Chapter 83
They would reach Andburgh that day.
Andrian filled his water skin from the forest creek, the cold water bubbling around his fingers. His horse drank deeply beside him, tail swishing idly. The beasts were proving to be fine mounts—solid and steady and slow to tire as they trotted down the packed earth roads.
They still weren’t worth what he’d paid for them, though.
Andrian sighed and stood, his gaze finding Mariah’s over the back of their horses. She chewed on a piece of dried, salted meat, offering him some wordlessly.
Andrian couldn’t shake all the things Kol had said when he’d been in Khento. Mariah was who he wanted most, all because he thought she’d stolen something from him. And now, they were heading right for him.
Did Mariah feel the same dread that he did? The same looming feeling of foreboding, like they were walking into the biggest mistake they would ever make?
He felt nothing from their bond. Nothing, except all that rage and fear that always plagued her. Always consumed her.
Andrian’s chest ached. She carried so much darkness with her, despite the light coursing through her veins.
He took the offered food. She smiled, though it didn’t reach her eyes.
“I need to take a piss.” Matheo stretched his arms above his head.
“Then go piss,” Andrian quipped. “I’m not going to hold it for you.”
Matheo shot him a sour look, muttered something under his breath, then stomped off into the woods. Mariah ran a hand down her horse's neck, eyes glazed over the way they always did when she was lost to her thoughts.
“Nio.”
She looked over her shoulder, green gaze piercing. Andrian took her hand, pulling her to face him fully.
“Are you still sure about this?”
“Of course, I am.” Mariah brows pulled together, her head tilting. “You’re not.”
It wasn’t a question. She already knew. He’d told her as much that morning, and she could likely feel every bit of his hesitation, every one of his worries leeching down that bond that never closed.
Andrian swallowed. “I’ll always believe in you,” he said quietly. “And I’ll follow you anywhere. But I love you enough to tell you when I think you’re making a mistake.”
“A mistake.” Mariah scoffed. “My mistake was not protecting my family from the moment I was Chosen. My mistake was letting fear keep me from acting.” Her shoulders straightened, that fierceness he adored so much igniting in her features. “I won’t make the same mistake again.”
“Mistakes in the past don’t forgive mistakes in the present, Mariah.”
Her jaw clenched.
An idea sprung into Andrian’s head. A terrible idea, and one that might earn him a dagger to his chest, but maybe it was the only thing she’d listen to.
He turned, stepping to his horse's side. He pulled a silver leatherbound book from his bag. The dappled sunlight filtering through the trees caught the embossed name on the cover.
Ginnelevé.
Mariah took a jilted step back, bumping into her horse. Sparks of light dropped from her fingertips, a growl that was a bit too animalistic rumbling from her throat.
“Why the fuck did you bring that?” Her gaze darted between the book and Andrian. “It’s all I have left of my mother, Andrian. Of her entire bloodline. It needed to stay in Leuxrith where it’s safe.”
Andrian took a steadying breath. “I’m sorry I brought it.
I know it’s all you have left of her. I promise I’ll protect it with my life.
But I think you need to read the most recent entries, Mariah.
Not the ones written by your ancestors about the reykr or the gods, but the ones written by her. By Lisabel Ginnelevé Salis.”
Mariah’s spine was rigid, body held so still he wasn’t even sure she was breathing.
“Stop,” she whispered, hardly louder than a breath. “Stop. Right now. Whatever you’re about to say, don’t.”
Maybe he should. Maybe he should put the diary back into his bag, open his arms, and be the distraction she always wanted.
Sadly, he loved her too much to watch her destroy herself. He knew Kol wanted her angry and rash and running right to him without a single ally behind her. And Andrian would risk a moment of her anger to hold onto a lifetime of her.
“I won’t,” he said. “Because you need to hear this, nio. You need to know the things she said—the things she said about you.”
“Stop,” Mariah whispered again. Tears lined her eyes. Pain pricked Andrian’s heart, but he had to get these words out. No matter how much she didn’t want to hear them.
Especially because she didn’t want to hear them.
“She wouldn’t have wanted this. She wouldn’t have wanted you to risk yourself so recklessly. She would’ve wanted you to be patient, to wait for your allies, to protect yourself—”
“Do not,” Mariah interrupted, voice a low growl. “Do not fucking dare pretend like you know my mother better than I do. Reading her words in an old diary means nothing.”
“Then look me in the eye and tell me she would support this. Right now.” Andrian held her glare, the challenge in him rising to meet her.
Yes, it hurt him to do so.
No, that didn’t mean he would just let her win.
“She wouldn’t have supported our plan before Khento, either,” Mariah seethed. “But you went right along with that one, didn’t you?” She pushed into him, lip lifting in a snarl. “What makes this different? You already killed one father; don’t you want the other to meet the same fate, too?”
Andrian’s world stalled.
He struggled to find his words. To unlock his mind and tell her that yes, of course, he did; but also no, he regretted killing Julian. Or at the very least, he felt conflicted about it.
But she knew all of that.
This was her anger and her fear speaking for her. That didn’t stop the blow from landing.
She wasn’t done.
“Maybe you were right, all along.” Mariah crowded into him. Light and fire flickered in her irises. He’d never seen her look at him with so much fury. “Maybe you have been poisoned against me. Maybe you are the reason my mother is dead.”
“No.” Andrian finally managed the word, though it was weak on his tongue. “No. You know this, Mariah. All I have ever cared about is protecting you—”
“And look what good it’s done.” She stepped away, leaving his space, though it felt like hot coals dragging over his skin. “Maybe I don’t want you protecting me. Maybe all I want is to protect myself.”
Footsteps crashed through the underbrush. Matheo emerged from the tree line, still lacing his pants. His eyes bounced between Mariah and Andrian.
“Is something wrong—”
“We’re leaving.” Mariah swung herself into her saddle, wheeling her horse toward the road. Matheo scrambled up on his horse and followed, confusion still written on his face.
Andrian waited by that stream for a moment longer, listening to their retreating hoof steps.
Gathering himself.
Composing himself.
His chest was cracking, yawning open inside him. His mind knew that the things she’d said weren’t true. That she was driven by vengeance and rage and unable to see what was before her.
This was the problem with being known so fully by someone.
When they wanted to hurt, when they wanted to leave a mark that would cut deep, they knew exactly where to strike.
Maybe he deserved it, though. Maybe she was right.
He’d always known it. Always known that at the end of all this, he would be the reason for her demise.
But he’d never been a very strong man.
Which was why he hauled himself into his saddle, pressing his heels to the gelding’s flank. It was why he trotted back to the road, catching up to Mariah and Matheo quickly, falling into step a short distance behind them.
She didn’t want his protection? Too bad.
Even if it meant his death, he would give it to her anyway.