Page 74 of Daughter of the Dark Sun
The song haunted Therat, the pain of Eithranren’s son his own. As he listened to Mireithren sing, a feeling stirred in his heart.
Awash in moonlight of her own making, Mireithren stood astheGoddess he had always known.
Somehow, some way, the woman he loved was Eithranren reborn.
Lust and intense love first drove him to condemn the world for Mireithren. Though those feelings did not change, a new desire took the helm: faith.
He would deny nothing to his lover. His savior. His radiant Goddess, born anew.
“Good morning, my moon and stars,” Mireithren said, turning to him with a dazzling smile as the last of her song faded. A simple silver circlet sat upon her brow, half of her black curls gathered over the crown of her head. The rest fell in a cascade of black with shimmering gold strands down to her waist.
Therat pulled himself out of bed, mesmerized by the beauty before him. He walked to Mireithren and pulled her hands intohis. His gaze could not stay in one place for too long; every part of the maiden before him was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.
“You stand as a drop of pure moonlight before my eyes. My Goddess, my Mireithren. I… how do I deserve your love?”
Mireithren laughed, a sparkling sound. “You have the mien of gods yourself, Therat. Have you seen yourself in the mirror so little as to think your face does not linger in the minds of others? We are Eásiri. Children of gods. We are rulers, world-makers. Laughing in the face of Death which claims others so soon. Never forget, you too walk with the grace of the Seven.”
Before Therat could reply, Mireithren leaned up and kissed him, a deep and passionate kiss, her mouth hungering for his. Muscles tensed as a rush of fire burst through his veins. He hated and loved that his siren in the night controlled him, body and mind.
Mireithren released Therat. The smile on her face looked as if it would never leave.
“We made it, Therat. We’re here, in the land of our Goddess. I can feel the void in my heart rest easy, the deep hunger eased. Can you imagine what it will feel like once our Lady Eithranren walks the earth again?”
What if she already does?
He hadn’t realized it yesterday, but Mireithren was right. The tangle of tainted Shadow-weave, always ravenous for blood, lay still. He pulled the shadows forth yesterday with ease, and here Mireithren stood, unharmed.
“Incredible,” Therat whispered.
Could this land cure him of the walking nightmare that had been his life?
“I’m sorry I ever doubted your words or your intentions. Back in the desert, when you first found me, I thought you meant to mold me into a weapon, destroying my mind and any chanceat avenging my parents. Your words were honeyed, a beautiful lie. I thought you cursed me, thought it was your fault I lost control and killed again and again. How could I think so little of you?”
“Truth be told? I did have every intention of forcing you to submit to my will.” Mireithren paused, biting her lip. “Gods, don’t hate me, but remember the plan I had?”
“Some part of me will always hate you, Little Siren. You are my doom,” he said, pulling her close before grazing his lips against her ear. “But you claimed me, and now I am yours.”
“What if I hadn’t?” Mireithren turned away before speaking again. “I thought I was supposed to bring you here an-and… kill you.”
“Is that all?” he laughed. “In truth, it would have been welcome had I not come to know your love.”
A loud knock at the door cut off their conversation. Therat walked to open it, then realized he lacked clothes. He slid behind a folding screen close by while Mireithren answered.
“Yes, thank you. We will be ready soon,” Mireithren replied before closing the door. “Seems we are wanted for an official audience with the March-Lord Direvran at sunrise. And, of course, an audience with the Shadow-Queen herself. Come on, I’ll help you get dressed. The attendants left our clothes earlier.”
Therat grumbled and trudged over to get ready for the day. His mind could only think of rest last night, but now it strayed to thoughts of Mireithren splayed out on the bed, her perfection laid bare for him to see. A Goddess in need of worship.
Another time. Does she feel it already?
thirty-five
From the Oracle's Mouth
The black palace wasmassive, larger than even the great temple to Myrniar in Av Madhira. Hundreds of courtiers milled about in the long halls. Their fine raiment stood in stark contrast to the slaves—well dressed as they were—who seemed to be present everywhere. Music and laughter filled the air.
The people here were striking with their deep blackened silver and purple skin glistening as they moved. They observed the newcomers with eyes of light purples and grays, hair alike in color. In some of the women, Therat could almost see his mother’s face, her gray eyes flashing by. He had always wondered why no one else in Av Madhira had gray eyes. How obvious it all seemed, now.
Each face turned to greet Therat and Mireithren as they walked hand-in-hand behind the same slave woman Laisha spoke with previously. He was unused to such attention, preferring to slink away from the world and make no lasting impression. Here, it was impossible to ignore the man. Even without the silver maiden by his side, Therat bore a divine countenance of his own. Black curls tumbled down the side of his face, beard trimmed short again. He wore fitted pants with blood-red gems down one seam and a black linen shirt covered with a laced tailcoat of deep purple with silver trim.
