Furyborn (29 page)

Eliana

“We are the ones he calls at night

We are the vessels of his might

We speak the word that he has prayed

Upon his wings, our souls remade”

—The initiation pledge of the cult Fidelia

The world was a flat gray box, and Eliana lived inside it.

A floor, a wall, a ceiling. No windows. A metal door with a thin slot cut out near the bottom—and a narrow strip
of light underneath it the only light source.

The air filled with faint, distant screams.

Slowly, she sat up and realized she was wearing plain white trousers with a matching tunic. Her feet were bare; the floor was cold and hard. Her knives…her knives were gone. As was her necklace.

A cell. She was in a cell.

She drew her knees to her chest, held her aching head in her hands.

Memories returned to her: Rahzavel grinning down at her, the shadowed rafters of Sanctuary arching high overhead. Simon crashing down from the stairs. Running with Navi, the world lurching around her with every step. Remy. She needed to get to Remy.

Her breath came thin and quick. She remembered, she remembered…

A hand over her mouth, poisonous fumes shooting up her nose.

Three
women gone in three seconds.

Fidelia.

With a wild cry, she surged to her feet and slammed against the door—over and over, throwing her left side into each blow until her head spun and her teeth hurt. She would be bruised, but only for a little while. Might as well keep going, then, right?

“Who are you?” She pounded her fists raw, kicked her toes bloody. “Release me! Show me your fucking
face!”

And then, she remembered one last thing: her mother. Her mother could be in this place.

She threw herself against the door with renewed fervor. “Mother? Mother, I’m here! Someone answer me! Answer me!”

But even her body had its limits. She screamed until her voice gave out. She crumpled to the floor, clapped exhausted palms against the door until she could no longer hold up
her arms, then dragged herself to the corner of the cell and folded her body into a tight ball.

Eyes fixed on the bright line of white below the door, she waited.

• • •

She woke up when she heard Navi screaming.

Scrambling upright, she called out hoarsely, “I’m here! Navi, I’m here!” She crouched at the door, ear pressed to the metal, fingers flexed and ready.

Silence.

She held her breath. Had it been a dream?

The screams began again—heart-punching, shattered sounds like something being forcibly unmade. At first wordless, and then, minutes or hours later, Navi began to beg for an end.

“Kill me!” The screams became desperate shrieks. “Kill me!”

Inhuman roars joined the chorus, carved into pieces as if issued from many mouths.

Women?

Girls?

Beasts?

Eliana retreated to her corner, light-headed, hands clamped over her ears. She was not the Dread in this place. She forgot everything but the awful truth of Navi’s screams and her own vulnerable, trembling body. She was a rat in this cell, and the catcher would come for her soon. The stupid animal part of her brain told her so. Faster than she had ever believed possible, it rose
up to stomp out all of her training and left her shaking with fear in the dark.

• • •

Would they torture her for information and then feed her to a pit of animals?

What information did they want?

Red Crown?

Navi?

God, what they might have already learned from her…

Eliana paced. Movement made the fear feel smaller. She practiced slicing through the air with the tray
that had brought food she dared not touch.

“I shall name you Arabeth the Second,” she told the tray and then laughed and told herself to stop talking to trays right this instant. If she lost her mind so soon into imprisonment, it would be an insult to her mother’s training.

“Arabeth,” said a voice behind her, sonorous but warped and faintly amused. “A fine name for a weapon.”

Eliana
whirled and threw the tray at the shadowed shape that stood against the far wall. A woman, Eliana thought, tall and thin and…transparent.

The tray shot through the woman’s body, hit the wall, clattered to the floor.

Cursing, Eliana staggered back as far as the cell allowed. “What are you? Show yourself!”

The woman obeyed, drifting forward until she knelt at Eliana’s feet. She was a
colorless distortion in the air. Shimmering, thread-thin lights outlined robes, a full mouth, and a mass of hair that fell to her hips.

“It’s true, then,” the woman murmured, reaching out to touch Eliana’s hand.

Eliana’s vision jolted, then blackened. She swayed on her feet, braced her hands against her knees, fought against unconsciousness.

“You don’t belong here,” she managed. “You
feel wrong.”

“I know,” said the woman, a great sadness in her eyes. “I’m sorry for that. You will get used to it, if it’s any comfort.”

“You’re Fidelia. Get the
fuck
away from me.”

“I am certainly not Fidelia.”

Eliana pressed her fingers to her temples. “I felt this sickness in Sanctuary, right before you took me. And the night you took my mother and when you took those girls from
the slums—”

“I did none of this, my queen. The Prophet does not snatch girls from their beds, and neither do I.”

Eliana squinted at the woman, breathing thinly through the ill feeling churning in her gut. “What did you call me?”

“There have been rumors for months that Simon found you at last,” the woman continued, her voice thrumming with excitement, “but I did not let myself believe
it until now. Now, I see your face, I hear you speak, I feel you breathe, and I know.”

The woman floated nearer, cupped Eliana’s face in her hand. Eliana felt nothing at her touch except for a fresh wave of nausea. She squeezed her eyes shut and sank to the floor.

“I’m going to be sick,” she moaned.

