Chapter 67
The ride back to Eyarfell was quiet.
Mariah rocked in the saddle in time with Kodie’s steps, losing herself in the rhythm. The weather was beautiful: clear blue skies, a crisp mountain breeze, and a sun that warmed the skin just enough to be comfortable.
But it did little to warm the chill that had settled in her chest.
Though she tried desperately to keep her gaze turned up—to the trees, to the sky, to anything—it kept drifting down.
To her hands, gripping Kodie’s reins. To the opalescent markings winding up them.
The skin wasn’t raised. It didn’t burn or hurt or show any other sign of being different from the rest of her. But she couldn’t ignore the feeling of other winding through her, like someone lurked over her shoulder, watching.
The unblinking eyes hidden in the mark probably didn’t help.
At least she had her magic. The threads bloomed through her chest, spreading down through her limbs, that ancient beast purring in her chest like a cat.
She let just a tendril of her magic spill out of her skin, wrapping around her index finger. It was hard to see in the bright sunlight, but it still glowed fiercely, a light to rival the burning one above.
“You still don’t know why it was locked from you?”
Mariah glanced at Andrian, riding beside her on the shaggy brusi. His eyes were a little red, but his expression was concerned.
She fought back her smile. They’d stayed at their camp at the staor for another night, allowing Mariah to reacquaint herself with her magic. In that time, she’d forgotten to tease him about his newly discovered goat allergy.
She shook her head. “It was…very cryptic. I’m not sure I’ll ever know what happened to my magic these past few months.”
Andrian arched a brow. “But you have an idea.”
“Well…more of a hunch. I think—” She swallowed.
“I think it was just me. For a brief moment, I didn’t want it anymore.
When I changed my mind, the Crieré had decided they needed to get my attention.
So, they intervened to get me here. That’s why I sometimes felt my magic, especially when my guard was down. It was always there, just hidden away.”
Andrian frowned. “All this, just so they could have a chat? Surely all-powerful beings would have a better plan.”
Mariah sighed. “I’m not sure what to think, Andrian. They weren’t exactly forthcoming. It’s hard to make sense of things even the gods don’t understand.”
“Hm.” Andrian’s fingers twitched around the brusi’s reins. “Is it time to summon the Vigamor, then?”
Mariah wanted to say yes, that it was time to meet with the leaders of Leuxrith’s warriors and begin raising whatever forces they had.
Instead, she shook her head. “We still don’t have the weapon, Andrian.
Or know where it is. My magic was only the first piece of this.
I can fight him now, but I don’t want to face him again until we have everything we need to destroy him. ”
They fell silent, the stillness broken only by the steady clops of their steeds’ hooves. Mariah tipped her eyes skyward.
“Change of subject,” she said, “but have you seen Cielle recently?” The eagle had followed them up into the mountains, but Mariah hadn’t seen her since they’d first made camp at the staor two days ago. It was rare now to go so long without seeing her new friend.
“She flew off yesterday afternoon!” Signe called. “A few moments after you regained consciousness she took flight. It was like she’d been summoned.”
Mariah’s spine straightened. “What direction did she go?”
“South.” Signe cocked her head. “Do you think someone from your court called her?”
“Maybe,” Mariah murmured. When she’d given each traveling group one of Cielle’s feathers, she hadn’t even been sure it would work.
Signe had told her that such things had power, and the Attlehon eagles were known to have a magic all to themselves.
If the feathers were burned, Cielle would know, and she would come.
Mariah could only hope that was what happened. That someone on her court had discovered what they sought. Now that she had her magic back, she could feel the restlessness stirring within her chest. The need to finish everything Kol started.
Because it would be the end, either for him or for her. There wasn’t an after that she could envision. Kol would die, even if he took her with him.
Those weren’t thoughts that she could voice, though. Those were ones she guarded close to her heart.
She could crack open her bonds and ask. Cielle wasn’t necessary now that her magic was back, especially not with her new ability to speak to her Armature even when separated by great distances of land and sea.
But every time she thought about it, she stopped herself. Every time she inched closer to those bridges in her mind, she backed away.
They would have so many questions. Questions she didn’t want to answer right now. And maybe she was a coward, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it. Not yet. Guilt gnawed at her, but not enough for her to break.
So, she placed her trust in Cielle, hoping that her new friend would not fail her.
The ground beneath their beasts’ hooves slowly changed from overgrown dirt to packed stone, the path widening. The trees grew farther apart, and the crisp scent of fresh mountain water drifted to them on the breeze.
It was nearly dusk when Eyarfell rose out of the mountains, the bustle of the city bursting vibrantly out of the melodies of the wilds. The brusi stables were on just on the outskirts of the stables, and it wasn’t long until they were shouldering their packs and heading into the city streets.
Mariah ached for a bath. A chance to scrub the grime of their travels from her skin and sit with everything she’d learned.
Fate always seemed to have different plans.
Four figures stood on the winding path leading up to their rooms, dressed in flowing temple robes, golden discs hanging heavily from their necks.
Mariah halted, skin prickling with unease. The Leuxrithian Council regarded her with grim, veiled expressions.
“Council.” Callamus shouldered forward, standing beside Mariah. “Is something wrong?”
Merete bowed her head, pale eyes flashing. “We are glad to see you returned,” she said. “We hope the journey revealed what it needed to.”
“It did,” Mariah responded slowly. “But that isn’t why you’re here.”
