Chapter 75
Andburgh. Gone. Burned to ash.
The world beneath Mariah’s feet tilted. Andrian gently grabbed the informant’s letter from her hands. She didn’t know if the anger that rose up fast in her chest, pooling beneath her ribs like a noxious river, belonged to her or if it spilled over from their bond.
It was probably hers. It felt too hot and poisonous, too violent and vindictive, to belong to Andrian alone.
It was a strange feeling, to mourn and rage over the loss of something that should’ve meant nothing. Mariah had no love for Andburgh—she’d spent most of her life wanting nothing more than to run as far from it as possible.
That didn’t mean it wasn’t once her home.
That it wasn’t the place where her father had first taught her how to throw a dagger or swing a sword. That it wasn’t the place where she’d raised her horse and broken him to ride, where she and her brother had chased each other endlessly through the birch trees and fields of wildflowers.
That it wasn’t where her mother had taught her the importance of being true to herself in a world that would try to force her into a perfect, powdered mold.
Andburgh held a lot of darkness, yes. But it also held so many of Mariah’s happy memories. She’d never wanted to return, but she’d never wanted it harmed, either.
Now Kol had taken it from her. Just as he’d taken so much else. He’d stamped his foul mark on this last piece of her innocence, burning it from the world just as he did all else.
“Mariah.”
She lifted her gaze to meet one of crushing tanzanite, shadows swirling in their depths. “He attacked my home.”
“I know.” A muscle worked in Andrian’s jaw. “I know.” His hand found her arm, squeezing gently. “I know your memories of that place were complicated,” he murmured, “but I still wanted to go with you there one day. To see the Ivory Forest you grew up in. I wanted to know that part of you.”
Mariah closed her eyes, throat burning.
Kol had targeted Andburgh for a very specific reason. One that Andrian’s words had captured so perfectly in every painful, heart-shattering way.
Resolve settled in her gut like a stone. “I need a moment.”
She padded to the still open window, stepping back onto the balcony overlooking the city and lake below. She lowered to the ground, crossing her legs over each other and closing her eyes.
When she dragged in a deep, cleansing breath, the world quieted.
She hadn’t been able to open her bonds earlier. She knew she’d told Andrian she would try; that’s why she’d sent him to the meeting with the Vigamor. So she could have some peace and silence to wade through stale, murky bonds that burned bright but were stretched by distance.
But when she’d tried to do it, when she’d sat here and stared at the peace of Eyarfell, she couldn’t. Something held her back—fear, self-doubt, uncertainty. It didn’t really matter what it was, only that when he returned, she couldn’t help but feel guilty.
It was different now.
Images of a burning Andburgh, of all those beautiful white trees of the Ivory Forest stained black with soot, of the crisp rain and sandalwood scent marred with the noxious fumes of charred flesh, flashed through her mind.
She felt for her bonds—all seven of them, alive and breathing and pulsing with magic.
Two of them were brighter than the others, vibrating with their proximity.
The other five trembled with life, but were markedly duller in comparison, strained and tenuous in the way they stretched from her mind.
She reached for one woven through with gold, one that felt like solid power and a lion’s gentleness. She cracked it open, falling through space.
Far away, at the other end of that bond, a consciousness brushed hers. Confused at first, then filled with sudden, brilliant elation and relief. “Mariah? Is that you?”
“Drystan.” Though she had no body here, she felt herself smile. “It’s good to hear your voice.”
“Gods, M—yours, too.” Drystan paused, and Mariah could feel that ever-present analytical part of him snap to attention. “What’s wrong? Has something happened?”
“I found the weapon.” There was no point in wasting words. “It’s my dagger. I had it all along.”
Silence. Feelings of shock, awe, and vicious excitement bled back to her. “When do we strike?”
“Now. Kol has burned Andburgh and moves for Verith. It’s time to leave Kreah; I need you all with me.”
There was another beat from Drystan. Mariah prickled at the unease washing from the bond.
“There’s nothing that Feran, Trefor, and I want more than to leave this place,” Drystan said.
“But…things are complicated at the moment. Strained. If we suddenly leave—all of us—then I’m afraid of what will happen to the Onitan refugees and members of the court who stay. ”
“What do you mean things are complicated?”
She could feel his nervous shift. “The rebels. The coup. There’s more unrest every single day. Desva feels very much on the brink. It’s taking all our efforts, including Kiira and Rylla’s help, to keep everyone safe.”
Those fucking rebels. When would this world learn that the true enemy was far, far worse than a few hundred people in need of safety from the violence and destruction of war?
“Trefor had suggested,” Drystan continued, “that if you want us to join you, we could send the refugees back to Onita. Perhaps they could go south to Tolona, or even to—”
“There is nowhere in Onita that’s safe for them. Not now. Not until Kol is destroyed.” Guilt and shame and anger swam through Mariah. She had allowed those people to stay in Kreah in the first place. Would that decision—one forced on her by an idiot god—be one that doomed her in the end?
“I’m sorry, Mariah,” Drystan murmured. “We want to help. And we will come. Now that you have what you need, we will do everything we can to get away as soon as possible. It just…may not be today.”
“I understand. Take care of our people.” She paused. “And take care of yourselves. I can’t lose you—any of you. Do you understand? Do not do anything to endanger yourselves. That’s an order.”
She could feel his affection and amusement. It warmed the spot beneath her chest that so often now felt cold. “I swear it, my queen. We will see you again soon.”
