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.” Heblinked 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 ishim. 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.
Thiswas 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.