“Forgive me, my queen.” The woman moved quickly away. “I should not have touched you.
It is difficult for humans to adjust.”

“Who are you,
what
are you, and why are you calling me that?”

The woman bowed her head. “I am forgetting myself. If you only knew how long we’ve been waiting for this day…but then, you will know soon enough.”

Eliana looked up as the woman stretched to her full, translucent height—eight feet, at least. Her elongated limbs reminded Eliana uncomfortably
of a spider.

“I am Zahra,” the woman said, “and I am a wraith. And you are Eliana Ferracora, the Dread of Orline, the last of House Courverie, daughter of the Lightbringer, heir to the throne of Saint Katell, the true queen of Celdaria, and…” Zahra spread her long arms wide. Her dark smile was full of joy. “You are the One Who Rises. The Furyborn Child. You are the Sun Queen, Eliana, and I
have come to bring you home.”

Rielle

“Katell’s writings show that, out of all the godsbeasts, she most favored the chavaile. Perhaps due to its similarity to the white mare that carried her into battle against the angels. Perhaps because its wings reminded her of her beloved Aryava and brought her comfort after his death.”

—
A Chronicle of the Godsbeasts
by Raliquand d’Orseau, First Guild of Scholars

The chavaile did not stop until Rielle began to heave on its back.

They touched down on a small rocky cliff dotted with stubby tufts of grass and sheltered by boulders as big around as King Bastien’s carriage. Rielle slid to the ground and managed to crawl a few paces away before violently emptying her stomach.

After, hollowed out, she dragged herself toward the rocks, seeking shelter from
the wind. Every movement sent shocks of pain through her body. The poison had done fine work; she felt as though she’d been hammered up and down every muscle and bone. She hoped she had gotten it all out—and not too late.

Then, lumbering hoofbeats approached.

She looked up. The chavaile had crept close. Bigger even than her father’s largest warhorses, with an elegant arched neck, a long
unkempt black mane, and bright, intelligent eyes, it behaved like a horse—and yet it did not. Its nostrils flared as it sniffed the air around her; its ears pricked forward curiously.

But then it cocked its head to the side, as a human might when trying to understand something new. There was an ancient weight to its presence that Rielle had felt surrounding no other living creature.

“Hello.”
She reached out feebly with one shaking arm. “You’ve always been my favorite.”

A sharp blast of mountain wind slammed into her. She collapsed, shivering.

Beyond her closed eyelids, the light shifted. Then, at the sound of movement, she opened her eyes and watched blearily as the chavaile lowered itself to the ground between her body and the open sky. It extended one of its enormous feathered
wings—it must have been at least twenty feet long—and gently scooped her close to its body.

Wedged between a shell of gray, black-tipped feathers and the warm swell of the chavaile’s belly, Rielle breathed. The beast’s coat was impossibly soft, speckled gray as a storming sky.

“Are you real?” she whispered, placing her hand against its stomach. “Where did you come from?”

In response,
the chavaile settled its wing more securely around Rielle’s body, then tucked its head underneath its wing. Rielle felt the hot press of its muzzle against her back, followed by a warm breath of air as it let out a contented grunt.

It was a strange nest, but too cozy to resist; Rielle fell into a fitful half sleep. Her shapeless dreams burned black.

• • •

When she woke, her mind was
clear and the chavaile was watching her.

So. She hadn’t been hallucinating.

She remained still, comfortable and warm beneath the canopy of its wing, and stared up at it.

“I thought all the godsbeasts were dead,” she said at last. Hesitant, she placed her hand on the chavaile’s muzzle. “Why did you save me?”

Its nostrils flared hot between her fingers. She stroked the long, flat
plane of its face, the swirling tufts of hair between its wide black eyes.

“I wonder if you have a name.”

The chavaile whickered softly and pushed its nose into Rielle’s palm.

“Well,” she said, beaming, “then I’ll have to give you one.”

And that was when she remembered:

That thin voice, right before she’d fallen. No, not fallen. Right before she’d been
pushed
.

She remembered
it now, and she knew to whom it belonged.

“Will you take me home?” she asked. “I need to kill a man.”

The chavaile watched her, motionless.

“It’s all right,” she added quickly. “He deserves it. He tried to kill me.”

The chavaile grunted and rose to its feet. The chill hit Rielle hard, but she ignored it, climbed up a boulder with teeth chattering, and slipped onto the chavaile’s
back.

The chavaile looked back at her, ears pricked.

“Well?” Rielle wound her fingers through its wild black mane. “How do I get you to go?”

At once the beast launched into a gallop, snapped open its wings, and leapt off the mountain into the sky.

• • •

They approached Baingarde fast from the north, soaring low over the treetops covering Mount Cibelline, and then circled around
the castle to the broad stone yard in front. It was full of people: Rielle’s father and the city guard, her own guard, pages and stable hands hurrying horses to their riders. Her father shouted instructions; a team of four mounted soldiers took off for the yard’s southern gates.

He was organizing search parties, she realized with a swell of satisfaction.

There was Audric, swinging up onto
his stallion, and there was Ludivine, reaching up to touch his arm, and there—

Ah.
There he was, the sniveling little shit.