Merete smiled sadly and shook her head. “No. It is not.” She pulled in a breath, folding her hands in front of her.
“The Oracle has had a vision. She wishes to see you, Queen of Onita.”
The Oracle waited for them in the temple.
Her spine was rigid and her eyes were tipped skyward, as if she could see the darkening sky through the stone of the mountains. Mariah’s magic sparkled erratically through her veins. Signe rushed forward, booted feet clicking on the stone floor.
“Grandmother,” the priestess murmured, dropping to her knees beside the Oracle. “Are you well? What has happened?”
The Oracle’s gaze slowly dropped, landing on her granddaughter. Signe drew in a sharp breath, eyes dancing between Mariah and the Oracle. The old woman leaned close to Signe, whispering something in her ear that was too soft for Mariah to catch.
Signe swallowed. “I was there, Grandmother. I’m not sure what you saw, but it was not that.”
The Oracle whispered again. Signe sighed, then nodded once. “As you wish.” She stood, her violet eyes finding Mariah’s in the dim light of the temple. “The Oracle would like to speak with you, Mariah.”
Mariah’s jaw tightened. She took a step forward but was halted by a hand around her arm.
“I have a bad feeling.”
Mariah met the deep blue of Andrian’s gaze. “It’s fine,” she said. “Whatever this is, I have nothing to hide from her.”
Andrian frowned, glancing between her and the Oracle with a furrowed brow. “It’s not that,” he murmured.
“Let go of your queen, reykr.” The Oracle’s voice carried through the cavernous room. “The sky trembled when you emerged from the staor, girl. You went in, and something else came out. My god knows it, too. So come and let me see what you brought with you into the world.”
Mariah’s unease was like a stone dropped into a still pond. She fished for words but couldn’t catch the ones that fit.
Callamus, thankfully, stepped forward. “Silje,” he said, deep voice rumbling. “You have served me long and well. Do not force yourself to glimpse things you know you cannot unsee.”
What? “Callamus, what aren’t you telling me—”
The Oracle cut Mariah off before the god could answer. “It is my time to see. I can feel it. You can, too.”
Mariah thought Callamus would push again. That he would step in and assert himself as the god of this place, a being worthy of all the idolatry of these people.
But he didn’t. Instead, he simply dipped his head and took a step back.
Mariah gaped at him. His galaxy eyes met hers, a sad smile on his face. “Go to the Oracle,” he commanded softly. “She speaks the truth.”
A low growl rumbled from Andrian’s chest, though, when Mariah stepped forward again, he didn’t stop her.
She padded quickly across the temple, halting before a stoic Signe. Mariah’s heart thundered in her chest. The Oracle’s eyes were once again turned up to the ceiling, a haze settled over her features.
Mariah cleared her throat. “I’m here, Oracle.”
The Oracle dropped her gaze, amethyst eyes clouded in the dim light. Mariah’s skin burned as the old woman took her in.
“Closer.” The Oracle extended her hands, almost in invitation.
Mariah hesitated, but a nod from Signe had her stepping forward. Had her offering her hands to the Oracle, the new Marks on her skin glowing faintly in the darkness of the temple.
The moment her skin met the Oracle’s, something shifted.
“The severed power wanes,” the Oracle whispered. Her voice was both young and old, wild and ageless and inhuman. “And only shattered can it be remade.”
Dread washed over Mariah, swallowing her whole. Those words tickled a memory. She’d read them before, in an old Leuxrithian journal. It had scared her then, when they’d been nothing more than a haunting prophecy.
Now they felt like a spell. An invocation of secrets long forgotten, burning out of memory and into reality.
Silje’s clear, wide-eyed gaze fell to Mariah’s hands. The Marks pulsed brighter under her gaze, the multifaceted colors beating in time with the thump of Mariah’s heart.
The Oracle pulled in another great breath, filling the lungs of her small body.
Then slumped forward, collapsing in her chair, tremors wrenching through her body in a violent wave.
“Grandmother!” Signe lurched forward, catching the old woman by the shoulders. Footsteps sounded, temple acolytes wrapping their arms around the Oracle and gingerly lowering her to the ground.
Mariah was frozen in her panic. That strange power was gone from the room, leaving only the familiar thrum of her light in its place, snapping and twirling in her gut.
A calloused hand gripped her shoulders.
“Nio. Look at me.”
She blinked, her vision filling with tanzanite. Andrian tightened his grip.
“We should go. This isn’t a place for us.”
She nodded, still dazed. She let Andrian push her forward, his hand on the small of her back guiding her toward the temple exit. She lifted her head just in time to catch Callamus’s stare, to catch the knowing sadness gleaming in his eyes.
He knew. He knew what would happen when she touched the Oracle, and he’d let her do it anyway. Why?
Something brushed against her consciousness. The god’s voice rumbled in her head.
“Some things cannot be explained, Mariah. Not when the forces driving it are unexplainable. The Oracle knew what awaited her today. Do not fault yourself for it.”
Andrian guided her into the evening light and up the winding path to their rooms, Matheo following on their heels. Her gaze kept drifting back to the Marks twisting up her arms. The eyes woven into the pattern caught the rising moonlight, a watchful presence that she couldn’t escape.
The gods spoke of the Crieré like some altruistic, all-knowing presence. But what if they were wrong?
What if in trying to free the world from one tyrant, Mariah had brought back something far, far worse?