Furyborn

She knelt in the direction of the House of Night, to say a quick prayer to Saint Tameryn, and could not hide her grin.

Ludivine had truly outdone herself with this costume. The gown’s snug black-velvet bodice was backless, scandalously low in front. The neckline dipped between her breasts and nearly reached her navel. Fine netting made of swirling ebony lace, so subtle it looked even from up close like a veil of shadows rather than fabric, shimmered across her exposed skin and held the dress in place. Floating around her legs when she moved was a gorgeous skirt of countless black, midnight-blue, and silver layers—silk, chiffon, Astavari lace. Ludivine had painted tiny silver stars across Rielle’s cheeks and brow, rimmed her eyes with kohl.

She was night itself reborn on the earth, a queen swathed in shadows.

And the best part was yet to come.

As one, the shadowcasters lifted their gloved hands to the sky, their castings in hand.

Rielle stood with her head bowed, arms flung out behind her like rigid wings. Her blood ran wild inside her.

This is what I was made for. The thought arose as naturally as breathing. She flexed her fingers, felt power gathering hot in her palms. No, not hot—vital. Her power was not an intangible thing, a trick of the mind. It was the power of the world itself—and all that lived inside it.

And only I, she thought, can tell it what to do.

A stirring at the back of her mind. Familiar and delighted.

She stiffened. Corien?

The horn blasted a third and final time.

The shadowcasters began.

Spirals of darkness shot hissing from their castings like snakes, then fanned out across the sky to form a dome of shadows. Darkness fell over the grass. Only a few scattered holes in the dome allowed in columns of sunlight, illuminating the Flats so the crowd could see.

Their jubilant cries turned to jeers.

Rielle felt courage rise swift and undaunted in her breast. In this place, she was their hero and the shadowcasters the enemy.

With the dome in place above, the shadowcasters made their next move. They lowered their castings to point right at Rielle—and unleashed their monsters.

Rielle’s courage vanished as quickly as it had arrived.

The magic that lived in the veins of shadowcasters gave them the power to imbue darkness with physicality, with heft and a cunning, voracious will. The shadows rushing at Rielle across the plain carved new roads in the ground. The shadows took the shapes of horned black leopards and winged wolves, bears with spiked spines and great hawks that breathed dark fire. With each running step, they sucked the air out of the Flats until Rielle was forced to stagger, gasping, to her knees.

A hawk reached her first, swooping low over her head. Cold ruffled the ends of her hair, frosted her scalp. She sucked in gasp after greedy gasp, but the air was growing thin, brittle. The hawk latched to her neck, squeezing with hard, thin feathers that sliced lines into her skin. The spike-spined bear skidded to a stop at her feet. A massive scaled paw struck her across the face and knocked her to the ground.

And she did nothing.

Head reeling, she let them come.

Sweet saints, she thought frantically, I hope this works.

The winged wolf pounced, baying, onto her chest. Once it touched her, the wolf morphed into a shapeless veil that wrapped around her head and mouth, until she had to claw at her own face in order to breathe. Her nails pierced her skin, drawing blood. Shreds of shadow fell away at her touch, misshapen and muttering, before dissolving into the ground and re-forming into a buzzing flock of arrows. Cold fear slammed into her chest. The metal trial. Some shadowcaster’s joke, she supposed.

The falling shower of arrows pierced her like needles, scalp to ankle. They rose up, vibrating with angry intent, then fell on her again. And again. And again.

She squeezed her eyes shut, dripping with sweat and rivulets of her own blood, and let the shadow-beasts swarm upon her, let them pinch and grasp and choke. A chittering black rat forced its way inside her mouth. She gagged on the freezing wriggle of its body, fought the urge to vomit when the rat dissolved and spread through her blood in a surge of cold.

Tears leaked out of her eyes. Her body vibrated with the need to fight.

But she stayed sprawled across the ground, inert and helpless. Distantly she heard the crowd yell for her, their cries growing hysterical with fear.

You have something planned, Corien remarked, curious. Do tell.

Can’t you tell? she managed, though even her thoughts came ragged and breathless.

I could, yes. But I feel like being surprised.

You’ll see soon enough.

He beamed at her. She saw a flicker of a pale, handsome face before her closed eyelids. You’re happy to see me.

She let out a small, tearful laugh. I thought you’d left me for good.

Never, Rielle. Soft lips brushed against her brow; a hand cupped her face, guiding her up. Never.

She turned her face to him, safe in the haven of her thoughts. The tearing shadows, the screaming crowd, the plan she’d engineered—they all fell away. There was only Corien and her own body and the power writhing for release inside her.

His mouth brushed against hers, slow and chaste. His hand trailed the length of her spine, drawing her up from the cold ground.

Now, he said, his voice tight and hoarse. Get up. Make him sorry.

Him. The Archon.

You cheated, she thought, smiling. I thought you wanted to be surprised.

I cannot resist you, he replied. Not you or your phenomenal mind.

Rielle’s eyes flew open. She drew as deep a breath as she could. Then she reached her hands across the muddy ground, cracked her eyes open to look at the columns of sunlight breaking through the dome above.

“With the dawn I rise,” she prayed. Then, curling her fingers into the dirt, “With the day, I blaze.”

In one brilliant instant, every ray of sun in sight dropped from the sky and raced across the ground like bolts of lightning to her fingers.

She gathered the light between her hands, ravenous for its burn, delighted at how it sizzled against her skin. Her eyes saw and did not see, glazed over with a hunger that made her chest hum with need. She blinked; the world was gilded through with countless waves of shimmering gold.

Her breath caught in her throat. The empirium.

She blinked again. The world darkened.

She pressed her palms together, then slammed them down against the earth.

A blinding blast rocketed out from where she knelt in the dirt, tearing through the shadowcasters’ monsters. The shadowcasters themselves toppled from their platforms. The dome overhead vanished. Sizzling, black shreds of shadow cascaded to the ground.

When the darkness cleared, Rielle stood alone, her skin bloodied, her beautiful gown torn to shreds, but her back straight and her head held high.