Page 80 of Daughter of the Dark Sun
Mireithren squeezed Therat’s hand, heart bucking at the thought of leading Therat to his doom by mistake.
No. This is right. These people will help us. They must.
“It is time,” Laisha said, turning back to them.
The Shadow-Queen Pherisa stood from her throne at the far end of the courtyard. Arrayed in a pale purple dress and simple silver circlet, Pherisa truly looked like a Goddess. Blue-black hair swept up into an ornate bun, held in place with silver daggers.
The Queen Consort trailed behind her, leading two slaves, a man and a woman, dressed in rags. Both stared at nothing with milky white eyes. It was hard to tell much about them besides their skin color—pale with a blue tinge—bodies more like thoseof the dead than the living. Their faces were hollow, listlessly moving, unaware of the world around them.
Mireithren shuddered as she looked at the slaves. She wanted to forget the cruelties of Eithranren’s fair-looking children. War had not touched the Madhira Desert since the fall of the First Era; never more than a few dozen bodies bleeding in the streets after a riot. The desert came with its own cruelties, but nothing like the sight before her.
The scars across Mireithren’s cheek burned, a burst of pain cutting through her flesh as if the dagger was held to her skin for the first time again. She winced and jerked a hand up to them.
No, no, this is not the worst of the cruelties of the world.
The Queen Consort and the slaves stood in front of Mireithren and Therat. Without a word, Adairen took the hand of the woman and placed it on top of Mireithren’s. She looked to be no more than thirty years old, though the weight of her bondage made it hard to tell. The slave did not stir under Mireithren’s touch.
The slave’s cold hand was the last thing Mireithren remembered before the world became a bright, white light. She could not hear or feel anything. She floated through time and space, no corporeal form to tie her to the world, to feel pain or fear or the slow descent of Death.
Music filled the air, a sound so impossible to describe Mireithren thought her mind would collapse from the effort. A warm, bright, fervent sound. Calling out to her, bathing her in the very light of the gods. It became the most perfect moment of her life, even more than when she realized she would burn the world for Therat’s love.
The music faded, and her senses returned. First, a feeling. Her body, stretching out, flexing every muscle, blood coursing through a heart never to still. The woes of the world kept at bay, the eternal light of the First Harmonic filling her soul.
Mireithren opened her eyes. She stood in a fountain of clear, icy water, Therat at her side. Naked, sunlight drenched their warm brown skin, sparkling with a divine radiance. The Shadow-Queen’s gaze fell on the young lovers.
“Welcome to my eternal court, Children of Night and Shadow,” she said.
thirty-eight
A Life Gained
After the ascension ritual,the new immortal lord and lady of the Aesirhelí were dressed and ushered to a massive banquet hall. Dozens of tables overflowing with an abundance of food ran the length of the room; most dishes Mireithren could not name. The silver trays gleamed bright, wine sparkling a deep crimson red in their crystal glasses. Likethe rest of the Blackshade Palace, the white stone walls lit up the room in an ethereal glow.
A celebration unlike anything Mireithren had been to or even heard of, hundreds of lords and ladies filled the massive hall. The opulent display of royalty burnt itself into her memory. Flautists wandered between the tables, their sweet songs accompanied by angelic voices of young men and women trailing behind. Women in scant clothing danced on the tabletops, their skin glistening like black diamonds under the soft glow of the chandeliers hanging above.
After the wine ran dry, the dancers took to the floor, pulling the lords and ladies into their arms. Musicians with tambourines and drums joined the flautists, and the Court of Shadows danced until the sun dipped below the western horizon.
Mireithren found herself more than happy to leave the flurry of activity when Therat suggested they return to their chamber. She had never spent so much time around this many people at once. She lost track of each conversation, every lord and lady vying for a chance to see the woman who would bear them Eithranren reborn. The words still didn’t sound real to her.
A mistake. A misunderstanding of the prophecy.
It had to be.
Mireithren never once, for a single moment in her life, thought about a child of her own. A lover, someone to hold her? Of course. Even broken as she was in Av Madhira, natural urges proved impossible to ignore. But creating life? She was a destroyer, a world-ender, a blight. Mireithren would somehow return Eithranren to the world, not give birth to her new form. Could she even have a child after what her father had done to her?
She thought Therat would pepper her with questions when they retired to their room, but instead, he sat by the arched window facing west, looking out over the black sea without aword. They sat side by side in silence, letting the Oracle’s words sink in. A building sense of unease grew in the pit of Mireithren’s stomach.
The words of Eithranren echoed in her mind.
Rend flesh from bone, mind from body, a vessel waiting.
If Mireithren did not know better, she would almost thinkshewas the sacrifice to be given, not Therat. A comforting exchange, and one she would give without thought. He deserved a chance at happiness. Maybe he loved the Goddess, not her, and was blinded by the voices in his head.
Something tickled in the back of her mind, trying to pry free from the unknown depths of her consciousness. Mireithren ignored the thought. Her insanity creeping back, the void warping her mind.
Therat thumbed the silver pendant around his ankle, a crescent moon around a tree of twisted silver metal, white gemstones gleaming like leaves. Mireithren recognized the design from the door to the Shadow-Queen’s throne room. Therat never took the pendant off, even when they bathed the previous night. She figured it belonged to his mother and did not pry. Now, she couldn’t help asking.
“Therat, might I ask you something?” The sound of her voice startled her in the heavy silence.