The rage that had been boiling in Rielle’s heart erupted.

She tugged gently on the chavaile’s mane and shifted her weight, turning the beast left and down. Its wings flattened against its sides as it dove. She lowered her body against its neck, closed her eyes.
The wind raced past her, and she tugged the power from it like plucking a fiddle’s strings. When the chavaile landed, the crowd scrambling to part around it with cries of horror, Rielle did not wait for the beast to stop before jumping to the ground.

She stormed across the yard, thrust her palm in front of her. The wind snapped rigid in her hand like an executioner’s noose. Her prey watched
her approach in disbelief, cowering and white-faced. She flicked her wrist. The noose of wind caught the man around his neck. Still a good twenty feet away from him, she slammed shut the massive twin doors of Baingarde’s front entrance, then pinned Lord Dervin Sauvillier against the closed doors—and squeezed.

He gasped for breath, clawing at the invisible hand closing around his throat. Rielle
watched him with a hard grin, raising her hand higher. Lord Dervin’s body slid up the doors until he hung some ten feet off the ground, feet kicking wildly.

“Lady Rielle,” he croaked, his face reddening, “what—
why
—?”

“Shut your mouth, you filthy coward,” Rielle snapped. “You know why.”

Audric ran to her. “Rielle, what are you doing?”

“Stop!” Ludivine threw herself in front of the
doors, reaching in vain for her father’s feet. “Rielle, you’ll kill him!”

“He tried to kill me.” Rielle squeezed her fingers closer together. Lord Dervin squirmed, gagging. “He drugged me, brought me up into the mountains, threw me off a cliff. I’m merely returning the favor.”

Dimly, she heard soft cries of shock among the gathered crowd.

Ludivine turned, mouth open in disbelief. “You’re
lying.”

“Tell her, Lord Dervin.”

When the man did not reply, Rielle took two furious steps forward and clenched her hand into nearly a complete fist. “Tell your daughter the truth,” she shouted, “or I will execute you for your crime right here, right now!”

Eyes bulging, face gone a deep, vivid purple, Lord Dervin at last gasped out, “It’s true. I tried to kill her.”

Ludivine’s
hands flew to her mouth. Dismayed exclamations rippled through the crowd.

And still Rielle did not move. Her lungs were afire, the hand that held the noose shook white-hot, and a fringe of bright gold swirled around the edge of her vision.

Kill him, screamed her heart.

Kill him, roared her furious blood.

Kill him
, whispered Corien.

Audric stepped between her and the doors,
took her empty hand in his.

“Rielle, look at me.” His voice was quiet but firm. “I need you to look, please.”

Rielle shook her head and snarled, “He tried to kill me.”

“I know. And believe me, he will be punished for it. I will see to it myself.”

She blinked at that. Her vision cleared; her blood cooled. Reluctantly she tore her wild eyes from her would-be murderer and looked to
Audric instead.

“Please, darling.” Audric gave her a tight smile. “Listen to my voice, and let him go. If you kill him right here, in front of everyone…”

Rielle knew he was right. Abruptly she turned away, letting her hand fall. Lord Dervin slid to the ground with a choked cry.

“Call for the healers!” Ludivine cried, gathering her father up in her arms as best she could.

“For…you,”
Lord Dervin said, his voice a wheezing rasp. He touched her face. “I did it…for you. Ludivine.”

Her skin humming with furious energy, Rielle turned away to scan the gaping crowd. When she found who she was looking for, watching her in amazement from the center of the yard, she approached him at once.

“Your Holiness.” She bowed, then spoke loudly enough that everyone gathered could hear.
“I wonder if you might accompany me to the Firmament? I would like to pray to Saint Ghovan, and to the wind for sparing my life, and I can’t think of anyone else I’d rather have for company.”

The chavaile joined her, tossing its head.

The Archon could not stop staring up at the creature, his face gone deathly pale. “I don’t understand,” he muttered. “All the godsbeasts are dead. Lady Rielle,
how did you do this?”

It was a question she had herself been wondering. “I was going to die,” she answered honestly, “and I asked the empirium to save me. I had been drugged and could not use my power, so…”

“So the empirium…sent you this?” The Archon gestured helplessly at the chavaile. It snorted and bumped Rielle’s shoulder with its nose.

For the first time since Rielle had known
him, the Archon seemed rather at a loss.

“Shall we?” She offered him her arm. “To the Firmament?”

Without a word, the Archon took it, and as they proceeded across the crowded yard, he said quietly, “Be careful, Lady Rielle. This is no longer a matter of trials and costumes.” He glanced back at the chavaile, which followed them at a distance. The awestruck crowd crept as close as they dared.
Some ran away in a panic, shouting warnings. “The empirium has helped you today, but it may not always do so. It is my duty to test you. I do not wish to see you consumed.”

“Don’t you?”

The Archon did not respond to the tease in her voice, and when Rielle glanced over at him, she saw a new expression on his face, drawn and thoughtful, that sent a thrill through her body. She couldn’t decipher
the sensation.

Fear?

Corien’s voice came crooning:
Or appetite?