Chapter 5
Wind roared in Mariah’s ears as Rulene dropped below the clouds, the thunderous boom of her wings splitting the air in two.
The sky was cooler flying above the blanket of heat that smothered the desert during the day.
Ciana, Delaynie, Quentin, Rylla, and Trefor sat behind Mariah between the ridges down Rulene’s sky-blue spine.
The rest of her court flew a short distance behind on Callamus.
Signe, long hair streaming behind her, wore a wild grin as she embraced the sky on her god’s back.
It was, again, almost enough to make Mariah smile.
But as they dropped lower, the ground below roaring up to greet them, any whispered trace of amusement vanished, replaced by true, soundless shock.
The Kreah borderlands looked as Mariah remembered them: vast expanses of rocky sands, a smattering of villages and outposts dotting up around wells and oases. What was not the same was the mass of people streaming across the plains, many leading wagons or riding on horseback.
And flying above the exodus was yet another dragon, midnight and silver scales glinting in the heat of the sun.
“Priam,” Rulene growled into Mariah’s head. The goddess usually felt so calm, composed, gentle. Now her frustration rippled off her in waves, seething like a sharp summer storm.
Their descent increased, Mariah’s stomach bottoming out as Rulene tucked her wings and dived for the sands. She spread them at the last second, great beats jerking them to a halt, stirring the warm air as her hind legs landed heavily.
Mariah eased her desperate grip around Rulene’s spikes, shaking slightly. A quick glance over her shoulder told her the others felt the same.
Rulene swung her aquamarine head. “Apologies,” she said, even as a regretful chuff worked its way from her throat. “I am not used to bearing others.”
Mariah tried to smile, but she knew it looked more like a grimace. “We’re all right. At least we’re still in one piece.”
“Speak for yourself,” grumbled Quentin, already sliding off the dragon’s back. When he landed, looking up at Mariah, his face was tinged a little green.
Rulene swiveled again, golden-yellow eye fixing on Mariah’s red-haired Armature. The green left him as he paled.
Mariah chuckled under her breath. She slid off Rulene’s smooth scales, landing with a thud in the sands. Everyone else clambered off as Callamus landed beside them, his descent much slower and gentler.
“He has always been more thoughtful than me,” Rulene whispered.
Mariah turned. “I find that hard to believe.”
Rulene huffed but did not answer.
A third set of wingbeats thrummed through the air, fast approaching where they’d landed at the edge of the village.
Priam circled above, releasing a triumphant roar.
The caravans he led halted, sounds of shock and admiration echoing across the desert plains.
The first of the travelers were several yards away, jaws dropping as the three creatures born again from myths and legend shifted and settled into the sands.
There was something familiar about them, similar in the way only a people from the same area could look: the golden-toned skin, the roundness of their cheeks, the angles of their jaws—
“Wait,” Mariah said, “are those Onitans?”
Even the items they carried and the clothes they wore—thicker, heavier materials not well-suited to life in the deep deserts—were typical for residents of central Onita.
There were only a few who dressed more appropriately; perhaps residents of Kasia or any of the smaller towns that lay closer to Kreah.
“It certainly looks like it,” Callamus rumbled into her mind. Light and wind whirled as he and Rulene shifted, their human forms flanking Mariah.
A blast of hot wind and sand buffeted her face, drawing Mariah’s attention from the masses of Onitans. Priam landed with a practiced grace, chest puffed as if preening.
Rulene rolled her eyes.
With a blurring flash of starlight, Priam’s dragon vanished, replaced by a pale man with dark star-flecked hair, those same shimmering silver eyes, and a wide, proud grin stretched across his face.
“My friends!” he shouted warmly across the sands. “How wonderful it is to see you again!”
Rulene and Callamus tensed beside Mariah. “What are you doing here, Priam?”
Priam hesitated at Rulene’s quiet, deadly words.
His cocky smile faltered as his eyes bounced over Mariah, darting between the two gods.
“I have gathered my people and brought them to Kreah seeking safety. As any of you would have done.” He blinked at Callamus.
“As I’m sure you have done with your people in Leuxrith. ”
Callamus sighed before shaking his head, the indigo strands of his hair shifting across his shoulders. “No, Priam. But for one of my most loyal priestesses, I am here alone.”
