Maireth fixes her with a glare, waiting for a crack to appear.
But Marin was taught by the best, and holds her gaze, unflinching.
Maireth nods tightly, not entirely convinced.
“Skyfire and weaponry have been loaded onto the ships as per your instructions. The only thing left to load ishim,” Maireth says stiffly.
Him. Kael. King Kael Thorne of Zerynthia.
Marin shoves down her disgust.
“I’ll handle it,” Marin confirms with a tight nod.
She moves to walk away, but curiosity keeps her rooted.
“What exactly do you plan to do with him, mother?”
Maireth smiles, smug and cold and calculating.
“Focus on your weapons, Marin. And I’ll focus on mine,” she says, voice loaded with the promise of cruelty. “We leave from the docks on the hour.”
And then she’s gone.
Fuck.
Marin’s legs start moving before her mind has registered it. She needs to get to Kael. Needs to make sure he’s still in there. Because if he’s not?She’ll kill him herself.
She will not let her mother wield him like a godsdamned weapon. Because if the Decay consumes him fully, Marin does not think there will be enough left of the world to stop what comes next.
To balance the world or shatter the frame.
Silence and shadow will reign forever.
The prophecy had never sounded like poetry to her. Only warning. Marin had once dismissed the prophecy as dramatics dressed in mythology. Now, watching the Decay hollow Kael out from the inside, it feels terrifyingly literal.
Marin pushes through the bustle of the courtyard, soldiers receiving orders, weapons being sharpened on whetstone. She ignores it all, sucking breaths in and out too fast.
She rounds Azhareth Castle, shoves past guards who shout questions of where she’s going.
She can’t stop. Won’t stop.
Her hands fumble over her leathers, searching for the vial of Shadelock Saana forces her to carry. An out. An herb to stop her heart from beating if she were ever taken captive. Or worse, caught by her mother for feeding intelligence to the resistance.Or for marrying a woman from the Outside.
She shoves her hand deep into her pocket, and her fingernails tink against the glass vial.It’s there. She draws it into her palm, wraps it there for safekeeping, but never does she stop walking.
The smell of brine and fish assaults her senses, and she knows she’s close. Meraset Harbor sprawls before her in glittering blues and golds, beautiful enough that most people forget how many wars Caeloria has launched from its shores.Azhareth’s sun beats down on her, oppressive and suffocating like the grip of her own mother.
Dockhands shout orders, soldiers congregate in the streets, then she sees it. The ships. Vibrant blue with strips of Aether. Aether that carries them across seas at a speed bested only by Gateway. Loaded with weaponry, crates of Skyfire, thousands of soldiers.
Panic sets in, deep and immovable, gripping her lungs like she’s trapped underwater.
Shouts fill the air. Men placing bets, holding coins in the air, stretching over a crowd to land their bet.
What in the fucking Stars?
Marin pushes through, forcing her way to the front, and bile rises in her throat.
The men notice her immediately. The crowd goes quiet in her presence, and the silence is immediate and absolute.