Mariah couldn’t bear to say goodbye. So, she pushed all the things she felt—all her grief and love and desperation and fear and rage—down the bond and retreated. She snapped the bond closed, snuffing out that warmth in her chest and settling back into herself.
One group down. Not exactly what she’d hoped for; she needed Drystan’s, Feran’s, and Trefor’s swords. But she understood their need to stay. It wasn’t just the refugees who were still in Kreah; it was Ryenne’s Ladies, Mikael the cook, Brie the seamstress.
Wex. Ellan.
Every person she cared for, every person who could be used against her, was in Kreah. Drystan was right to want to stay.
She reached for the bond of silver magic, crackling embers, and the wildness of the sea.
Unlike Drystan’s steady presence, Quentin’s consciousness slammed into her like a storm. Chaos burst through her mind, loud and urgent and desperate. It was madness, like being thrust onto a sinking ship, left to claw madly for a space to breathe.
He was fighting. Maybe. At the very least, he was heavily distracted, his mind split and clearly trying to hide his panic and annoyance from her. She kept her message brief: stay safe and get back to Onita as soon as he could.
With a final, “Fight well, Quentin,” Mariah flung her consciousness through space.
She slammed back into her body with a gasp.
The bond closed behind her, and she steadied herself in the mountain air, chest heaving with her breaths.
A fine sheen of sweat dampened her brow, her magic flickering and flashing in her veins.
One more. One more bond to check. One that made her the most nervous, but that she also missed the most.
Sebastian knew by now what she’d asked of Ciana. Would he have forgiven her? Would he understand why she’d asked it, why it was so important? Or would the rift between them now be too deep to cross?
Gods, with all that she’d lost, she couldn’t lose him, too. Because if she did, she knew the only one to blame would be herself.
Mariah swallowed her fear and steeled her resolve. He’d done what she’d sent him to do. He and Ciana had given her the answer she’d been searching for. No matter how far apart they drifted, she knew she would always be able to rely on Sebastian.
Mariah opened the bond woven with golden magic and solid earth.
The distance between them felt even greater than the others. How deep in the jungles was the Vathan capital? They’d been told the way, but Mariah was a little ashamed to admit how little she’d listened. She reached down that bridge of shimmering golden light, whispering softly into the void.
“Sebastian?”
Silence answered her. But she kept pushing forward, deeper down the bridge.
She felt something. Another presence, a conscience. Solid and steady and sure and as familiar to her as the back of her own hand.
It was also different. Where warmth had once leaked from every crevice, he was now withdrawn. Closed off and reserved and walled away.
Mariah pressed her mind against that wall of stone. “Sebastian?”
He stirred. But still, he did not speak.
His emotions struck her like a great wave, pushing her back and sending her gasping for breath.
Sadness. Defeat. Humiliation. Shame. Fear. Anger. All of it swirled up on a dangerous riptide, eddying throughout the space between their minds.
Nausea roiled in Mariah’s gut. She preferred Quentin’s chaos to this wrenching, pulsating rawness.
She fought against the current, fighting for a foothold. “Sebastian,” she finally managed. “What’s happened? What’s wrong?”
There was another breath of silence, and for a moment she worried he wouldn’t answer. That he would ignore her, lost in the hollows of his own grief.
She finally felt his consciousness turn to her, finding her amidst the storm.
“I’m sorry,” he said softly. “I failed. I’m sorry.”
“Sorry for what? Failed how? What’s going on?”
But that was it. There was no more from him. He closed down, unable to kick her out, but not willing to speak, either.
Icy fear slid between Mariah’s ribs like a well-honed blade.
She couldn’t imagine many things that would leave Sebastian like this. And in Vatha, no less. They’d been permitted access to the archives; they’d obviously made progress with the king. What could’ve possibly gone so wrong in a matter of days to suddenly have him like this?
Gods, she wanted to help him. She wanted to shift forms and fly as fast as she could to Vatha. The beast growled and begged as much, magic flickering off her skin.
Memories of that letter flickered in her mind. Of Andburgh, reduced to ash and smoldering ruins.
Of her mother, lifeless in the bloodstained grass, a sacrifice to a god who craved only power and chaos.
She had to end this. Not just for herself, but for all of them. Every single person—both in her life and without—who had lost something to the darkness that had been slowly seeping into this world for thousands of years.
“I’m going to Andburgh to finish this,” she said softly into the void, knowing he could hear. “I will need you, if you can join me. But if you can’t, I need you to be strong. Like you always are. Take care of Ciana, and I will find you when this is done.”
She pulled back, flinging herself through space and time. Somewhere—maybe in her imagination—she thought she heard a bellowed voice, someone telling her to wait.
She couldn’t. She wouldn’t. She’d done enough waiting. She would do no more.
Mariah slammed back into her body with a gasp and a shudder, panting into the crisp mountain air. She opened her eyes, blinking against the sunlight, fighting past the urge to throw up as the horizon dipped and swayed.
It took a few minutes for her stomach to settle, for the world to stop roiling, for her heart to stop thundering in her chest. There was a tentative tap on the glass behind her.
Andrian knelt just inside the open window, watching her with concern etched across his brow.
In his hand was a glass of water, the few cubes of ice tinkling.
Mariah took it, swallowing the contents thankfully.
She handed it back to him mostly empty, the cold liquid soothing something that still burned in her chest. Andrian reached through the open window, wiping a few lingering drops from her chin with his thumb, and she didn’t resist the urge to lean into his touch.
“What now, nio?”
Mariah blinked, drawing in a deep breath.
“We end this.”