Furyborn (16 page)

I will not be consumed.

“They marched inside,” Linnet whispered. “I saw wings on their chests. That’s the Empire’s sign.” She turned her face into Eliana’s neck.
“Did you know that?”

“Yes.” Eliana’s collar grew wet beneath Linnet’s chin. The heat of the fire licked up her back. What was the old prayer? For Saint Marzana, the firebrand. Remy would know. “I did know that.”

Ah, yes. She remembered the prayer now:
Burn steady and burn true. Burn clean and burn bright.

She stared across the room at Hob and Patrik, hoped her unblinking bright glare
made them squirm.

“They took Mama by her hair,” Linnet said, “and dragged her into the back room. She was screaming so loud it hurt my ears, and Will, he’s big, he beat the bad men, had one of his fits when he starts spitting and hollering, and he looked at me, and…and…”

She didn’t say anything after that. She pressed her face tight against Eliana’s neck, shivering.

“He told you to
run,” Eliana finished for her. “He gave you time to run.”

Then she unfolded the girl from her body, lowered her to the floor. Patrik was there immediately with the abandoned doll and a quiet endearment.

Eliana pushed past them both to Hob’s table. Rage snapped up her body like the lash of a whip.

“Why did you do this?” She jerked her head at Linnet, now cradled in Patrik’s arms. “Why
make her relive it?”

Hob watched her calmly. “She wanted me to write it down, so she wouldn’t forget.”

“How many do you have?”

“One thousand three hundred and twenty-five. I’ve filled twelve books so far. People come through here, they have stories to tell. Some of them want me to write them down. Some write them down for me.” Hob took a deep breath. “I think someone ought to know
about them. About everyone. Even if it’s only me and Patrik.”

Eliana eyed the notebook and its gnarled pages with disdain. “It’s a waste of time,” she spat, “writing stories for the living dead.”

Then she left them, Linnet calling faintly after her. The girl didn’t even know her name: “Mama?”

Eliana stormed out into the cramped, dark corridor and around the first corner, then subsided
against the wall, her heart drumming for an escape and her hands shaking. She fisted them in her jacket, bit down hard on her tongue.

It had been a mistake—to leave Orline, to strike her bargain with Simon, to drag Remy along with them. Reckless and sloppy.

She should have gone from her mother’s empty bed straight to Lord Arkelion’s door and demanded he help bring her home.

I will
not be consumed.

She’d been a loyal servant of the Empire for years, hadn’t she?

I will not be consumed.

Maybe that would be enough for them to accept her back.

That, and the map of Crown’s Hollow now living in her brain.

“It seems the Dread has a heart after all,” said Simon, appearing around the corner so silently that she startled.

She managed a tiny laugh, thinking
fast. He could not suspect, or he’d shoot her on the spot. “Is it such a shocking thing to imagine?”

Simon lightly touched the crook of her arm, and there was a fragility to the movement that surprised her. The fire-warmed heat of his body suffused her own.

“Come,” he murmured. “I’ll walk you to your room.”

It was a quiet walk, and by the time they reached her door, Eliana had coaxed
the proper fall of tears from her eyes. She turned her face up to Simon, gave him a good view.

Her mother had told her that her beauty would make working for the Empire both easier and harder.

This time it made things easier. She saw the shift on his face as he looked at her—tiny but obvious. A softening and a craving.

A thread of triumph unspooled in her belly.

Farewell, Wolf.
May death find you at your greatest moment of joy.

“Remy always says there’s hope for me yet, even after everything I’ve done,” she said quietly.
Forlorn
was the word. “I’m not sure he’s right.” She laughed, her eyes full.

Simon shifted, hesitated, then cupped her face in one large, callused hand. His touch was so delicate it sent a chill down Eliana’s front, despite her new resolve to
end him.

“People like us don’t fight for our own hope,” he said quietly. “We fight for everyone else’s.”

Then he opened her door a crack and stepped aside. “Good night, Eliana,” he said, then swiftly moved past her and was gone.

Eliana entered the room and shut the door behind her. Once inside, her face hardened to stone, and her heart along with it.

