Furyborn

by Claire Legrand

  A muffled shout pulled her out of whatever place she’d gone.

  She blinked. Blinked again.

  Simon pulled her to her feet. “You’re burning up. Come on, let’s move. God, Eliana, what did you do?”

  She didn’t answer, didn’t know the answer. A charged feeling tugged at her hands, nipped across her skin.

  They plunged into frigid, knee-high water. She watched her feet wade through a black ocean thick with chunks of ice, felt her boots slide through mud.

  “Eliana, stop!”

  She stood on shifting sand, water lapping at her toes. The shore.

  “Look at me!” Simon was shouting at her, but the field of light beyond her eyes was too bright, too terrible. She squinted her eyes shut and turned into him. Her body could no longer hold itself up. She sagged to the ground, and Simon went with her, holding her in his arms. The wind howled around them, whipping ice and sand against her skin.

  “What’s happening?” she murmured. A brutal coughing fit seized her. Every bone in her body ached, every muscle burned.

  A cold hand smoothed the hair back from her forehead. “Look at what you’re doing, Eliana. I need you to open your eyes for me, come on.”

  She forced open her eyes and looked out to sea.

  Lightning flashed, three new strikes every second, painting the battlefield a fevered silver. They blasted apart the crawlers still swimming to shore; icebergs erupted into flame. Roiling dark waves crashed against the Empire fleet. A savage wind whipped sails from their masts, stirred the sea into whirlpools that sucked the warships underwater and snapped them in two.

  “You have to stop it,” Simon shouted over the wind.

  “Am I doing this?” she murmured, then realized she wasn’t breathing, that the storm had sucked all the air from her lungs. Her gasp hurt, cleaved her chest in two.

  Simon’s hands cupped her face, steadying her. “Please, Eliana, look at me, look into my eyes.”

  She did, sobs she didn’t intend to release tearing out of her throat. “I killed her. I couldn’t save her!”

  “I know.” He wiped the grit from her face. “And I’m sorry. But you have to stop this now, or you’ll kill us all.”

  She shook her head, realizing through the frantic roar of her despair that somehow she was doing this, that the world was echoing her own rage. Zahra was right, and so was Simon. There was an impossible thing living inside her. She had always thought it a monster of her own creation, forged by the violence she had done to survive.

  But the truth was this: It was a monster given to her by her mother. The Blood Queen. The Kingsbane. A traitor and a liar.

  And Eliana decided, in that moment, to hate her.

  “I don’t know how to stop it,” she cried. Her fingers blazed along with the storm; the feeling revolted her. She watched ships being torn apart, soldiers swimming for their lives. Black waves surged toward the shore.

  “Just hold on to me,” Simon whispered, cradling her against his chest. “Hold on to me and think of Remy. Think of Navi.” He pressed his cold cheek to her forehead. “Think of home.”

  Home. And what was home to her now? Orline? Or Celdaria?

  With the storm raging, she could remember neither place.

  Instead she listened to Simon’s wild heartbeat, imagined Remy’s voice reading her a story before sleep, and breathed.

  51

  Rielle

  “Wind and water

  Fire and shadow

  Metal and earth and light above—

  Hear our prayer on this day of death

  Take in hand our fallen friend

  To be born anew, through you

  And begin again

  In the eyes of the Seven, we pray”

  —Traditional Celdarian funeral rite

  Hours after the Archon’s blessing, near the midnight hour, Rielle brought Audric to Ludivine’s rooms.

  Ludivine rose from a hearthside chair with a cautious smile. “Good, you’ve come.”

  Audric pulled the door shut behind them with a snap. “Rielle told me what you are.”

  Ludivine’s face fell. She glanced at Rielle. “What else did she tell you?”

  “Isn’t that enough?”

  Her eyes filled with tears. “Please don’t be afraid of me. I want only to help you. That’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

  Audric softened. “All right. Help me, then. Help us understand.”

  Ludivine’s gaze settled on Rielle, infinitely tender. “I came to protect Rielle. The moment she was born, I felt her. We all did.”

