Kingsbane

Audric looked back at the archer. “You have healers here, I assume?”

The archer was watching them thoughtfully. “We do.”

“Then take us to them at once.”

“They won’t be able to eliminate her pain,” the archer replied, sounding pleased. “She will carry that with her for all her endless, stolen days.”

“They will do what they can until…” Audric glanced at Rielle.

“Until I can do it instead,” she finished for him. “Which I will, with time. I’ll do it. I’ll learn. I know I can do it.” She glanced up at the others—Ilmaire, watching in fascination; Ingrid, suspicious and horrified; the archer, wholly unimpressed. Rielle set her jaw. “You doubt me.”

“No, Lady Rielle,” the archer replied. “I fear you.”

He stepped aside, gesturing toward the dark tree line. “Follow me. And fear not. My archers won’t shoot again.”

As they moved away from the water, Corien’s appreciation brushed against Rielle like a caress of cool fingers. Every time he touched her, every time he spoke, his presence felt stronger in her mind, as if he were slowly regaining his footing.

I almost wish they would shoot, he murmured. Just to see what you’d do.

Rielle, imagining it, smiled to herself, and avoided Ludivine’s curious, bleary gaze. So do I.

8



   Eliana

“The first human to manifest elemental powers was a girl, a sunspinner only nine years of age, and though her name has been lost to the passage of time, you will find her spoken of often in ancient texts from the First Age. In those pages she is known only as the Child of the Dawn.”

—A Concise History of the First Age, Volume I: The Early Days of Humanity by Alistra Zarovna and Veseris Savelya of the First Guild of Scholars

For a moment, Eliana could neither speak nor move. The impossibility of seeing Harkan sitting there in Navi’s palace, looking so very much himself—the same golden-brown skin she had grown up seeing every day, the same black hair and large dark eyes—left her feeling as if she had stepped out of her skin to hover somewhere above the ground. As she had existed in the Deep of Zahra’s memory—stripped of her body, but this time without pain and without fear.

“El?” Harkan’s voice was hoarse, and familiar and beloved, and when he smiled, the new shadows under his eyes diminished. “El, you’re staring.”

With a small cry, she hurried forward, crashed to her knees at his side, and wrapped him in her arms so fiercely that he hissed in pain. “El, that’s a bit tight.”

Beneath the stench of travel and sweat was the familiar warm smell of Harkan’s skin, and suddenly, with her eyes squeezed shut, Eliana was back home in Orline, in the candlelit haven of his bedroom. Knots buried in her chest and shoulders loosened, pulling tears from her eyes.

“I don’t care,” she said, her voice muffled in his collar. “And I’m never letting go, either.”

“So I’m to exist for the rest of my life with you hanging off my neck?” He cupped the back of her head with one hand, found her fingers with the other. With her cheek pressed against his throat, she felt his voice, thick with emotion, rumbling in her bones. “I think I can live with that.”

Faintly, she heard King Tavik urging everyone out of the room, and looked up just as Simon turned to follow them. Remy bounced at his side, tugging on his arm.

“Did he tell you how he escaped Orline?” Remy’s eyes shone. “Did you see that revolver? He stole it from an adatrox lieutenant.”

Simon seemed not at all perturbed to have Remy dancing around him like an overexcited puppy. “Is that so?”

“Did you know Harkan used to write stories with me? Did you know Saint Tokazi is his favorite saint?”

“No, I hadn’t heard that.” Simon placed a hand on Remy’s shoulder to direct him gently out of the room.

Just before he stepped into the corridor, Simon glanced back at Eliana. For a beat, their eyes met over Harkan’s shoulder, and she felt a dull twist in her chest that she would have named guilt or embarrassment or some combination of the two—if such a reaction weren’t completely absurd. There was nothing untoward about embracing an old friend, and even if she and Harkan had started kissing right there in front of everyone, as they would have been well within their rights to do after so long apart, there would have been no reason to hide.

And yet, shame climbed hot up her throat, as if she had been caught doing something illicit. This was not a betrayal; there was nothing to betray.

But Simon’s declaration from that first night in Dyrefal circled through her mind, unwelcome and unasked for: I care about nothing else but you.

She tightened her arms around Harkan, refusing to be the first to look away.

Simon, with that strange, unreadable expression still on his face, was the one to do it. He turned his back on them, Remy still chattering away at his elbow, and shut the door quietly behind him.

• • •

Later that night, her room lit by a dozen candles, the windows on the far wall cracked open to allow in a slight chill breeze, Eliana lay in bed beside Harkan, tensely curled against his side as she waited for him to respond.

Her whispered words hovered in the air like dead leaves taking an eternity to fall from their branches, and now that she had uttered them, she found herself wishing she had kept her mouth shut.

Instead she could have simply lain beside him, fallen in and out of sleep until the morning, fetched him fresh poppy tea if he needed it for his leg. She could have left him sleeping peacefully and returned to the stacks of books sitting on her desk. She could have pushed past the discomfort humming quietly below her skin, which left her feeling awkward in his presence, in a way she had never felt back home, and kissed him. She could have kissed him until it became something more, even though he was tired and in pain, even though she didn’t particularly want to kiss him—which was a startling realization that had come upon her earlier in the evening, when she had first joined him in her bed.

But instead she had told him the truth, about everything: She was, according to Simon and Zahra, the foretold Sun Queen, the daughter of the Kingsbane and the Lightbringer. The Furyborn Child. She had many names, it seemed, and she had chosen none of them for herself. She had destroyed the invading Empire fleet by calling down a storm from the sky.

She had killed Rozen with a dagger to the throat.

She waited, her cheek against Harkan’s chest, until his arms around her began to feel like a cage. Then, with a slow breath in and out, he resumed smoothing circles across her upper arm.

Eliana directed her muscles to unclench. He hadn’t shoved her away or extracted himself from her embrace. That was something.