Chapter 7
They flew over the sandstone buildings of Desva, early afternoon sun warm on Mariah’s skin. She shifted between Rulene’s scales as the goddess caught an updraft, banking toward the outskirts of the city and Amasis’s serekah.
The pale-blue dragon landed heavily on the packed sands outside the elegant manor. Her wings stirred the hot air, Callamus settling nearby. Mariah and her court—Ciana and Sebastian excluded—slid from their backs, Trefor looking particularly thankful to be back on solid land.
“We will return shortly.”
Mariah turned at Rulene’s neutral tone. “Where are you going?”
“To deal with Priam.” The day sky goddess blinked her large, golden eyes. “He needs to offer us more about why, exactly, he thought rounding up Onitans and bringing them here without informing Callamus or me was a good idea.”
Mariah frowned. “Do you want me to come?”
“Not yet,” Callamus rumbled. “This matter concerns you, of course. But we’ve known Priam for many millennia. Let us speak with him first.”
Mariah hesitated. She wanted to come. She wanted to give this empty anger in her chest an outlet. Wanted to ask that meddling god why he’d felt the need to create further issues for an already displaced monarch who was holding onto her crown with nothing more than bravado and a broken heart.
“Okay,” she said. “Good luck.”
Callamus dipped his great head, indigo scales gleaming in the sunlight. The two dragons launched back into the air, dark shapes moving across the cloudless sky.
Would they be able to get through to Priam? Was there more to the god’s arrival that they weren’t telling her?
They had been honest with her so far. Mariah trusted them—at least, as much as she could trust anyone outside her court. That didn’t mean she didn’t harbor fears.
Not after everything. Fear was a companion now, as recognizable to her as the beat of her heart.
“Mariah.” A warm hand touched her shoulder. She blinked, gaze focusing on a boyish face with kind hazel eyes. Matheo’s head was cocked, brown hair tumbling across his forehead. “What now?”
Mariah drew in a deep breath, the arid desert air burning her lungs. She was thankful it was so warm here. It melted the ice that pitted in her stomach.
Right then, all she wanted was more of that warmth.
“I want to train.”
Matheo’s brow furrowed, like he was trying to interpret what she’d said. “Like…right now? Today? Here?”
“Yes.”
Matheo exhaled heavily, shielding his eyes.
He glanced up at the scorching sun. “Really? It’s hotter than the goddess’s tits out here.
” He froze, cheeks flushing a brilliant shade of ruby.
He dropped his gaze back to Mariah, eyes comically wide, as if Rulene herself had heard him.
“Was that…can I…am I still allowed to say that?”
Mariah shrugged, fighting back a spark of humor. “Probably not. I guess it depends on which goddess you’re talking about.” She dropped her voice. “Though I probably wouldn’t say it in front of one of them.”
Matheo nodded emphatically, suddenly very serious. “Right. Yeah. Good thinking.”
Mariah couldn’t help it. Despite the stress of the day, she laughed softly, mouth splitting into a light grin. She shoved her Armature’s shoulder playfully.
“C’mon,” she said, feet already carrying her toward the grove of acacias. “We’re wasting daylight.”
“You should eat something first, Mariah!” Delaynie called. Her arms were crossed over her chest, strands of auburn hair catching in the breeze.
Mariah was about to protest, but a familiar face poked out of the serekah’s doorway. “She’s right, lass!” Mikael wore a stern expression, though light danced in his eyes. “I made sandwiches. No heading into that grove until you eat one.”
“Sandwiches aren’t waffles, Mikael,” Mariah said with a groan, but she turned back toward the serekah anyway. The moment her chef appeared, her hunger awoke. Her stomach panged angrily against her ribs, as if reminding her that she hadn’t eaten since early that morning.
“I know, lass. You’ll get your waffles one day. For now, my fresh bread will have to do.”
Mariah supposed she could live with that.
Sweat plastered Mariah’s braid to her neck. She took a swig from the water skin, the cool liquid soothing a path down her throat.
It was fucking hot. Not the sort of humid warmth that swept over Onita in the summers, either. This heat was dry and baking, like they were loaves of bread in Mikael’s oven.
It felt good to move and sweat, though. Mariah’s savored the ache in her muscles—both from her run that morning and from the spar she’d just had with Quentin.
Her red-haired Armature leaned the dulled training swords against the trunk of an acacia, their blades curved in the style preferred by the Kreah.
“Fucking gods.” Matheo flopped down onto the packed sands, throwing an arm over his face. Trefor was splayed out face-down beside him, sides heaving with exertion. The boys had shed their shirts in the first few minutes of training, their skin slightly flushed from the sun and gleaming with sweat.
