Furyborn

“Arabeth,” said a voice behind her, sonorous but warped and faintly amused. “A fine name for a weapon.”

Eliana whirled and threw the tray at the shadowed shape that stood against the far wall. A woman, Eliana thought, tall and thin and…transparent.

The tray shot through the woman’s body, hit the wall, clattered to the floor.

Cursing, Eliana staggered back as far as the cell allowed. “What are you? Show yourself!”

The woman obeyed, drifting forward until she knelt at Eliana’s feet. She was a colorless distortion in the air. Shimmering, thread-thin lights outlined robes, a full mouth, and a mass of hair that fell to her hips.

“It’s true, then,” the woman murmured, reaching out to touch Eliana’s hand.

Eliana’s vision jolted, then blackened. She swayed on her feet, braced her hands against her knees, fought against unconsciousness.

“You don’t belong here,” she managed. “You feel wrong.”

“I know,” said the woman, a great sadness in her eyes. “I’m sorry for that. You will get used to it, if it’s any comfort.”

“You’re Fidelia. Get the fuck away from me.”

“I am certainly not Fidelia.”

Eliana pressed her fingers to her temples. “I felt this sickness in Sanctuary, right before you took me. And the night you took my mother and when you took those girls from the slums—”

“I did none of this, my queen. The Prophet does not snatch girls from their beds, and neither do I.”

Eliana squinted at the woman, breathing thinly through the ill feeling churning in her gut. “What did you call me?”

“There have been rumors for months that Simon found you at last,” the woman continued, her voice thrumming with excitement, “but I did not let myself believe it until now. Now, I see your face, I hear you speak, I feel you breathe, and I know.”

The woman floated nearer, cupped Eliana’s face in her hand. Eliana felt nothing at her touch except for a fresh wave of nausea. She squeezed her eyes shut and sank to the floor.

“I’m going to be sick,” she moaned.

“Forgive me, my queen.” The woman moved quickly away. “I should not have touched you. It is difficult for humans to adjust.”

“Who are you, what are you, and why are you calling me that?”

The woman bowed her head. “I am forgetting myself. If you only knew how long we’ve been waiting for this day…but then, you will know soon enough.”

Eliana looked up as the woman stretched to her full, translucent height—eight feet, at least. Her elongated limbs reminded Eliana uncomfortably of a spider.

“I am Zahra,” the woman said, “and I am a wraith. And you are Eliana Ferracora, the Dread of Orline, the last of House Courverie, daughter of the Lightbringer, heir to the throne of Saint Katell, the true queen of Celdaria, and…” Zahra spread her long arms wide. Her dark smile was full of joy. “You are the One Who Rises. The Furyborn Child. You are the Sun Queen, Eliana, and I have come to bring you home.”

37



   Rielle

“Katell’s writings show that, out of all the godsbeasts, she most favored the chavaile. Perhaps due to its similarity to the white mare that carried her into battle against the angels. Perhaps because its wings reminded her of her beloved Aryava and brought her comfort after his death.”

—A Chronicle of the Godsbeasts by Raliquand d’Orseau, First Guild of Scholars

The chavaile did not stop until Rielle began to heave on its back.

They touched down on a small rocky cliff dotted with stubby tufts of grass and sheltered by boulders as big around as King Bastien’s carriage. Rielle slid to the ground and managed to crawl a few paces away before violently emptying her stomach.

After, hollowed out, she dragged herself toward the rocks, seeking shelter from the wind. Every movement sent shocks of pain through her body. The poison had done fine work; she felt as though she’d been hammered up and down every muscle and bone. She hoped she had gotten it all out—and not too late.

Then, lumbering hoofbeats approached.

She looked up. The chavaile had crept close. Bigger even than her father’s largest warhorses, with an elegant arched neck, a long unkempt black mane, and bright, intelligent eyes, it behaved like a horse—and yet it did not. Its nostrils flared as it sniffed the air around her; its ears pricked forward curiously.

But then it cocked its head to the side, as a human might when trying to understand something new. There was an ancient weight to its presence that Rielle had felt surrounding no other living creature.

“Hello.” She reached out feebly with one shaking arm. “You’ve always been my favorite.”

A sharp blast of mountain wind slammed into her. She collapsed, shivering.

Beyond her closed eyelids, the light shifted. Then, at the sound of movement, she opened her eyes and watched blearily as the chavaile lowered itself to the ground between her body and the open sky. It extended one of its enormous feathered wings—it must have been at least twenty feet long—and gently scooped her close to its body.

Wedged between a shell of gray, black-tipped feathers and the warm swell of the chavaile’s belly, Rielle breathed. The beast’s coat was impossibly soft, speckled gray as a storming sky.

“Are you real?” she whispered, placing her hand against its stomach. “Where did you come from?”

In response, the chavaile settled its wing more securely around Rielle’s body, then tucked its head underneath its wing. Rielle felt the hot press of its muzzle against her back, followed by a warm breath of air as it let out a contented grunt.

It was a strange nest, but too cozy to resist; Rielle fell into a fitful half sleep. Her shapeless dreams burned black.

• • •

When she woke, her mind was clear and the chavaile was watching her.

So. She hadn’t been hallucinating.

She remained still, comfortable and warm beneath the canopy of its wing, and stared up at it.

“I thought all the godsbeasts were dead,” she said at last. Hesitant, she placed her hand on the chavaile’s muzzle. “Why did you save me?”

Its nostrils flared hot between her fingers. She stroked the long, flat plane of its face, the swirling tufts of hair between its wide black eyes.

“I wonder if you have a name.”

The chavaile whickered softly and pushed its nose into Rielle’s palm.

“Well,” she said, beaming, “then I’ll have to give you one.”