  “All?”

  “The other angels?” Rielle said, her chest clenching.

  Ludivine nodded miserably. “Yes, the other angels. I’ve been trying to protect you as best I can for years now.”

  Audric dragged both hands through his hair. “I don’t understand. You’re Ludivine. You’re my cousin. We’ve known you since you were small. I was there the day you were born, for God’s sake. You’ve always been…you.”

  “Yes.” Ludivine’s smile was sad. “And no. Do you remember when I…when Ludivine had that terrible fever a few years ago?”

  “You were sixteen years old,” Rielle remembered. She sank onto a bench by the fire. “We waited outside your door all night with Queen Genoveve and your father, hoping you’d get through it.”

  “Yes. Well.” Ludivine drew a deep breath, squaring her shoulders. “I didn’t. That is, she didn’t. Ludivine Sauvillier died that night. And I took her place.”

  Audric turned away and moved swiftly across the room. “This is some kind of trick.”

  It’s not a trick, Ludivine’s voice cried out in Rielle’s mind. Tell him!

  “It’s not a trick,” Rielle whispered, and she believed it, though the horrible truth of it sat like a weight on her lungs. “How could you keep the truth from us for so long? If you love us as you claim to—”

  “I wanted to!” Ludivine’s eyes were bright with tears. “Every day, I wanted to. But I thought it would be best not to. I thought it would protect you. I thought…” Ludivine shook her head, gestured helplessly. “I wanted you both to be spared from all of this for as long as possible.”

  “Protect us from what?” Audric asked, his voice fraying. “You’re dancing around the point. Speak clearly—and quickly.”

  Ludivine breathed in and out, clenching her fists. When she spoke once more, it was with a sense of tired finality. “The Gate is falling.”

  The room fell into silence.

  “The further it weakens,” Ludivine said after a moment, “the more we will see the shocks. Tidal waves, terrible quakes, other disasters I cannot predict. And when the Gate falls at last, the angels will return, just as Aryava said. Imagine a door being battered constantly from one side by hands that will never tire. That is the Gate, and the hands are those of my kindred, locked beyond it.”

  “Trapped in the Deep.” Audric sat unsteadily on a chair by the wall, far from them both.

  “Yes. In the Deep.” A small, strange shadow moved across Ludivine’s face; an echo of it rippled inside Rielle’s mind, like a shift during sleep.

  “How many of you are there?” he asked.

  “Millions.”

  “I meant here. In this world. If you came here, then others must have as well.”

  Rielle stiffened. Without thinking, her mind reached out to him:

  Corien? Are you there?

  He did not answer. He had been silent since the day she burned him.

  Ludivine looked quickly to Rielle. “Yes. I was not the first. And I was not the last. With every passing day, cracks widen in the Gate’s structure. Not all angels are strong enough to escape. The Gate is strong and well-made. Escaping its gravity is difficult; one crack opens, and another one repairs itself. But enough angels are managing to brea
k through that it will soon be a problem for you. Dozens right now. Soon? Hundreds.”

  “You weren’t the first.” Rielle lifted her eyes slowly to Ludivine. “Who was?”

  “He is very strong,” said Ludivine quietly. “The strongest of us left alive since the Angelic Wars. It took him centuries to escape, but he did it. I slipped out in his wake, along with a few others, before the Gate resealed. I’ve watched over Rielle, in one form or another, for thirteen years, as did he. His name is Corien.”

  Thirteen years. Since I was five years old, Rielle thought. A field of flames flashed before her eyes. A crumbling house. Her father, falling to his knees.

  She decided she would go see him after this conversation. She would wake him up, bring him hot cocoa, keep him talking until the sun rose and she no longer felt so afraid.

  Then her mind caught up with the truth: his bed would be empty.

  “The day your mother died, Rielle,” Ludivine said, pity in her voice, “we felt your power erupt. Corien came for you soon after, and I did as well. Only…I am quite young. My mind is nothing compared to his. It takes nearly everything I am to protect you from even some of his thoughts.”