“You are all so dramatic.” Rylla tossed her long ponytail over her shoulder, rolling her eyes. She leaned casually against a tree, flipping her spear over in her hands. Kiira sat cross-legged beside her.
“I’m not kidding this time, Rylla,” Matheo grumbled. “Your desert is actually going to kill me. This is the end of Matheo Riqueti.”
Rylla only scoffed. “If you cannot even survive this, then you won’t last through the summer. This is still mild. The days haven’t even reached their peak yet.”
“It gets worse?” Matheo scrunched his face. “I don’t get why you call this place home.”
“It is not our home anymore,” Kiira reminded him.
“But if you must know, I suggest you watch the sun rise over the dunes or the way the horizon wavers like an ocean at the peak of day. There is no beauty like that of the desert, because it is not given freely. It must be earned by those who wish to see it.”
Matheo muttered something unintelligible under his breath that sounded a lot like “stupid” and “never worth it.”
“All right.” Mariah corked her water skin, dropping it to the sands with a thud. “Enough lounging. Who’s ready to go next?”
Footsteps crunched down the path. Mariah turned, instincts flaring. A breathless Delaynie stepped into their small clearing, a guarded look in her blue eyes.
“We have company—”
“Company that will not be left waiting, alone and unattended.” More footsteps crashed behind Delaynie. Six figures emerged from the shade of the acacias. They wore fine clothes, their hands and arms and hair adorned with silver and gold jewelry. Wealthy, obviously. Elites, definitely.
Just the sort of people Mariah loathed.
Matheo and Trefor sprung to their feet, still shirtless.
Quentin padded to Mariah’s side, baldric slung across his bare chest. The group surveyed Mariah and her court with lifted brows, something like disdained shock wafting from them.
A woman in the front tilted her imperious chin, the corners of her lips tilting up in a sneer.
“Apologies,” she said to Delaynie with a sniff. “I thought you were going to fetch the queen.”
“She did.” Mariah narrowed her eyes. Annoyance bubbled up in her chest. “Who are you?”
The woman smiled, but it was far from pleasant. “We are the Kreah Council of Elders, and we have come to demand an audience with the Queen of Onita.”
Fuck.
Mariah hadn’t met the Elders yet, but based on their abrupt appearance and cold expressions, she had a feeling this wasn’t good. Word had surely reached them about the arrival of the Onitans at the border.
Delaynie, bless her, crossed her arms and frowned at the Elders. “I told you to wait for the queen at the serekah.”
“And give her a chance to run away and hide, just like she did from her own country?” the Elder spat. “Not likely. So, where is she?”
“I’m right here, Elder.” Mariah’s annoyance blazed up into anger.
Elder or not, she was sick of these people speaking down to her.
“But unfortunately, I only speak to people with names and manners. So, we can either start from the beginning, where you show myself and my court the respect we deserve, or you can leave.”
If Sebastian were here, he would have passed out at Mariah’s tone.
But Sebastian wasn’t here, and Quentin and Delaynie simply smirked.
The Elder’s eyes narrowed. “I was warned you were a disrespectful brat. How the Onitan’s ever believed it a good idea to place a child on their throne is beyond me.”
“Natia,” one of the other Elder’s interrupted. She was shorter than Natia, with long braids twisted delicately atop her crown. She inclined her head to Mariah.
“You make a valid point, Your Majesty. My name is Odelle, and these are my fellow Elders: Zalam”—a wizened, stooped man with white hair nodded— “Imri”—an elderly woman with a dour expression sniffed— “and Miron,” Odelle finished, gesturing to a middle-aged man with red braids and green eyes that stood out against his umber skin.
“And this is Natia,” Odella said, standing beside the tall Elder. “Tensions are high, but please forgive her words. She did not mean them.”
“Do not presume to speak for me, Odelle,” Natia seethed. “I meant every word I said.”
Odelle sighed.
Mariah grinned.
“Pity,” Mariah said, folding her arms over her chest. She wore nothing but a thin tank and leggings, dagger sheathed comfortably at her thigh.
“I guess you’ll have to take the qualification of this disrespectful brat up with the gods.
I believe two of them will be back any moment, if you’d prefer to wait. ”
“This matter does not concern the gods, Queen.” The aged man—Zalam—hobbled forward. Despite the sagging lines of his face, his eyes were bright and sharp. “This is a matter between neighboring rulers, and it will be settled as such.”
Mariah waved a hand. “Then, by all means,” she said. “Let’s settle it.”