She wiped her cheeks dry and
gave Remy a gentle shake. “Remy, wake up.”

He turned, grunting. “El? What is it?”

“Stay quiet. Get out of bed and put on your boots.”

“Why?”

“We’re leaving.” In the dark, her smile was vicious, but she kept her voice kind. “Simon needs our help on a very important mission.”

Rielle

“O seas and rivers! O rain and snow!

Quench us our thirst, cleanse us our evil

Grow us the fruit of our fields

Drown us the cries of our enemies!”

—The Water Rite
As first uttered by Saint Nerida the Radiant, patron saint of Meridian and waterworkers

The trial’s rules were simple:

Hidden in the bay were three items. When assembled, they would form
a trident—a replica of Saint Nerida’s casting. Rielle was to retrieve and assemble the trident and present it for all to see before the ocean ate her alive.

Simple.

Except the water was damned cold.

And Grand Magister Rosier and his acolytes were making it angry.

Rielle kicked up to the surface to gain her bearings and was promptly pulled back under by a black wave twenty feet
tall. Swimming hard, she pushed herself up and gasped for air before another wave knocked her back into the water.

This would get her nowhere.

She remembered Tal’s words:
Don’t be afraid to fight.

In fact, though, she was afraid.

When Rielle was a child, and Tal had held her under the water in the Baths, she’d at first fought him. She’d known at once that he was testing her, but
with her lungs burning, her panic so desperate she thought she might die from it, she had been ready to do anything for the chance to breathe again.

Looking up through the clear, soft water, she’d seen Tal’s blurry figure hunched over her. She had imagined his voice, guiding her through her lessons:

The empirium is in all living things. Think of it like tiny crystals, forming the basis
of everything that is.

The goal, then, is to reach with your power beyond the visible, beyond the surface of things.

To take hold of the empirium itself—the grains of life, finer than sand—and change it.

Lungs burning just as they had that day years ago, Rielle closed her eyes in the swirling dark sea and recited the Water Rite. Her body cried out for air, and she ignored it.

“I’m sorry, Rielle,” Tal had sobbed after releasing her. He’d held her small, choking body, breathed into her mouth to help her recover her air, tucked her soaked head under his chin. “Forgive me. Please, forgive me
.
”

“I did well, didn’t I?” She’d smiled up at him, coughing up water. “Tal, I didn’t lose control! I saw the water! The bits of water, they were small and pretty, and I saw them,
and I wasn’t afraid!”

Tossed about beneath the waves, her body burning and her vision fading, Rielle remembered Tal’s stricken, confused face. After, in his office, as she sat sipping a cup of tea beneath a blanket, he’d combed her hair smooth, then held her until she finally stopped shivering.

“You saw it, didn’t you?” he’d whispered, awestruck.

Cozy in his arms, she’d mumbled sleepily,
“Saw what?”

“The empirium.”

She’d wrinkled her nose and looked up at him. “Didn’t you see it too?”

But, no. He hadn’t, and he wouldn’t. Seeing the empirium with one’s own eyes was not a thing others enjoyed. Rielle had seen the truth of that in Tal’s marveling gaze, felt it in how reverently he helped her back home and into her own bed.

In the water, remembering that day, Rielle’s
mind cleared and settled.
You saw it, didn’t you?

Yes. She had.

Her power itched to surface, and she let it rise.

I must breathe in this water.

So I will.

Rielle opened her eyes and saw the water of the bay strewn through with countless flecks of golden light, so tiny that when she focused on them, they melded into a solid, brilliant sheen.

The empirium.

She blinked.
The gold faded.

But she was not alone here. The empirium was all around her—brushing against her mind like tendrils, reaching for her, calling to her.

Her mind focused and clear, her lungs burning, she pushed out with her thoughts, moving the water away from her body until she was surrounded by a hair-thin shell of air.

It held, but it wouldn’t forever. Already she could feel the shell
cracking, the weight of the waves pressing down on it as though against a thin pane of glass. A dull ache pulsed through her muscles. Her mind stretched and shifted like someone had reached into her skull and was reshaping the deep, dark place behind her eyes.

