Simple.
Except the water was damned cold.
And Grand Magister Rosier and his acolytes were making it angry.
Rielle kicked up to the surface to gain her bearings and was promptly pulled back under by a black wave twenty feet tall. Swimming hard, she pushed herself up and gasped for air before another wave knocked her back into the water.
This would get her nowhere.
She remembered Tal’s words: Don’t be afraid to fight.
In fact, though, she was afraid.
When Rielle was a child, and Tal had held her under the water in the Baths, she’d at first fought him. She’d known at once that he was testing her, but with her lungs burning, her panic so desperate she thought she might die from it, she had been ready to do anything for the chance to breathe again.
Looking up through the clear, soft water, she’d seen Tal’s blurry figure hunched over her. She had imagined his voice, guiding her through her lessons:
The empirium is in all living things. Think of it like tiny crystals, forming the basis of everything that is.
The goal, then, is to reach with your power beyond the visible, beyond the surface of things.
To take hold of the empirium itself—the grains of life, finer than sand—and change it.
Lungs burning just as they had that day years ago, Rielle closed her eyes in the swirling dark sea and recited the Water Rite. Her body cried out for air, and she ignored it.
“I’m sorry, Rielle,” Tal had sobbed after releasing her. He’d held her small, choking body, breathed into her mouth to help her recover her air, tucked her soaked head under his chin. “Forgive me. Please, forgive me.”
“I did well, didn’t I?” She’d smiled up at him, coughing up water. “Tal, I didn’t lose control! I saw the water! The bits of water, they were small and pretty, and I saw them, and I wasn’t afraid!”
Tossed about beneath the waves, her body burning and her vision fading, Rielle remembered Tal’s stricken, confused face. After, in his office, as she sat sipping a cup of tea beneath a blanket, he’d combed her hair smooth, then held her until she finally stopped shivering.
“You saw it, didn’t you?” he’d whispered, awestruck.
Cozy in his arms, she’d mumbled sleepily, “Saw what?”
“The empirium.”
She’d wrinkled her nose and looked up at him. “Didn’t you see it too?”
But, no. He hadn’t, and he wouldn’t. Seeing the empirium with one’s own eyes was not a thing others enjoyed. Rielle had seen the truth of that in Tal’s marveling gaze, felt it in how reverently he helped her back home and into her own bed.
In the water, remembering that day, Rielle’s mind cleared and settled. You saw it, didn’t you?
Yes. She had.
Her power itched to surface, and she let it rise.
I must breathe in this water.
So I will.
Rielle opened her eyes and saw the water of the bay strewn through with countless flecks of golden light, so tiny that when she focused on them, they melded into a solid, brilliant sheen.
The empirium.
She blinked. The gold faded.
But she was not alone here. The empirium was all around her—brushing against her mind like tendrils, reaching for her, calling to her.
Her mind focused and clear, her lungs burning, she pushed out with her thoughts, moving the water away from her body until she was surrounded by a hair-thin shell of air.
It held, but it wouldn’t forever. Already she could feel the shell cracking, the weight of the waves pressing down on it as though against a thin pane of glass. A dull ache pulsed through her muscles. Her mind stretched and shifted like someone had reached into her skull and was reshaping the deep, dark place behind her eyes.
Your power is a miracle, Rielle, said Corien, his voice tinged with awe. I don’t understand it. Help me understand.
Rielle kicked hard and dove deeper.
• • •
The first item was easy:
A three-pronged trident head, sharp-tipped and silver, lying in a cluster of seaweed on the ocean floor.
Rielle kicked her way down, the pressure of the storming water making her ears throb. She grabbed the middle prong, and her palm lit up with pain. Her blood clouded the water; the shell around her body wavered.
Rielle recalled the story of Saint Nerida in the final battle at the Gate—how she had used her trident to impale the angel Razerak through his gut. His scream was loud enough that the sea birds along the northern Celdarian coast had dropped dead from the skies.
Focus, Rielle, she told herself, furious that she’d grabbed the prong without thinking. But then the sight of her own hand grasping the trident head gave her a burst of inspiration.
The people above, waiting for her to drown, would remember the stories of Saint Nerida too.
Rielle pushed herself off the seabed, kicking hard until she burst out of the water and thrust the trident head high into the air. Sheets of rain, thrown from a sky churning with clouds, slapped her cheeks.
Light shone down upon where Rielle bobbed in the waves. Acolytes from the House of Light cast bright beams of sunlight from the cliff tops.
Rielle turned her face up to the warmth, and once the crowd saw her—triumphantly holding the first piece of the trident, her sliced hand bleeding down her arm—a roar of cheers exploded. And though her protective shell of air muffled the sound, Rielle heard enough to know the truth:
They hadn’t expected her to emerge after so long underwater. But now she had, and now…now anything was possible.
Rielle grinned and dove back down. Once underwater, her air shell constricted, twisting about her body like a rag being wrung out. She choked, her throat tightening. She closed her eyes and fought for enough calm to pray.
Grow us the fruit of our fields.
She opened her eyes, glared at the angry black depths.
Drown us the cries of our enemies.
She reached for the empirium.
