escorted Marina to the great hall for breakfast where she spent the entire hour watching Father sit across from Naia with their porridge and a game of chess.
Father smiled and teased Naia, she laughed, and their merriness put Marina in a foul mood.
He granted Naia the type of affection she yearned to receive from him.
And here he was again, leaving her behind with little acknowledgement.
Her heart shrank, and she reached out to catch the sleeve of his robe. “Why must you overlook my victories?” Tears pricked her eyes, burning the back of her nose, and she hung her head to hide her emotion. “Why must you always turn away—”
“I turn away, because I do not wish for you to see my disappointment.”
Marina grimaced, his words stinging in her chest like she’d swallowed venom.
She released his garment, tucking her arm into herself. “I am a disappointment to you?”
“In this moment, yes.” He said it the way he said everything—with unadulterated sincerity.
Droplets rolled down her face, gathering in between her trembling lips. She scraped them off with her hand. Heat climbed up her neck and filled the tips of her ears.
“Why?” Her voice rose in response to the uncontrollable intensity of emotions welling up her throat. “Tell me why. I have done everything that is asked of me! I am powerful, just as you and Mother are!”
Father frowned down at her. “Not once have I ever asked you to be like me or your mother.”
Marina’s eyes opened to her heart fluttering in her throat. The burgundy velvet draperies of Viviana’s guest room came into view, pops of sunlight peeking through the parted material.
She ran her fingers over the linen bedsheets. The cool fabric grounded her senses from the nightmare seizing her nervous system.
Marina let out a long exhale as the memory evaporated, wishing it had stayed locked away in the pits of her heartache.
But alas, the burdens persisted.
She sat up in Viviana’s bed and stared at the particles of dust floating in the daylight.
She never slept. Not since she was younger, before gods began trespassing into her bedchamber.
A time she could barely recall. Though, she understood the cause of her sudden desire for sleep.
So did Viviana and Mansi. They all knew.
Much like they all knew it was unnecessary to speak the truth aloud.
Which was why they allowed her to do so unbothered.
Grief had carved a wide tunnel in Marina. Each day, she walked with the pain, and sleep was reprieve from it. An escape while she carried on keeping her word.
A vow that required her to rise from bed.
She teleported across the room to the antique vanity.
Progress happened in small steps—getting out from the sheets, brushing her hair, putting on her dangling silver earrings and stacked chain necklace, her rings, and slipping in a scarlet dress that hugged her physique comfortably.
She liked the way the hem of the dress swayed at her ankles when she walked.
Marina let out another long breath and faced herself in the mirror, avoiding her own dead eyes. The shade of her pink lips darkened to a velvety red. Rosy blush painted across her cheekbones, and the length of her eyelashes curled and extended.
The moment she abandoned these little things, she would lose herself entirely.
Marina’s heels clicked against the wooden planks as she strolled down the corridor to the kitchen.
Viviana’s home was lined with brass inlays, engraved mahogany trim, polished rosewood furniture enhanced with gold accents, and arched doorways, all inspired by the Regency era in the Mortal Land. It was her favorite section of their world’s past.
Viviana often went off on her own adventures, studying the history of cultures and falling in love with the elegant architecture of buildings.
Out and about, she’d point to the bold colors of the interior decor, or run her fingers over the heavy, opulent draperies hung at the tops of staircases and entryways, going on about the fabric and the shade.
Marina would let her drone on, while Mansi pretended to listen with a bored look on her face, following up with a stupid question that always pulled an annoyed scoff from Viviana.
Marina could hear the faint octave of their voices around the corner.
She slowed her pace and inhaled, fidgeting with the chilled chains resting between her breasts.
Four months ago, she would’ve departed without a word.
Expressing her farewells had never been something she was good at, and her two oldest friends knew she would always return to them.
It was the way of their relationship. They all came and went, but they always stood together when they needed each other.
However, because of her, they’d fought against Acacius and potentially made an enemy of one of the most powerful gods in their world. Therefore, she owed it to them to at least show some gratitude.
Marina rounded the corner. The morning light flooded through the windows above the sink.
A doughy, cinnamon scent braided in the air, and the sweet, spiced combination reminded her of the kitchens back in Kaimana.
Marina always caught glimpses of Naia sprinting out of the swinging door with a pastry hanging from her mouth.
The sight triggered both revulsion and amusement in Marina each time, a confusing combination she never delved deeply into.
Now, though, all she could recall was Naia’s gentle touch and her strong hold, keeping Marina on her feet as they traveled through the Land of the Dead to see their father off one last time.
Marina didn’t deserve Naia’s kindness.
“You sure know how to piss off a High God.” Mansi sat at the head of the dining room table, propped back comfortably with a steaming mug to her lips.