Your power is a miracle, Rielle
, said Corien, his voice tinged with awe.
I don’t understand it. Help me understand.

Rielle kicked
hard and dove deeper.

• • •

The first item was easy:

A three-pronged trident head, sharp-tipped and silver, lying in a cluster of seaweed on the ocean floor.

Rielle kicked her way down, the pressure of the storming water making her ears throb. She grabbed the middle prong, and her palm lit up with pain. Her blood clouded the water; the shell around her body wavered.

Rielle
recalled the story of Saint Nerida in the final battle at the Gate—how she had used her trident to impale the angel Razerak through his gut. His scream was loud enough that the sea birds along the northern Celdarian coast had dropped dead from the skies.

Focus, Rielle
, she told herself, furious that she’d grabbed the prong without thinking. But then the sight of her own hand grasping the trident
head gave her a burst of inspiration.

The people above, waiting for her to drown, would remember the stories of Saint Nerida too.

Rielle pushed herself off the seabed, kicking hard until she burst out of the water and thrust the trident head high into the air. Sheets of rain, thrown from a sky churning with clouds, slapped her cheeks.

Light shone down upon where Rielle bobbed in the
waves. Acolytes from the House of Light cast bright beams of sunlight from the cliff tops.

Rielle turned her face up to the warmth, and once the crowd saw her—triumphantly holding the first piece of the trident, her sliced hand bleeding down her arm—a roar of cheers exploded. And though her protective shell of air muffled the sound, Rielle heard enough to know the truth:

They hadn’t expected
her to emerge after so long underwater. But now she had, and now…now anything was possible.

Rielle grinned and dove back down. Once underwater, her air shell constricted, twisting about her body like a rag being wrung out. She choked, her throat tightening. She closed her eyes and fought for enough calm to pray.

Grow us the fruit of our fields.

She opened her eyes, glared at the angry
black depths.

Drown us the cries of our enemies.

She reached for the empirium.

Follow me.

Obey me.

Warmth snapped at her fingers and toes.

Was the empirium listening?

Her focus renewed, she swam, searching the murky water for clues. But she saw only churning silt and salt, the occasional flitting shape of a swimming creature.

Then a hulking darkness solidified in
the watery shadows—a sunken ship, half submerged in shifting sand and glowing faintly from within.

It was worth a try.

Rielle swam closer. The dense current of the water moved ever faster, flinging her wildly through swirling eddies one moment and pushing against her as a solid wall the next.

Inside the ship’s cracked hull was an eerie, half-lit land. Luminescent pink barnacles clung
to the walls and ceiling. She swam through the captain’s quarters, the galley, a storeroom choked with fish that darted away at her approach…

There.
A twinkling light caught her eye.

A gemstone, fist-sized and an inky blue in the darkness, winked at her from the floor of the ship. Saint Nerida’s sapphire. It would fasten to the end of the trident’s staff.

Rielle grabbed the sapphire,
slipped it into her pocket, then froze.

The shimmering, rose-colored light suffusing the ship was suddenly brighter than it had been a few moments before.

Slowly, Rielle turned, and her stomach clenched in horror.

The luminescent barnacles that had carpeted the walls, lighting her way, weren’t barnacles at all. They were jellyfish—a swarm of them, cat-sized and glowing pink with bright
bruise-purple centers. Sizzling light zapped between the fuzzy ends of their tentacles.

Panicking, Rielle kicked to push herself away from them. Something sharp jabbed her leg from behind; she whirled around in the water.

They were surrounding her. Drifting closer, inexorably, as if attracted to her rising terror. One of them bumped against her arm; a piercing hot sting jolted her. Another
found her temple, her bleeding hand. They swarmed, reaching. Knots of glowing tentacles blocked her view of the ship and the sea beyond it.

She forgot all her prayers and lessons and screamed.

The scream broke her shell of air; the water closed in around her, cruel and cold.

She realized the change too late and gasped, choking on the sea.