Follow me.
Obey me.
Warmth snapped at her fingers and toes.
Was the empirium listening?
Her focus renewed, she swam, searching the murky water for clues. But she saw only churning silt and salt, the occasional flitting shape of a swimming creature.
Then a hulking darkness solidified in the watery shadows—a sunken ship, half submerged in shifting sand and glowing faintly from within.
It was worth a try.
Rielle swam closer. The dense current of the water moved ever faster, flinging her wildly through swirling eddies one moment and pushing against her as a solid wall the next.
Inside the ship’s cracked hull was an eerie, half-lit land. Luminescent pink barnacles clung to the walls and ceiling. She swam through the captain’s quarters, the galley, a storeroom choked with fish that darted away at her approach…
There. A twinkling light caught her eye.
A gemstone, fist-sized and an inky blue in the darkness, winked at her from the floor of the ship. Saint Nerida’s sapphire. It would fasten to the end of the trident’s staff.
Rielle grabbed the sapphire, slipped it into her pocket, then froze.
The shimmering, rose-colored light suffusing the ship was suddenly brighter than it had been a few moments before.
Slowly, Rielle turned, and her stomach clenched in horror.
The luminescent barnacles that had carpeted the walls, lighting her way, weren’t barnacles at all. They were jellyfish—a swarm of them, cat-sized and glowing pink with bright bruise-purple centers. Sizzling light zapped between the fuzzy ends of their tentacles.
Panicking, Rielle kicked to push herself away from them. Something sharp jabbed her leg from behind; she whirled around in the water.
They were su
rrounding her. Drifting closer, inexorably, as if attracted to her rising terror. One of them bumped against her arm; a piercing hot sting jolted her. Another found her temple, her bleeding hand. They swarmed, reaching. Knots of glowing tentacles blocked her view of the ship and the sea beyond it.
She forgot all her prayers and lessons and screamed.
The scream broke her shell of air; the water closed in around her, cruel and cold.
She realized the change too late and gasped, choking on the sea.
Desperation forced her to move. She swam, wild, clumsy, swiped the trident head through the jellyfish, felt the prongs pierce something thick and gelatinous. A tentacle wrapped around her ankle, her unhurt arm. She reached back with the trident and sliced through them, tugged herself free.
She pushed and clawed, the swarm’s angry lights cutting across her vision. She hoped her suit was offering her some protection, but already her vision was dimming.
Air. Air. Air.
She made it out of the boat, reaching desperately for the surface. Her feet were numb, clumsy. She couldn’t tell what her body was doing, just knew she had to get up, get up, get out—
She burst out of the water, coughing hard. A wave pushed her under. She flailed, flipped over, found a burst of strength, climbed back up. Sweet saints, the air was glorious, pure and cold in her aching lungs. The rain beat down on her. Another wave pushed her under, and another right after. She emerged again and looked around wildly. Where were the cliffs? Where were the sunspinner acolytes with their beams of light?
She saw blackness, shifting and growing all around her—no sky, no clouds.
The blackness, she realized with a burst of fear, was waves.
She dove, groped her pocket until she felt the hard gemstone, safely tucked away. She swam, searched the water, surfaced, and dove again. Were they watching her up above? Could they see her? She must have looked absurd—soaked and bleeding, suit torn, skin raised in angry welts.
You can do this, came Corien’s voice. His presence was calm and still. You can do so much more than this.
Can I? She wanted to sink to the seabed and cry. Unless you’re going to help me, leave me be.
His voice vanished; she was alone.
She couldn’t possibly find the focus to re-create her precious shell, so she resurfaced and dove, resurfaced and dove. Her eyes were on fire from the salt; she could see nothing in this churning black water.
And then—how long had it been? Minutes? Days? Her body was one massive, searing throb of pain—she saw it. It was chance, really: an overhead swing of one of the sunspinner’s light beams. Something long and thin glinted, then vanished.
Thrust into a rise in the seabed, closer to the surface than the other pieces had been, stood the trident’s shaft.
She dove for it, all her focus narrowing in on this one spot. A force rose up within her, something eager and hot and familiar. And as it raced up through her body, firing her blood alive, the ocean around her flashed gold once more.
She understood now; it was easy, with the empirium lighting the way. Move the water, create a path.
The next thing she knew, she was no longer swimming. She was running, her mind clear and blazing hot. Water shot up on either side of her; she was carving a path through it. She reached the trident’s shaft and stood panting on the ocean floor. Around her, the water was a narrow, roaring tunnel, spewing water into the air above like a geyser.
But here on the seabed, everything was quiet, softly floating, softly black and blue and gold. Rielle stood in the tranquility of it, assembled the trident with shaking hands. Attach the prongs to the shaft, the gemstone to the end. She grasped it and looked up.
A column of water led straight up into the air, a path she had carved in that last desperate swim without even realizing she was doing it.
A savage pleasure swelled within her.
I did this.
Me and no one else.
And how does it feel? Corien asked quietly. His presence hovered at the door to her mind.
I feel…
She couldn’t articulate it. Standing there, looking up at the chaos of the water gripped by her power, she could only gape and revel in it and exist.
