Furyborn
But sometimes jobs came as messages, especially for Eliana.
These, she did not share with Harkan.
They often arrived folded between powdered fritters wrapped in thin paper, to remind Eliana of Remy—and how close he had been to this note and its messenger with the blank-slate eyes. She would read those orders with shaking hands.
Today, the job came tucked beneath folds of silk—a wine-colored whisper of a dress with long slits up each leg, shimmering as though it had been dipped in diamonds. The back was entirely bare, save for three thin, beaded strands. It was a flattering color for her, and the measurements seemed right. It would drape nicely over her body.
She swallowed past the sick knot in her chest. Lord Arkelion paid too close attention to her—and had for some time now. Eliana unfolded the message and read the encoded instructions three times over:
The Wolf rides on the full moon.
I want him alive.
Glory to the Empire.
Long live His Holy Majesty the Undying Emperor.
She stared at the exquisite penmanship.
Though the message bore Lord Arkelion’s seal, the writing was not his.
It was Rahzavel’s.
This writing, then, was a message within a message: Rahzavel was on his way to Orline. He was after the Wolf, and he wanted Eliana’s help.
She didn’t blame him.
Unlike Quill, the Wolf was not some Red Crown lackey. He was the right hand of the Prophet, lieutenant to the mysterious leader of Red Crown himself. The Wolf had evaded the Empire for years, and now he was here in her city.
Eliana’s eyes found the figure written across the bottom of the note in that same meticulous hand:
20,000 gold
Her heart raced.
A payment of 20,000 in Empire gold?
Money like that was a small fortune—and, coming from Rahzavel, the invitation Eliana had long feared: Deliver the Wolf. Take our money.
Join Invictus.
Serve the Emperor.
She had never told Harkan how she had, over the past two years, accepted even more jobs than he knew and saved as much as she could.
She had never told him just how deeply she had come to long for his fantasy of living in some quiet corner of Astavar with goats and fresh bread and tomato plants.
Instead she had saved and killed and hunted and saved. And now, with 20,000 gold in addition to her savings…
She heard the bell ring downstairs. Remy was home; his laughter lit up their house. How miraculous, that he could still laugh so easily.
Eliana threw the note into the fire and watched Rahzavel’s words burn. Once the note was ashes, she glanced out her window at the darkening sky. It was the first night of the full moon.
If Invictus wanted her, they could have her—but they would never touch her family.
She would deliver the Wolf as ordered.
She would accept her reward and ensure that Remy, Harkan, and her mother could safely leave the country.
And she would begin the hunt that very night.
5
Rielle
“Fleet-footed fire, blaze not with fury or abandon
Burn steady and true, burn clean and burn bright”
—The Fire Rite
As first uttered by Saint Marzana the Brilliant, patron saint of Kirvaya and firebrands
Rielle saw the seven false arbiters converging on Audric, their swords gleaming. Borsvall men.
Other racers veered out of the way as they continued through the pass, eyes fixed on the course and the coin waiting at the end.
Audric looked over his shoulder, the enemy soldiers forming a V behind him. One carried a sword that drew long spirals of blackness from the air—a shadowcaster, flinging darkness ahead of him and clouding Audric in fog.
Rielle saw these things, and she saw none of them.
There was only Audric. Never mind the betrothal, never mind Ludivine, and damn the entire royal court to the Deep.
He was hers, and these men wanted to kill him.
A knife-sharp rage crested within her.
How dare they?
She snapped Maliya’s reins and let out a sharp cry. The mare took her racing after them.
There was no way even Audric could defeat them all, not unarmed—and Rielle knew he was unarmed today. When she had suggested he keep at least his secondary, less powerful castings hidden somewhere on his person, he had protested. Weapons are against the rules, Rielle. Even my daggers. You know that.
If he had Illumenor, his sword, there would be no question. But Audric could not bring down sunlight without his castings. Not even the saints had been able to do that.
No one could, Rielle knew, but her.
In an instant, years of lessons teaching her to stifle every instinct she possessed fell away. A locked door wedged shut in her heart flew open.
She flung out her hand as though she could stop the assassins with her fury alone. A blast of heat flooded her body. Her fingertips were ten points of fire.
Flames erupted on either side of her, shooting toward the pass in twin blazing paths.
The world shook. A hot hiss rent the air in two. She ducked flying clods of earth. Maliya lurched beneath her, let out a shrill cry. Rielle barely managed to keep her seat.
She heard a shout of panic and looked back the way she had come. The blackened land behind her looked as if it had been raked open by monstrous claws. Other racers were bringing their horses up short, steering them away from the shredded ground.
Beneath Rielle, Maliya’s glistening sides heaved. She was pushing her horse too hard. They should not be running so quickly.
But Rielle refused to stop.
There, in front of them—the Borsvall assassins. They were entering the pass and tearing back through the mountains to the city, trying to intercept Audric before he could reach it. Enormous boulders rolled down the mountains on either side of the pass and crashed into one another, sending dirt and rocks flying. The other racers tried to dodge the debris; only some succeeded. Several bodies fell and did not rise again.
Rielle considered stopping to help the nearest one, but then saw an assassin’s spear flash, flinging sticky knots of fire at Audric. A firebrand. The flames clung to Audric’s cloak and boots. He ducked a streak of fire arcing over his head and turned his horse right. The air around him shimmered and popped. His sunspinner power, itching to erupt?
Rielle kicked Maliya hard. Faster, faster.
If anything happened to him, if he died before she could tell him—
The ground burst open on either side of her. Fresh flames spewed from the earth she’d ripped open, blasting her face with heat. Rocks went flying; one slammed into the shoulder of another racer as he struggled to get out of her way, and he fell.