Furyborn
After a moment of tense silence, Navi muttered, “Of course I won’t tell anyone,” and walked away.
Dizzy with relief, Eliana retrieved her tunic and slipped it back on. “If you did tell someone—”
“Then both Red Crown and the Empire would scramble to make you a great weapon, with no regard for your own safety, and that is not a fate I would wish on anyone.” Navi’s voice hardened. “This war has claimed the lives and bodies of too many women.”
Then she turned, thoughtful. “Tell me how it started. Not just this one time, I assume?”
Eliana took a steadying breath. “It’s always been like this. When I was small, I thought nothing of it. I’d fall, scrape my leg, and it would heal almost instantly. I figured, ah, well, that’s lucky, and moved on. But as I grew older, I realized it was…an unusual thing.”
“To put it mildly,” Navi said with a troubled smile.
“I told Remy, eventually.” Eliana found Remy huddled miserably on one of the cushioned benches beside the pool. She sat beside him, pulled him close. He turned gratefully into her side. “He helped me keep it a secret from our parents, even from Harkan. My friend. My partner.” It was the first time she had said Harkan’s name since saying goodbye to him on that awful day in Orline. Saying it felt like plucking a physical thing from her heart, leaving a hollow place behind. “I’m sure Harkan noticed—we were too close for him not to—but he never said anything. I don’t know why. To respect my decision not to confide in him about it, I suppose.” She shook her head. “I did not deserve a friend such as he was.”
Navi paced quietly. Then she stopped, staring down at the rippling water.
“You’re worried because you saw the same thing happen to Lord Morbrae as has happened to you all your life.” Navi looked up, pity on her face. “You’re worried that you’re one of them.”
“But she isn’t!” Remy’s face flushed angrily. “Their eyes are black. Hers aren’t. They’re evil, and she isn’t.”
“I agree, Remy,” said Navi, “as someone who has spent too much time among their kind. You are not one of them, Eliana. Your face doesn’t hold that same hunger. The air doesn’t shift wrongly around your body, as if you don’t quite fit in this world.”
“What are they, then?” Eliana asked quietly. “What did you see when you lived in the maidensfold?”
Navi sat on a cushioned bench with her shoulders high and tense. “I saw men who glutted themselves and still hungered. Who took lover after lover to their beds and never felt sated. I lay with generals who begged me to carve up their bodies and who threatened to carve up my own if I wouldn’t obey—and then, as they writhed beneath me, their flesh healed, and they howled in despair.”
Navi drew in a long, slow breath. “Lord Arkelion took quite a liking to me and often summoned me to his rooms. Sometimes, when looking into those black eyes of his, I would see things.”
“Like I saw the Emperor,” Eliana murmured. “I looked into Lord Morbrae’s eyes, and suddenly there he was. And there was Celdaria.”
“Yes.” Navi looked up, her expression haunted. “Very much like that. When with His Lordship, I saw things I would not understand. Visions. Images. And all of them were of wrath and revenge. Blood-darkened hills. A void that spun me farther and farther away from the light. I would feel these images in my blood after leaving him, like he had infected me with an echo of whatever sickness plagues him. I would return to the maidensfold and keep myself away from the others until the feeling had passed. I was afraid of myself. I feared I would lash out, hurt them.”
Navi shook her head. “These men, they are made of a violence I could never have imagined.”
“They’re not men,” Remy said firmly into the silence that followed. “They’re angels.”
27
Rielle
“I have encouraged our young prince to split his time between the House of Light and the Forge, for he must not only study sunlight, but also craft a casting strong enough to contain his considerable power—though he did not seem too keen on the idea of a sword. The boy would rather his casting be some dusty tome as big as his torso.”
—Journal of Grand Magister Ardeline Guillory of the House of Light
Year 983 of the Second Age
The gardens behind Baingarde were Rielle’s favorite place in the world. She, Audric, and Ludivine had spent many hours of their childhood running down the hushed dirt paths, crafting secret hideaways in grassy hollows and creeping around the seeing pools that surrounded the royal catacombs.
Rielle smiled, remembering the skipping-stones game the three of them had loved to play. The game was to jump across the seeing pools using the moss-slicked stones as a path. Anyone who fell would be forever haunted by the ghosts of dead kings and queens.
The pools’ still black water had always reminded Rielle of unkind mirrors and made her wonder if a secret tunnel existed somewhere beneath the water, into which she might fall and disappear forever.
In that secret world, young Rielle had often thought, would it be all right to have murdered your mother? Would the people there care at all?
For an instant she could feel Audric and Ludivine on either side of her. One holding her hand warmly; the other keeping a proper distance away, always, always.
Once her bare feet hit the path that led to the seeing pools, Rielle stopped and inhaled. She imagined the cool night air of the gardens seeping into her lungs and washing her troubled heart clean.
“Are you sure you don’t require boots, my lady?” asked Evyline. “There’s quite a chill.”
Rielle looked back at her guard. “Will you leave me to wander alone for a while? I long for quiet.”
Evyline made a small sound of disapproval. “I can be exceptionally quiet, my lady.”
Rielle crossed her arms and glared at her.
After a long moment, Evyline sighed. “Very well, my lady. If I hear you yell in distress, I shall come running after you heroically.”
“I would expect nothing less from you, dear Evyline.”
Then Rielle slipped into the trees, following one of the narrow dirt paths. Soft pine needles littered the ground; dew-glittered ferns brushed the trailing hem of her dressing gown. Centuries before, Queen Katell had planted sorrow trees throughout the gardens of Baingarde in honor of Aryava, her fallen angel lover. Now the ancient trees sprawled low and far across the ground, their knotted black limbs heavy with thick clusters of pale pink flowers.
At last, Rielle emerged near the seeing pools. They stretched dark and tranquil toward the grass-covered mound that served as the entrance to the royal catacombs. Two torches flanked the great stone doors, which were marked with the seven temple sigils.