Page 73 of Daughter of the Dark Sun
Was it worth restoring? Could they start anew?
Laisha led them through winding streets, up a sloping hill to a grand palace whose spires rose above all else. They did not speak as they walked; instead, Laisha spoke with a slave woman dressed in clean silver and purple robes. She carried herself with an air of importance.
“Are you still sure about this, Mireithren? Look at all of this pain.”
Therat did not hide his pain, troubled by the sight of children in chains and rags. It was, admittedly, hard for Mireithren to see, so she averted her gaze and chose to ignore the harsher realities of the world. A poor plan, she knew.
“What choice do we have? We are so close to answers, to understanding what all of this has been about. Do you wish to turn back now and let the Shadow-weave take your mind? I would kill you first before you act so stupid, Therat.”
Therat clenched his jaw, but he nodded in agreement. “I know, you are right. I… what if that was you?”
Mireithren laughed, a bitter and acidic sound. “My chains were invisible, but they were real.”
If only he could understand that wasn’t a metaphor.One day, she would rip open those scars and pour out the pain. One day, but not today.
Today, she needed to find a way to save Therat.
“Of course, I didn’t mean, I-I… I don’t want to hurt the world anymore, Mireithren. Not if I can help it.”
Her heart bucked. He was so fragile underneath his harsh exterior. It was easy to forget. “I know, I know. But if the choice comes between you and the world, I hope you will choose to save yourself.”
“As long as you are waiting for me.”
Mireithren smiled, placing a soft kiss on the back of Therat’s hand. She didn’t understand how she could care for someone somuch, be so devoted to them the world could burn, and, as long as they survived, it wouldn’t matter.
Laisha stopped as they came up to the silver palace gates. A serpentine black wyrm lay to one side, its body coiled around a black-skinned woman holding a large glaive. Two guards stood opposite it, their faces covered with horned masks reminiscent of the oxen back in Av Madhira.
“Welcome to the palace of March-Lord Direvran of House Thrinath’tar. You must be exhausted. We will speak later. I have already prepared a room and two baths for you. Food will be provided as well. Rest, eat, and enjoy the comforts of a bed again. Sleep may not come so easily after tomorrow is finished.”
Laisha bowed and spoke to one of the masked guards. A moment later, the gate swung open. The same slave woman from earlier reappeared, another woman at her side in identical clothing. They bent down on both knees and placed their foreheads on the ground before rising.
“You honor us,lyneithraandeaneithra.Please, follow. The March-Lord bids you welcome to his home.”
Mireithren glanced at Therat and flashed a smile. She couldn’t wait to bathe and sleep in a bed again.
thirty-four
Goddess Divine
After twenty-one years, Theratfound what he searched for his entire life. The western lands, the home of his people. His Goddess and divine ancestor. The reason why he could walk with shadows, the purpose to his pain.
Mireithren provided a key and unlocked his life. The words of his mother came back in waves, filling in the blank spacesin his mind. The shadows brought him to Mireithren, and Mireithren brought him home.
The question of who killed his parents weighed heavily with each slave he saw, their gleaming golden chains mocking the man as he passed by. It didn’t make sense for these people to kill one of their own, not one with the blood of the very Goddess they sought to restore. The web of lies choking Eás ran deeper than he realized.
Mireithren was right. The world needed to burn. How could they recover fromthis?
By the time the two were shown to their chamber, a massive room with vaulted ceilings and exquisite marble sculptures, Therat could think of little else besides sleep. He was glad to sink into the bath prepared by several slaves, hot water relaxing muscles that had walked hundreds of grueling miles. Within the safety of four walls, he only now realized how deep the exhaustion ran. Therat drifted off as the slaves cleaned his road-weary body, luxuriating in the rough bristles swept over his skin, and pulling the ache from his heart.
He could remember little of the meal afterward and even less of Mireithren’s constant chatter. Her excitement was boundless, eyes glowing a soft amber in the cool blue light of their room. He tried to listen, but the words flowed over him until they became a lullaby sending him to sleep.
When he awoke, Mireithren stood staring out one massive arched window looking west. The sun still slept, the city instead bathed in the cool glow of the trees.
Mireithren wore a pale silver dress with a delicate lace bodice; it clung to her thin frame as if the moon itself embraced the maiden. A deep V-shape split the center of the back. Therat’s gaze lingered on the small of her back peeking out at the bottom. Long bell sleeves gathered at each elbow before cascadingdown to her feet. Hundreds of white gems decorated the lower hemline, throwing out a pale rainbow of colors across the floor.
Under the gossamer threads of moonlight, Mireithren stood as a Goddess. The very air around her shimmered, a thousand tiny stars flocking to the divine being of Night and Shadow.
The siren sang a soft and achingly sweet song, one Therat had never heard before. She sang of Eithranren, of her deep sorrow in the land of moonlight and shadows, and of a son who swore to avenge her death. He came east and met a maiden of snow, one of beauty beyond compare. The song shifted into the love she brought to the grief-stricken man. Yet it could not last. The world broke, and the Children of Night were cursed. To war they would ride, for ruin or for glory, until death or Eithranren found them in the end.
