52

Eliana

“I saw the storm she pulled down from the sky, how it set the Empire monsters afire and tore their ships in two. I saw her storm, and I fell to my knees and wept.

For I knew it as sure as the bones in my body: the Sun Queen had come at last.”

—Collection of stories written by soldiers in the free kingdom of Astavar
Curated by Hob Cavaserra

Eliana awoke quietly from a hard sleep.

Above her, a vaulted, violet-colored ceiling painted with silver stars.

Beneath her, a comfortable bed. Piled pillows and cool linens.

Beside her—

“Simon,” she whispered. He sat in a simple wooden chair at her bedside, his head in his hands. At the sound of her voice he looked up, and across his battered face flickered a softness she had never seen him wear.

“Hello there.” He pressed the back of his hand against her forehead. “You’ve cooled a bit more. That’s good.”

Then she remembered:

The storm raging black and brilliant over the crashing sea.

Simon holding her on the beach, his own body trembling with exhaustion. You’re burning up. Look at me, Eliana.

You have to stop it, or you’ll kill us all.

“No,” Eliana whispered, her face crumpling. “No, no, no.”

“Listen to me.” Simon gathered her hands in his. “You saved us. You saved everyone. Astavar still stands free. The Empire fleet has been destroyed. You did that, Eliana, and should be proud of it.”

She blinked back tears, struggling to breathe. “How long?”

“Three days. I’ve kept you fed as well as I could.”

“Remy?”

“Asleep.” He looked over his shoulder.

Eliana peered past him, found Remy sleeping peacefully on a pile of blankets by a blazing hearth. His mouth hung open as he snored.

She let out a tiny, tired laugh. “Navi?”

“Resting and well. The kings’ healers think that Fidelia had not begun their experiments, only the preparations.”

“And you?” She inspected his stitched-up torso, the bruises coloring his face, the redness rimming his eyes. “Oh, Simon, your eyes…”

“Don’t fret. They’re healing nicely. And anyway, I’ve had worse.”

She believed that without question but nevertheless sat up, ignoring his protests. Someone had dressed her in a simple, dark nightgown. Her body ached, but it was whole and healthy, and she hated it bitterly. One monster walks away unhurt while the other takes every scar for himself?

She swung her bare legs over the side of the bed and scooted close to Simon, her knees bumping against his. She reached for his face, hesitated. He watched her so intently she almost lost her nerve.

Almost.

She drew her fingers softly through his hair, down his cheek, across his jaw. She avoided the worst of his wounds, and yet still wondered if this was too much—an intrusion, a selfish one.

But she couldn’t resist touching him. She searched the tired lines of his face for the frightened little boy Zahra had shown her, and when her thumb brushed against his mouth, they both shivered.

“Am I hurting you?” she whispered.

He closed his eyes, leaned into her touch. “No,” he said hoarsely, “and if you ever did, I’d bear it gladly.”

“We fought well together out there.”

“We did.”

“I’m sorry you’re hurt.” Her chest tightened at the raw longing on his face, and she wondered when it last was that someone had touched him with any sort of kindness. “I wish I could take it from you.”

“Eliana…please.” He caught her hand gently and opened his eyes. “Don’t pity me. When I can, I take the blows meant for you.” He gathered something from the table beside her bed, folded it into her hands. “You are my queen, and my life is yours. It has been since the day you were born.”

She stared down at the necklace resting in her palms. “This was hers, wasn’t it? The Blood Queen. Mother said she found it on the street, but… Did she know?”

“Did Rozen Ferracora know who you really are? I doubt it.”

She settled the chain around her neck once more and breathed a bit more easily with its weight between her breasts.

“So you believe me now?” he asked.

She avoided looking at him. “About what?”

“That you are who I say you are.”

“What would it mean if it was true?”

“It would mean that you had inherited the power of the Blood Queen. That you are without doubt the only person capable of destroying the Empire. And that soon everyone in the world will know that Rielle’s daughter lives—and want you for their own.”

“Oh, is that all?” A tremor shook her voice.

“You won’t have to do this alone,” Simon said urgently. “I won’t ever leave your side, Eliana. And whatever I can do to keep you safe, I will do it.”