Priam staggered back, as if wounded. “But you know what it means? That we are awake? Cal, it is him. Kol has returned—”
“We know, perhaps too well, why we are awake. And yet you have acted out of turn.” Rulene's words were acid, and for some reason they stung Mariah.
Sure, what Priam had done—gathering Onitans and leading them here to seek refuge—was excessive. But could Mariah stand there, as Onita’s Ascended Queen, and say it wasn’t necessary?
Could she look herself in the mirror and say that her people didn’t deserve a chance to escape Kol’s conquering wrath while they still had the chance?
Priam straightened, his brows pushing together. “Out of turn? These people worship me, Rulene. I could not leave them to suffer.”
“Wait,” Mariah said, stepping forward. Priam’s gaze finally latched on to her, his head cocking with curiosity.
“Are you…?” The cloying taste of magic wrapped around her. She shivered, trying to shrug it off, and forced a hardness to her stare.
“The Onitan Queen you should’ve found and consulted with before leading her people into a foreign desert unannounced? Yes, that would be me.”
“Incredible,” Priam murmured, as if he hadn’t heard her. “Everything about you…you look nothing like my Golden, but I can feel her in you all the same.”
Mariah prickled. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Priam grinned. “You know what it is you carry,” he said. “Qhohena never told me what she did, but seeing you now, it all makes sense.” He took a small step forward, a movement that had Mariah leaning away. “How does it feel to be the reason my Golden’s sacrifices have all been in vain?”
“That’s enough, Priam,” Callamus rumbled, but it wasn’t quick enough.
The damage of Priam’s words sank into Mariah’s skin, brushing against the scars on her back. All those feelings—of failure, of heartbreak, of sadness—rushed back to her, settling in her gut like a dagger.
She refused to yield to them. Not here, not now. Not when there was a new prick of a god to deal with.
Callamus continued, “The Queen of Onita makes a sound point. Why did you lead her people here when she did not command you to do so?”
Priam nearly scoffed. “Cal, please.” He spread his arms wide.
“We are gods in this world, remember? Borders do not exist to us. If I want to lead the nation that worships me to safety, then I will do so. I do not need the permission of a meddlesome mortal to act.” He cut Mariah a falsely sympathetic look.
“No offense meant, Your Majesty. It is simply the truth.”
The desert air filled with an uncanny tension. Mariah’s Armature shuffled on the balls of their feet, fingers itching toward weapons. Kiira and Rylla shifted, two small flashes of blue light on the edges of Mariah’s vision.
That was all the reassurance Mariah needed. These gods wanted to pull her from her grief? Well, then let them fucking deal with her rage instead.
Pasting on her best saccharine-sweet smile, Mariah strode across the sands, a panther and a leopard moving silently with her. Her hair—now past her chest and growing longer each day—flowed around her in the wind. She kept her hands at her sides, hardly a threat as she walked toward Priam.
He was tall. He smiled down at her, overconfident male arrogance mixed with scorn gleaming at her from starlit eyes.
This was Qhohena’s Consort? Her one great love in all the universe?
Mariah was unimpressed. The golden goddess could do so much better.
She stopped just beneath Priam’s chin, less than a foot separating them. He scanned her face, again tilting his head.
“My,” he said quietly, in a voice almost just for her. “You are a beauty, aren’t you? They say my Golden’s queens always are, but it’s hard to believe rumors until you see them with your own eyes—”
Priam’s next words—whatever they might’ve been—caught in his throat.
The same throat where the tip of a dragon-winged dagger was now pressed, scratched silver blade gleaming in the desert sun.
Mariah leaned closer, keeping that deadly point fixed at the hollow of Priam’s throat, Kiira and Rylla prowling around them.
“This past year, I have been told that I’m worthless by too many men to count.
That I don’t have what it takes to be a queen, that my common-born blood makes me unworthy to wear a crown.
Maybe they were right. But that doesn’t mean I will allow anyone who doesn’t know the sacrifices I’ve made to treat me as less than what I am. Not even you so-called gods.”
Priam dropped his smile, starry eyes turning to flint. “What makes you think that little knife can hurt me?”
Mariah let loose a low, bitter laugh. “I don’t,” she said. “But you haven’t moved a muscle since. Scared of a little blood, God of the Stars?”
As quickly as she’d caught him, she released him, dropping the dagger and stepping back. Priam still didn’t move—he only watched her, a guarded look now on his face.