  “And why do you?” Rielle bristled at the careful compassion in Ludivine’s voice. “Why do you want to help me or any of us? Don’t you want revenge for being trapped in the Deep for centuries?”

  “No,” Ludivine said simply. “Humans and angels were at war. I don’t blame you for the actions your ancestors took to save themselves. You are innocent.”

  Ludivine reached for Rielle, but Rielle flinched away, and Ludivine withdrew at once.

  “Corien, however, desires revenge above all else,” Ludivine said quietly, “and it isn’t fair that you should suffer for it. I will do what I can to stop him because it’s the right thing to do.”

  “Really?” Rielle raised an eyebrow, determined to remain unmoved at the sight of Ludivine’s tear-filled eyes. “How noble of you.”

  Ludivine’s expression crumpled. “My dear, I’m sorry I’m not a stronger ally. I know it is difficult for you. I feel it every time he speaks to you.”

  “Corien—the angel from the attack?” Audric looked first to Ludivine, and then to Rielle. “What does she mean, Rielle? He speaks to you?”

  Rielle’s panic rose swiftly. He will be furious when he finds out.

  No, he won’t, came Ludivine’s firm reply. He loves you.

  But for how long?

  Forever. He will love you forever.

  “Months ago,” Rielle began, her voice unsteady, “on the day of the Chase, I heard a voice in my mind.”

  Don’t tell him everything, Ludivine suggested. Spare him the worst of it.

  The worst of it: That dark vastness, the throne made of bones. Corien’s name on her lips as she awoke lonely in her bed, and the ghost of his hands on her skin.

  Rielle swallowed, shame burning tears from her eyes. “He visits me in dreams—and sometimes when I’m awake. He talked to me during the trials. He tells me…”

  Go on, Ludivine urged gently.

  Rielle touched her temples, swallowing hard.

  Audric knelt before her. “What does he tell you? How can I help?”

  She met Audric’s steady dark eyes through a haze of tears. “He wants me,” she whispered. “I don’t know what for. He wants me to go to him. He says he won’t always be so patient. He tried to make me leave with him, the day of the fire trial. I wouldn’t. I burned him, but…I can’t say if that will stop him.”

  “It won’t,” Ludivine said, “but he won’t recover from that for some time.”

  Rielle threw her a dark look. “So you say.”

  Ludivine looked as though she’d been slapped. “You don’t trust me anymore.”

  “I should think that much would be obvious by now. And anyway, can you blame me for that?”

  “I understand. I’ll have to earn back your trust.” Ludivine nodded, pressed her lips tightly together. “I can do that. I will do that.”

  “My God.” Audric’s worried expression tore Rielle’s heart in two. “Rielle…why didn’t you ever say anything about any of this?”

  “I was frightened. I didn’t know what you’d think of me.”

  He cradled her face in his hands, catching her tears on his thumbs. “I could have helped you.”

  “I hate him,” she whispered, and it was true. But it was not the whole truth, and she despised herself for it. “And I don’t know how to be rid of him.”

  “We will find a way,” Ludivine said, coming to sit beside her.

  “Have you been in her mind as well?” Audric asked sharply. “Like him?”

  Ludivine met his eyes. “Yes. For three years now, though I have been near her for much longer.”

  “And does Corien know about you? That you’re here, in Ludivine’s body, protecting Rielle from him?”

  Ludivine nodded. “He does.”

  “And I would imagine,” Audric observed, “that he isn’t too happy about you working against him?”

  “He considers me a traitor to my kind.” Ludivine squared her jaw. “A title I am happy to bear if it keeps Rielle safe.”

  Audric glanced at Rielle. “You said you’ve been looking after her for years. And then you mentioned your…Ludivine’s fever. You mentioned…” He looked slightly ill. “Taking her place.”

  “Ah. Yes.” Ludivine stood. “When we were locked away in the Deep, we lost our bodies and existed only as our thoughts.” She said it matter-of-factly, as though being stripped of one’s body were a small thing. “Once Corien and I escaped that place, we were able to take possession of human bodies that had been recently…vacated.”

