Furyborn
“I was a very good horse, I thought,” said Audric. “I had the neigh down and everything.”
“There was a particular day,” Rielle added, “when you tucked one of your mother’s scarves into your trousers and pretended it was your tail.”
Evyline’s cough sounded suspiciously like it was meant to cover laughter.
“Go on,” said Audric, stretching out on the bed with a happy sigh. “Keep embarrassing me. I don’t mind.”
Beside Rielle, hidden from view by the bed linens, Audric touched his hand to hers. She wrapped her fingers around his, warmth rushing sweetly down her body, and felt herself dangerously close to moving right where she shouldn’t.
• • •
“You should have visited me sooner.”
Rielle tried not to scowl. Garver Randell had done that enough for the both of them. “It was rather a busy day yesterday,” she said dryly, “what with the attempted murder and all. Besides, I saw the king’s healer right away.”
“That man’s an idiot. Why do you think Audric comes to me instead?” Garver screwed a lid onto the jar and shoved it across the table at her. “Take a spoonful four times a day until it’s gone. Waspfog is a nasty poison. You’ll feel queasiness for days, can’t do anything about it, but this will help.”
“How much do I owe you for it?”
“Only this: next time you’re poisoned or almost murdered or stabbed or strangled or—”
“I get the point.”
“Yes, well, next time, don’t wait a night before coming to see me.” Garver heaved himself up from his chair with a tired grunt. “Prompt, proper care conducted by healers who are not idiots can make the difference between life and death. Even for Sun Queens.”
With his back turned, Rielle rolled her eyes.
“I heard that,” he said mildly.
Rielle grinned, then looked out the open door to the courtyard, where Audric was showing Garver’s little son, Simon, how the chavaile liked to be petted. Beyond the courtyard, people crowded at Garver’s front gate, gaping at the prince and the godsbeast, probably wondering why this boy was special enough to get an audience with the creature.
“It’s funny,” she murmured, watching tensely as Simon reached for the chavaile’s neck with his eyes squeezed shut.
But the chavaile only closed her eyes and leaned into his touch.
Garver had started to sweep. “Hmm? What’s funny?”
“Atheria doesn’t usually like it when people touch her.”
“Who in God’s name is Atheria?”
“The chavaile. Do you like the name?”
“Whatever her name is, I’d rather not have her stomping up my flowers.”
“Besides me,” Rielle said, “Atheria only lets two people touch her. Audric, and now…” She smiled as the beast nibbled at Simon’s hair. The boy went perfectly still and stood wide-eyed while Audric shook with silent laughter. “And now, it seems, your son is the second.”
40
Eliana
“Tender lost lambs will wander into our fold, dumb and blind, driven by His call. Gather them close. Teach them His word. Remake them as He demands. Punish those who defy Him, for they are truly lost.”
—The First Book of Fidelia
When the door opened, Eliana hurried out into the brightly lit corridor.
A male guard stood just outside, staring blankly at the wall. A ring of keys dangled from his hand.
Eliana found the two keys Zahra had described—one a plain and dirty brass, the other thin and silver—and removed them from his ring. It was as Zahra had said: the soldier didn’t move or even blink.
She stepped back, watching his face.
The corner of his mouth twitched.
According to Zahra, a proper angel would be able to influence the man’s mind for as long as necessary. But, as a bodiless wraith, Zahra could only affect him for seconds at a time. And even then, she’d told Eliana bitterly, her ability remained unpredictable and easily drained.
The man’s hand moved, as if in sleep. He blinked. His body shifted.
“Go.” His mouth moved, but Zahra’s voice emerged. “Hurry.”
The man would awaken—and soon.
Keys in hand, Eliana ran down the deserted hallway in her bare feet. Metallic doors lined the gray stone walls.
She found the alcove that Zahra had told her about—the entrance to a supply closet—and pressed her body flat against the wall. Eyes watering after so long in darkness, she squinted up at the buzzing yellow lights lining the ceiling—and waited.
A minute passed. Then Zahra drifted into the alcove.
“Through here—quickly,” she whispered, gesturing at the closet door. “I’m sorry, Eliana. I wish my protection was as strong as you deserve. But the Fall damaged so many things, including the minds of wraiths.”
“Don’t apologize. You’re doing fine.” Eliana used the brass key to open the closet door and hurried inside. The space was long and narrow, lined with shelves crammed with tied bundles, packs of food, boxes labeled with unfamiliar lettering.
She crouched, searching the lower shelves. “I don’t recognize that writing.”
“One of the old angelic languages,” Zahra explained. “To be initiated into Fidelia, you must learn all five.”
“And those lights outside, in the hallway. I’ve never seen anything like them.”
“Galvanized energy. One of the Emperor’s many experiments. Have you found them?”
“Not yet. Wait.” Eliana opened a wooden crate with metal clasps. Inside was an array of weaponry and gear, including her own. Whistler, Nox, Tuora, Tempest. Only her beloved Arabeth was missing—lost forever, she supposed, on the filthy floors of Sanctuary. She strapped her holsters to her legs, her arms, her waist, sheathed the knives, and straightened with a sigh.
Zahra watched, a smile rippling across her face. “Better?”
“Much.”
“Before we go.” Zahra pointed at another shelf. “This is yours, I believe?”
Her necklace. Eliana’s heart lifted to see its battered brass face—though now the sight of those familiar lines reminded her of Zahra’s words: the daughter of the Lightbringer. Did she believe such a wild story? And if it was true, how much of the truth, if any, had Rozen known?
And could she even still call Rozen her mother? And Remy her brother, Ioseph her father?