I feel…
A small fear twisted in her breast, but she couldn’t listen to that now, when everything felt so…so…
She closed her eyes, shivering. The air around her vibrated with warmth. Beyond that, the sea churned, relentless and cold. Sprays of water kissed her cheeks.
Corien’s voice was as gentle as her father’s long-ago embrace: Tell me, Rielle.
I feel…alive.
And you are. You are more alive than anyone.
But then the small fear grew. It reared up and shouted: What might this display have done, up on the surface?
Terror crashed through her body.
Her triumph faded; her focus shattered. The water followed soon after.
It slammed down upon her like the force of a thousand fists, and flung her to the ocean floor. She floated there, stunned, her head ringing.
Rise up, Rielle, Corien urged her.
I…I can’t.
You did it. You’re almost finished.
Rielle watched the trident sink beside her. Her eyes closed.
With no small amount of irritation, Corien said, Your friends are worried sick for you, Rielle. Especially that boy.
Audric. Rielle groped for the trident. Ludivine.
Yes, Corien said, nastily now. Go to them, ease their pain. They love you so.
Rielle forced her eyes open. Lungs burning. Vision dimming. She pushed herself up. She kicked and fought, clawing through cold water, and when she burst up above the waves, she remembered to hold the completed trident above her head.
The sunspinners’ beams shone down upon her. Her arm shook under the trident’s weight, but she held it fast.
This time, the crowd’s roar was deafening.
In an instant, the rain stopped. The waves flattened and calmed, clouds rolling away to reveal a mild blue sky.
Rielle saw through her burning eyes the nearby pier, crowded with figures. One dove into the water, swiftly heading her way. Those still on the pier shouted after whoever it was.
Rielle could hardly swim, the trident slowing her. She’d only gone a few feet when a strong arm gathered her up against a body that radiated so much warmth it could only belong to one person.
“Audric,” Rielle whispered, clinging to him, her limbs trembling from exhaustion. “You feel nice.”
He let out shaky laughter. “We need to get you to my healer. You’re cold as ice.”
“Thank God you’re here.” She squinted up at him as he awkwardly swam back to shore with one arm, her body tucked against him with the other. “I’m tired of swimming.”
“What’s all over you?”
Rielle looked blearily at her hands. “Oh. Jellyfish attacked me. The waterworkers made them angry, maybe.”
“God, Rielle…” Audric’s voice broke. “I’m so sorry.”
“Don’t worry. I stabbed them. The jellyfish, not the waterworkers.” She glared wearily at the pier, where the acolytes waited. “Though that’s still a possibility.”
He laughed again, then said quietly, “Rielle?”
“Yes?”
“Were you frightened?”
She closed her eyes and whispered, “Yes.”
His arms tightened sweetly around her, his mouth warm against her temple. “I wish I could—”
“Your Highness!” A waterworker acolyte knelt on the edge of the pier and extended his hand. He stared at Rielle like she was Saint Nerida risen from the dead.
Audric ignored the man, gently detaching himself from Rielle. “Here, I’ll help you up.”
“No.” Rielle grabbed the edge of the pier
and turned in the water to face him. “They need to see me stand on my own.”
He smiled and handed her the trident. “Your prize, my lady.”
She squeezed his hand, then shakily climbed up the pier, refusing the assistance offered her by Grand Magister Rosier, his acolytes, even Tal.
On her own two feet, she stood, swaying slightly, and looked up at the thousands of people lining the cliffs—waving their arms, pumping their fists, shouting her name. When she raised the trident in both hands, their cheers became thunderous.
She turned to face the Magisterial Council, who had gathered on the pier. Tal beamed, his eyes alight with pride. Sloane stood at his side with her arms crossed, a thoughtful frown on her face, her short, dark hair plastered to her pale cheeks.
And beside her stood the Archon, beads of rainwater sliding down his implacable face.
Rielle handed him the trident with a grin she knew was gracelessly cocky. But she didn’t care one bit.
“Your move,” she said with a slight bow. “Your Holiness.”
20
Eliana
“Dark-hearted Tameryn had never seen anything good come by daylight. With her daggers, she carved shadows from every corner and hollow. She breathed life into their gasping mouths, twined them around her limbs and neck, tied their newborn fingers into the ends of her hair. There the shadows whispered secrets to her, in gratitude, and so she was never alone and always safe in the shroud of night.”
—The Book of the Saints
Sneaking out of Crown’s Hollow during the perimeter guard’s shift change had been dispiritingly easy.
Even the tense two-mile trek through the wild, thinking that every rustle of leaves was a Red Crown scout—or worse, Simon—had gone more quickly than Eliana had hoped. Remy believed her story. Simon, she’d told him, had gone on a mission for the nearest Empire outpost, to retrieve an important piece of information for Navi. He had left Eliana instructions: If he hadn’t returned within two hours, they were to come to his aid.
“Even me?” Remy had asked.
“Especially you.”
His eyes had narrowed. “Why?”
“Because you’re sweet-looking, and no one will suspect you of lies. You can sneak around in very small spaces. And you’re a storyteller. You can improvise as I need you to.”
Furyborn Page 18