Furyborn (Empirium 1)

“Lady Rielle,” he went on, “if you had been near a body of water during this race, would you have caused it to flood?”

“It is impossible to say if I would have or not, Your Majesty.”

“Could you have, then?”

A flood. Years of lessons with Tal had shown her only hints of such power, and though she’d never been as strong with water as she’d been with fire—

You know you could do it, the voice murmured. You could flood the world. That kind of power hums beneath your skin. Doesn’t it?

A cautious delight unfurled within her. Who are you? she asked the voice.

It did not answer.

She lifted her chin. “Yes, I believe I could have.”

A new voice spoke up: “Did you like it?”

It was such a perfectly astute, perfectly terrible question that Rielle did not immediately answer. She found the speaker—severely handsome, fair-haired, an elegant jawline. Lord Dervin Sauvillier. The queen’s brother and Ludivine’s father.

Beside him, Ludivine sat poised and clear-eyed in her gown of luminous rose, lace spilling out her sleeves.

“Lord Sauvillier,” said the king sternly, “while I appreciate your interest in these events, I have not given you leave to speak.”

Queen Genoveve—auburn-haired, pale as her niece Ludivine—touched her husband’s arm. “However, it is a reasonable question if we are to determine how best to proceed.”

Rielle looked to the queen and was rewarded with a small smile that reminded Rielle of Ludivine—a Ludivine who had grown up not alongside Audric in the airy, sunlit rooms of Baingarde, but rather in the cold mountain halls of Belbrion, the seat of House Sauvillier.

Queen Genoveve’s gaze slid over Rielle and moved away.

“I am not certain,” Rielle replied, “that I entirely understand Lord Sauvillier’s question.”

Ludivine’s father raised a deferent eyebrow to the king, who nodded once.

“Well, Lady Rielle, if you’ll forgive me my bluntness,” said Dervin Sauvillier, “I wonder if you enjoyed what you did on the racecourse. If you enjoyed hurting the assassins.” He paused. “If you enjoyed hurting your mother.”

“If I enjoyed it?” Rielle repeated, stalling.

For of course she had enjoyed it. Not the pain she had caused and not her poor mother’s death.

But the relief of it… That, she craved. The rush of release through every muscle in her body. Those forbidden, blazing moments—practicing with Tal, running the Chase—when she had known nothing but her power and what it could do. The shining clarity of understanding that this was her true, entire self.

Sometimes she couldn’t sleep for wanting to feel that way again.

“Your hesitation is alarming, Lady Rielle,” said Lord Sauvillier.

“I…did not enjoy the pain I caused others,” Rielle answered slowly. “For that, I feel nothing but shame and remorse. In fact, I am appalled that anyone might think I could enjoy doing such things to any living person, let alone my own mother. But…do the teachings of our saints not tell us that we should take pleasure in the use of the power that has been granted to us by God?”

Out of the corner of her eyes, Rielle saw the Archon shift at last, leaning forward slightly.

It was as if Audric had been waiting for a signal from her, and he did not disappoint. “My lord, may I answer her question?” he asked his father.

King Bastien did not look happy, but he nodded.

“The saints’ teachings do indeed tell us that, my lady,” said Audric, looking straight at her as if they were the only two in the room, “and they also tell us that power is not something elementals should deny or ignore. Even when that power is dangerous, and perhaps even especially then. I of all people know the truth of that.”

Rielle said nothing, though she felt weightless with relief. With those words, Audric had shown her that he understood. He forgave her. The steady belief shining in his eyes warmed her down to her toes.

“With all respect, Your Majesty,” Lord Sauvillier said, and now he simply sounded exasperated, “we cannot possibly compare this woman and her careless destruction of her surroundings with your son, who has consistently demonstrated unimpeachable discipline and has not once let his power get the better of him.”

A swift rage crested in Rielle. “Perhaps the challenge facing me is greater, as it seems I am more powerful than our prince.”

The silence that followed was so complete it felt alive. Lord Sauvillier recoiled in disgust, his mouth thin and angry. The king might have been carved from stone, like one of the watching saints.

Rielle waited, heart thundering. She wanted to look to Audric but resisted.

Finally, King Bastien spoke. “Lady Rielle, you are familiar with the prophecy, as spoken by the angel Aryava and translated by Queen Katell.”

Of course she was. Everyone was.

“I am, Your Majesty,” Rielle answered.

“The Gate will fall,” the king recited. “The angels will return and bring ruin to the world. You will know this time by the rise of two human Queens—one of blood, and one of light. One with the power to save the world. One with the power to destroy it. Two Queens will rise. They will carry the power of the Seven. They will carry your fate in their hands. Two Queens will rise.”

The king paused. In the wake of the prophecy’s words, the hall felt chilled.

“The most popular interpretation being, of course,” King Bastien continued, “that the coming of the two Queens will portend the fall of the Gate and the angels’ vengeance. And that those two Queens will be able to control not only one element, but all of them.”

Yes, of course, and everyone knew that too. Not that most people gave much thought to the different interpretations in modern times—if they gave the prophecy any thought at all.

Rielle was one of the exceptions. Often, she had found herself reading the prophecy’s words over and over, running her fingers across the scripted letters in Tal’s books.

A Queen made of blood and a Queen made of light. The Blood Queen and the Sun Queen they had come to be called over the centuries.

And now, after so many years, they hardly felt real. The Gate stood strong in the Sunderlands, far in the northern sea, guarded and quiet, with the angels locked safely away on the other side. Queens from a prophecy might as well have been characters in a tale. Children chose sides, assembled play armies, staged wars in the streets.

The bad queen against the good queen. Blood warring with light.

