Saint Katell had sung the same ancient lament over Aryava’s body, and the queen’s shredded voice tore on every word—but she stood tall and unbroken as her husband’s body passed beside her into the shadows.

It was then, as Bastien’s body faded into the blackness of the catacombs, that Rielle felt the wind kiss her skin.

Her power swelled gently against her bones—a wave building on a rumbling sea.

She looked, shivering, through the trees to the east, where the mountains surrounding the capital stood darkest. Ludivine’s hand tightened around her fingers, but she barely noticed.

It might have just been the wind she had heard, she supposed.

Or it might have been a whisper, calling her name.

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.