  Rielle’s stomach churned. She stepped away from Ludivine, trying to keep her mind as numb and clear as possible. If she thought too closely about Ludivine—her Ludivine—long dead, and her body now possessed by this other Ludivine, this creature, she felt dizzy and frantic, like she was hurtling toward a cliff’s edge.

  “Sweet saints,” Audric whispered. “You mean you possessed these bodies and now live inside them, controlling them.”

  Ludivine nodded. “Essentially.”

  “Can you do this…forever?”

  “Once I took hold of this body, it stopped growing, and it will remain like this as long as I am inside it.”

  “Even if you fall to your death,” Audric whispered, a sad smile on his face.

  “Even if I fall to my death.”

  He shook his head. “I don’t know what to say to you right now. I can’t decide which I feel more deeply—anger or fear or, quite frankly, fascination.” He glared up at her. “You shouldn’t have lied to us for so long. We deserved better than that.”

  Ludivine nodded. “I know. You’re right. I was only…” She hesitated, with a sad smile. “I was afraid of losing you.”

  “We were not yours to have,” Audric replied sharply.

  Ludivine let out a soft sob. She reached for their hands, and when they did not pull away, the look of relief on her face was so profound that Rielle had to avert her eyes.

  “Please know,” Ludivine said, “that the things we have shared, these last few years, are real and precious to me. I’ve lived at your sides since you were small, I’ve watched you grow, and I grieved deeply when Ludivine died. It was of great comfort to me that I could bring her back to you, even in a small way. And, my darlings,” she whispered, “please do not doubt that I love you. In my long lifetime, I have never loved anything or anyone as I do the two of you.”

  “I cannot say the same to you.” Audric laughed harshly. “I don’t even know what to call you. Do you have an angelic name?”

  “Ludivine. I beg you to call me Ludivine. My angelic name is no longer relevant—and not a word I care for. I know I don’t deserve to ask that of you, but it is who I am, she is who I
have become—”

  “Please.” Audric cut her off. “No more of that, not right now. I need… I have to think about this.”

  She nodded, smiled bravely. “Of course. I understand.”

  Please don’t shut me out, Ludivine thought to Rielle. The world depends on it, but more than that, I cannot bear—

  Don’t be afraid. Rielle tried to send her a feeling of love, faint as it was—and even though she wasn’t sure Ludivine deserved it. But she could no longer bear the weight of Ludivine’s quiet despair without offering her a slight ray of hope. You will not lose us as easily as that.

  “I should tell you,” Ludivine added quietly, “that though I am not much more than a child in your terms, and not as powerful as Corien, I am a good deal stronger than most of our kind. The majority cannot take hold of a human body like this, at least not with such…effectiveness.”

  For that, she thought to Rielle, they would need help.

  Rielle stared at her, the realization seeping into her slowly and leaving room for little else. They will need…me.

  • • •

  One week later, Rielle stood before the floor-length mirror in her rooms, adjusting the heavy black folds of her gown.

  Outside, a star-scattered lavender sky faded to a cloudless night. Atheria stood solemnly on the terrace, looking down at the city. Soon the temple bells would ring, and the procession of King Bastien’s body up the streets of me de la Terre would begin.

  Ludivine emerged from the bathing rooms, golden hair in a crown of braids around her head. Her own mourning gown, like Rielle’s, fastened high at the throat.

  “Are you ready?” Ludivine asked, tugging on her gloves.

  Rielle stared at her reflection. Shadows hugged her eyes. Two weeks had passed since the fire trial, and she hadn’t slept more than three or four hours every night since. Lord Dervin’s body had been sent home to Belbrion for his son, Merovec Sauvillier, to attend to. And mere hours earlier, Rielle had watched her own father’s body burn on a mountaintop pyre. It had always been a wish of his, for his body to return to the empirium as his wife’s had.

  Rielle watched Ludivine move about the room, tidying up the mess of combs, pins, and smoothing creams. It was such a familiar ritual that Rielle felt tears rise once more to her eyes.