Am I one of them? Rielle had wondered, though she had never found the courage to ask Tal or her father outright. And…which one? o;Lady Rielle,” he went on, “if you had been near a body of water during this race, would you have caused it to flood?”

“It is impossible to say if I would have or not, Your Majesty.”

“Could you have, then?”

A flood. Years of lessons with Tal had shown her only hints of such power, and though she’d never been as strong with water as she’d been with fire—

You know you could do it, the voice murmured. You could flood the world. That kind of power hums beneath your skin. Doesn’t it?

A cautious delight unfurled within her. Who are you? she asked the voice.

It did not answer.

She lifted her chin. “Yes, I believe I could have.”

A new voice spoke up: “Did you like it?”

It was such a perfectly astute, perfectly terrible question that Rielle did not immediately answer. She found the speaker—severely handsome, fair-haired, an elegant jawline. Lord Dervin Sauvillier. The queen’s brother and Ludivine’s father.

Beside him, Ludivine sat poised and clear-eyed in her gown of luminous rose, lace spilling out her sleeves.

“Lord Sauvillier,” said the king sternly, “while I appreciate your interest in these events, I have not given you leave to speak.”

Queen Genoveve—auburn-haired, pale as her niece Ludivine—touched her husband’s arm. “However, it is a reasonable question if we are to determine how best to proceed.”

Rielle looked to the queen and was rewarded with a small smile that reminded Rielle of Ludivine—a Ludivine who had grown up not alongside Audric in the airy, sunlit rooms of Baingarde, but rather in the cold mountain halls of Belbrion, the seat of House Sauvillier.

Queen Genoveve’s gaze slid over Rielle and moved away.

“I am not certain,” Rielle replied, “that I entirely understand Lord Sauvillier’s question.”

Ludivine’s father raised a deferent eyebrow to the king, who nodded once.

“Well, Lady Rielle, if you’ll forgive me my bluntness,” said Dervin Sauvillier, “I wonder if you enjoyed what you did on the racecourse. If you enjoyed hurting the assassins.” He paused. “If you enjoyed hurting your mother.”

“If I enjoyed it?” Rielle repeated, stalling.

For of course she had enjoyed it. Not the pain she had caused and not her poor mother’s death.

But the relief of it… That, she craved. The rush of release through every muscle in her body. Those forbidden, blazing moments—practicing with Tal, running the Chase—when she had known nothing but her power and what it could do. The shining clarity of understanding that this was her true, entire self.

Sometimes she couldn’t sleep for wanting to feel that way again.

“Your hesitation is alarming, Lady Rielle,” said Lord Sauvillier.

“I…did not enjoy the pain I caused others,” Rielle answered slowly. “For that, I feel nothing but shame and remorse. In fact, I am appalled that anyone might think I could enjoy doing such things to any living person, let alone my own mother. But…do the teachings of our saints not tell us that we should take pleasure in the use of the power that has been granted to us by God?”

Out of the corner of her eyes, Rielle saw the Archon shift at last, leaning forward slightly.

It was as if Audric had been waiting for a signal from her, and he did not disappoint. “My lord, may I answer her question?” he asked his father.

King Bastien did not look happy, but he nodded.

“The saints’ teachings do indeed tell us that, my lady,” said Audric, looking straight at her as if they were the only two in the room, “and they also tell us that power is not something elementals should deny or ignore. Even when that power is dangerous, and perhaps even especially then. I of all people know the truth of that.”

Rielle said nothing, though she felt weightless with relief. With those words, Audric had shown her that he understood. He forgave her. The steady belief shining in his eyes warmed her down to her toes.

“With all respect, Your Majesty,” Lord Sauvillier said, and now he simply sounded exasperated, “we cannot possibly compare this woman and her careless destruction of her surroundings with your son, who has consistently demonstrated unimpeachable discipline and has not once let his power get the better of him.”

A swift rage crested in Rielle. “Perhaps the challenge facing me is greater, as it seems I am more powerful than our prince.”

The silence that followed was so complete it felt alive. Lord Sauvillier recoiled in disgust, his mouth thin and angry. The king might have been carved from stone, like one of the watching saints.

Rielle waited, heart thundering. She wanted to look to Audric but resisted.

Finally, King Bastien spoke. “Lady Rielle, you are familiar with the prophecy, as spoken by the angel Aryava and translated by Queen Katell.”

Of course she was. Everyone was.

“I am, Your Majesty,” Rielle answered.

“The Gate will fall,” the king recited. “The angels will return and bring ruin to the world. You will know this time by the rise of two human Queens—one of blood, and one of light. One with the power to save the world. One with the power to destroy it. Two Queens will rise. They will carry the power of the Seven. They will carry your fate in their hands. Two Queens will rise.”

The king paused. In the wake of the prophecy’s words, the hall felt chilled.

“The most popular interpretation being, of course,” King Bastien continued, “that the coming of the two Queens will portend the fall of the Gate and the angels’ vengeance. And that those two Queens will be able to control not only one element, but all of them.”

Yes, of course, and everyone knew that too. Not that most people gave much thought to the different interpretations in modern times—if they gave the prophecy any thought at all.

Rielle was one of the exceptions. Often, she had found herself reading the prophecy’s words over and over, running her fingers across the scripted letters in Tal’s books.

A Queen made of blood and a Queen made of light. The Blood Queen and the Sun Queen they had come to be called over the centuries.

And now, after so many years, they hardly felt real. The Gate stood strong in the Sunderlands, far in the northern sea, guarded and quiet, with the angels locked safely away on the other side. Queens from a prophecy might as well have been characters in a tale. Children chose sides, assembled play armies, staged wars in the streets.

The bad queen against the good queen. Blood warring with light.

Am I one of them? Rielle had wondered, though she had never found the courage to ask Tal or her father outright. And…which one?