Desperation forced her to move. She swam,
wild, clumsy, swiped the trident head through the jellyfish, felt the prongs pierce something thick and gelatinous. A tentacle wrapped around her ankle, her unhurt arm. She reached back with the trident and sliced through them, tugged herself free.

She pushed and clawed, the swarm’s angry lights cutting across her vision. She hoped her suit was offering her some protection, but already her
vision was dimming.

Air. Air.
Air.

She made it out of the boat, reaching desperately for the surface. Her feet were numb, clumsy. She couldn’t tell what her body was doing, just knew she had to get up, get up,
get out—

She burst out of the water, coughing hard. A wave pushed her under. She flailed, flipped over, found a burst of strength, climbed back up. Sweet
saints
, the air was
glorious, pure and cold in her aching lungs. The rain beat down on her. Another wave pushed her under, and another right after. She emerged again and looked around wildly. Where were the cliffs? Where were the sunspinner acolytes with their beams of light?

She saw blackness, shifting and growing all around her—no sky, no clouds.

The blackness, she realized with a burst of fear, was waves.

She dove, groped her pocket until she felt the hard gemstone, safely tucked away. She swam, searched the water, surfaced, and dove again. Were they watching her up above? Could they see her? She must have looked absurd—soaked and bleeding, suit torn, skin raised in angry welts.

You can do this
, came Corien’s voice. His presence was calm and still.
You can do so much more than this.

Can I?
She wanted to sink to the seabed and cry.
Unless you’re going to help me, leave me be.

His voice vanished; she was alone.

She couldn’t possibly find the focus to re-create her precious shell, so she resurfaced and dove, resurfaced and dove. Her eyes were on fire from the salt; she could see
nothing
in this churning black water.

And then—how long had it been? Minutes? Days? Her
body was one massive, searing throb of pain—she saw it. It was chance, really: an overhead swing of one of the sunspinner’s light beams. Something long and thin glinted, then vanished.

Thrust into a rise in the seabed, closer to the surface than the other pieces had been, stood the trident’s shaft.

She dove for it, all her focus narrowing in on this one spot. A force rose up within her,
something eager and hot and familiar. And as it raced up through her body, firing her blood alive, the ocean around her flashed gold once more.

She understood now; it was easy, with the empirium lighting the way. Move the water, create a path.

The next thing she knew, she was no longer swimming. She was running, her mind clear and blazing hot. Water shot up on either side of her; she was
carving a path through it. She reached the trident’s shaft and stood panting on the ocean floor. Around her, the water was a narrow, roaring tunnel, spewing water into the air above like a geyser.

But here on the seabed, everything was quiet, softly floating, softly black and blue and gold. Rielle stood in the tranquility of it, assembled the trident with shaking hands. Attach the prongs to
the shaft, the gemstone to the end. She grasped it and looked up.

A column of water led straight up into the air, a path she had carved in that last desperate swim without even realizing she was doing it.

A savage pleasure swelled within her.

I did this.

Me and no one else.

And how does it feel?
Corien asked quietly. His presence hovered at the door to her mind.

I feel…

She couldn’t articulate it. Standing there, looking up at the chaos of the water gripped by her power, she could only gape and revel in it and exist.

I feel…

A small fear twisted in her breast, but she couldn’t listen to that now, when everything felt so…so…

She closed her eyes, shivering. The air around her vibrated with warmth. Beyond that, the sea churned, relentless and cold.
Sprays of water kissed her cheeks.

Corien’s voice was as gentle as her father’s long-ago embrace:
Tell me, Rielle.

I feel…alive.

And you are. You are more alive than anyone.

But then the small fear grew. It reared up and shouted: What might this display have done, up on the surface?

Terror crashed through her body.

Her triumph faded; her focus shattered. The water followed
soon after.

It slammed down upon her like the force of a thousand fists, and flung her to the ocean floor. She floated there, stunned, her head ringing.

Rise up, Rielle
, Corien urged her.

I…I can’t.

You did it. You’re almost finished.

Rielle watched the trident sink beside her. Her eyes closed.

With no small amount of irritation, Corien said,
Your friends are worried sick
for you, Rielle. Especially that boy.