“Because I’m…your queen.” The words sounded hollow and ridiculous to her ears.

“Yes. And because…” He paused. “Because you are the best chance to save us all.”

She rose, moved past him to pace unsteadily through the tiny candlelit alcove surrounding her bed.

“I suppose I can’t deny it anymore, can I? After…” She waved one of her hands in the air.

“After your storm?”

Her storm. She closed her eyes, her mouth souring as she remembered the wildness of lightning and ocean scorching her fingertips, how she’d felt not at all herself and no longer in control of her own body.

She never wanted to feel that way again.

She watched Remy’s chest rise and fall. “Tell me about the night I saw.”

“What night?”

“You told me about it, I think, on Rahzavel’s boat.” She turned to him, losing her breath for a moment at the sheer unwavering focus on his face. “Zahra slipped into my mind, showed me a vision of it. There was a little boy, holding a baby. You showed me the bit of my blanket.”

“It was the night you were born,” Simon said at once. “Your mother—Rielle—decided to send us away, keep you out of Corien’s hands. I was her only chance to do so. She wrapped you in a blanket, put you in my arms, told me to take you north to Borsvall. We would seek asylum there.”

Her hand moved to her necklace. “And this?”

“A gift from King Ilmaire of Borsvall. She placed it around your neck, tucked it into your blanket. It was meant to be a message for him, I think.”

Eliana nodded slowly. She had heard various versions of the Blood Queen’s Fall from Remy over the years, all of them much grander than this one. The thought made her sad, which angered her. She didn’t want to feel sad about the woman whose unholy blood festered in her veins.

“And then she died.”

“And then she died. Her last act in this world was saving you.”

Scoffing, Eliana looked at the ceiling. “I’m not sure she did a good job of that. And I still don’t understand how we ended up here, over a thousand years later.”

Your mother—Rielle—decided to send us away.

I was her only chance to do so.

She walked back to Simon slowly. “You sent us away. You mentioned a thread, that it was too strong for you to hold onto me.” Heart pounding, mind racing, she sank onto the edge of her bed. “You’re a marque.”

Simon’s eyes glittered, watching her. “I was, long ago.”

“But Remy said marques have wings on their backs from birth, like a brand. I’ve seen your back—”

“The force of Rielle’s death threw the entire world out of alignment. Many things do not look as they once did. And whatever proof was left on my flesh, the Prophet made sure to eradicate it.”

The darkness in his voice made Eliana bristle. “Who is this man, anyway? The Prophet. What did he do to you?”

Simon touched her cheek with the backs of his fingers. “My queen worries for me. Be still, my wicked black heart.”

“As your queen,” she interrupted, her voice only a little unsteady, “I could have you hanged for touching me without my consent. Isn’t that right?”

He lowered his hand at once, but Eliana caught it and pressed his palm against her cheek. “I could also order you to stay as close as I please.”

His eyes never leaving hers, he knelt at her feet. “As my queen commands, so shall I obey.”

“Your life is mine,” she whispered, sliding his hand down her face and throat, coming to rest against her necklace. Through the thin fabric of her nightgown, his fingers burned her skin.

“To do with as you will, Eliana,” he said softly. “Then, now, and always.”

With her free hand she reached for him. “Come here,” she said, drawing him up to meet her. So near to him, she could think of nothing else—not her mother or this world of war and black-eyed angels or the storm still tingling under her skin. His fingers brushed against the dip of her waist, and she closed her eyes, grief and desire twining sharply up her spine.

“Please, Simon.” She breathed in and slowly out. Her eyes burned, her tears near and precarious. It had been too long since she had been held, since she had come apart at the touch of another’s hands, and suddenly she craved that release so ferociously that her head spun. “If it wouldn’t hurt you too much—”

“I don’t care about that.” He slid his hands into her hair, and the careful caress made her shiver. “I care about nothing else but you.”

She moved into him, clutching his shirt to pull him closer. The heat of him beneath her palms cleared her tired mind, sharpened the aching edges of her body. “Is there another room nearby?”

His thumbs touched her cheeks, reverent and feather-soft. But his eyes blazed. “Mine is just down the hall—”

“Ah! There you are.”

Eliana jumped back as Zahra emerged from the rafters overhead.

Simon hissed out a curse and glared up at the ceiling. “Wraith, can you not enter and exit rooms through the doors, like everyone else does?”

“What would that matter, since you wouldn’t be able to see me even if I did?” Zahra floated down to sit beside Eliana. “Anyway, my way is so much more fun.”

Simon stormed off, dragging a hand through his hair.

Eliana tore her eyes away from him with no small effort, heat blooming in her cheeks. “Zahra. It’s good to see you.”

Zahra raised an eyebrow, her inkblot mouth curving. “Is it, my queen?”

“Of course it is.” She brushed her fingers through Zahra’s wrist. “I’m grateful for your help out there.”

“I know you are,” replied Zahra, beaming. “I’ve brought a message for you from Prince Malik. He’s coming up with his fathers shortly, to thank you for what you did and to begin discussing…what comes next.”

Zahra’s eyes flickered to Simon.

“And what is that?” Eliana followed the wraith’s gaze to where Simon stood half in shadow, watching the fire. “What comes next?”

Remy sat up, a blanket clutched around his shoulders and his cheek pink from sleep. “We fight him,” he said simply. “We fight the Emperor.” He looked up at Simon. “Right?”

Simon’s mouth quirked. “Something like that.”

Eliana watched Remy smile with an ache in her heart. He looked so like Rozen. Same sharp little nose, same bright eyes. She would have to tell him—and soon:

Our mother is dead, and I’m the one who killed her.

She would lose him the moment the words left her lips.

Remy saw her dismay before she could hide it. He left his blankets at once and squished himself on the bed beside her.

“It’s all right, El,” he told her, taking her hand. “No matter what happens, no matter what they say, you’re still mine.”

Eliana glared at Simon. “What did you tell him?”

“Navi told me who you are,” said Remy, jutting out his chin. “She said I could handle it, and I can.”

Eliana brushed a hand across his wild dark bangs. “Remy, this story of theirs… It could be nothing. It might not even be true.”

“Think about it,” he said. “Your body could heal itself, and we never knew why. But it was because all that power was trapped sleeping inside you, and it didn’t have anything to do, so instead it fixed you up whenever it could. It makes perfect sense.”

Simon chuckled. “An interesting way to describe it.”

Triumphant, Remy grinned at her. “I knew you were special, El. I’ve always known that.”

“God, Remy.” She rubbed her face. “Please stop—”

“Let him speak if he wants to,” Simon said. “Especially since he’s right.”

“But if he’s right, I’m what, exactly?” She threw up her hands. “A general? A freak?”

“A savior,” Simon answered. “A symbol. A queen.”

“But I don’t know how to do this!” Her voice was turning desperate. Good. She felt desperate. “How to fight the Emperor? I wouldn’t know where to begin.”

Or if I even want to try.

Fighting to save friends and allies was one thing. But fighting for the world was not a task she appreciated having dropped in her lap.

Zahra looked curiously at her. She knew the wraith could sense what she was thinking, and she didn’t care.

“I’ll help you,” Simon said, still watching the fire. “You won’t be alone in this. Not for a moment.”

She stiffened. “What if you fail me?”

“I won’t.”

“What if I fail?”

“Then we’re doomed even more completely than we already were. But at least we’ll have tried, hmm?”

“Tell me this, then,” Eliana said, “if you’re so confident: Will I be like her?”

The fire painted Simon’s piercing blue gaze a flickering amber. “Like your mother?”

Beside her, Remy flinched.

“Like the Blood Queen,” Eliana said sharply.

“Will you be like her? That’s a question I can’t answer. Only time can do so. And you.”

“I was afraid you’d say that.”

At the bitter note in her voice, Simon turned and watched her for a long moment. When he spoke again, it was gentle. “I’ll tell Malik to wait a few hours before your meeting with the kings. You can rest, talk with Remy. I’ll send for food.”

She shook her head, cutting him off. She couldn’t talk to Remy, not yet. And hours of waiting would make the inevitable feel even worse than it already did.

“Food, yes,” she said, “and lots of it. But after that…bring the kings to me.” Then she rose to her feet and told the first lie of her new life: “I’m ready to begin.”