Furyborn (Empirium 1)

“Who?” Beside Simon, Navi peered out from under her hood. “What’s happening?”

“One moment these women were there, right there in front of me, and the next—” Eliana staggered against Simon as the sick feeling returned. He caught her around the waist, kept her from falling. “God, that’s annoying,” she bit out, tears smarting in her eyes. “I can’t think for two seconds without feeling sick. What are these people doing to me?”

Simon peered closely at her face. “Who? Someone’s hurting you?”

“Fidelia.” She leaned against the solid length of his torso, suddenly glad he was there. If he hadn’t come, she would have been a pile on the floor. “Camille said they take women, and girls, just like the people in Orline. At least, I think they’re all the same. Angel-worshippers, Camille said. Every seven days. I was going to help her find this girl who worked for her. Then…they came. They’re here. They took three women in a matter of seconds. I don’t understand it.”

Simon’s piercing blue gaze was intent on her face. “You said they’re doing something to you. Explain.”

She struggled weakly to break free of him. “Too much to explain, have to find them.”

“Wrong. We’re going back to Camille’s, and after I dismember her for sending you out here, I’m locking you in the safest room I can find, possibly forever.”

“Touch her,” she mumbled, “and I’ll dismember you.” It was becoming increasingly difficult to organize her thoughts. “What are you two doing here together, even?” She took unsteady step after unsteady step, frowning at the floor.

“Navi and I met outside your room,” Simon said. “We discovered you gone, and she insisted on coming with me to find you.”

“Why were you both there?” Eliana brought a hand to her throbbing temple. “That’s rather odd, isn’t it?”

“Well, I wanted to look in on you, make sure you’d managed to sleep,” Navi said, her voice light. “Simon?” She looked guilelessly up at him. “Why were you at Eliana’s door in the middle of the night?”

Simon’s mouth thinned. “This is not the time for—”

“Not a chance in the Deep that I’m leaving here without finding Fidelia,” Eliana muttered, “and slitting throat after throat until they tell me where my mother is.”

“A charming image. Now, walk.”

Eliana dug deep for strength and pulled free of Simon’s grip. Without him holding her up, the world turned upside down. She collapsed at once, but Simon caught her before she could hit the ground.

“What’s wrong with her?” came Navi’s worried voice.

“Eliana?” Simon’s hand cupped her cheek. “What does it feel like, what’s happening to you? If you don’t tell me, I can’t help you.”

She took three long, shallow breaths to quell the sick feeling rising in her throat, then glared up at him with watery eyes. “This is the first real lead I’ve had since leaving Orline,” she said through gritted teeth. “I’m not going to give it up. Don’t make me hurt you, Simon. I’m not keen to.”

He quirked an eyebrow. “Aren’t you?”

“God, do you ever shut up?” She tried to shove past him, but Navi was the one to stop her that time.

“Eliana, stop this,” she said quietly. “Let’s go back. It isn’t safe out here.”

“But I can find my mother,” Eliana insisted, “and all the others who have been taken.” She glanced at Simon. “Including people from Red Crown.”

“Unimportant,” Simon said. “Our priority is getting Navi to Astavar. Once that’s done, I’ll help you find your mother. As we agreed.”

“Or I could go find her right now. By the time we get to Astavar, it could be too late.”

“A risk you knew when you accepted my offer.”

“Why do you care about me staying with you, anyway? If it’s a fighter you want, Camille has dozens of sellswords to pick from.”

The words said, Eliana’s mind began to clear, cutting through her muddled senses. Why does he care indeed? When she looked back at Simon, his carefully implacable face told her the truth: she’d hit upon a nerve.

“What is it about me,” she said quietly, taking one step toward him, then another, “that makes you want to keep me close?”

Navi looked curiously back and forth between them. Simon opened his mouth, hesitated.

Then a voice rattled from the shadows underneath the nearby staircase: “Because you’re special, Eliana Ferracora. And he wants you for his own. Just as I do.”

Eliana’s mouth went dry at the sound of that voice. She knew it, though now it rasped rather than purred.

A slim figure came into the light, wearing a tattered black uniform and frayed crimson cloak made nearly unrecognizable by the caked mud and bloodstains marring the once-fine fabric.

“Rahzavel,” Eliana whispered in horror. Even Simon seemed dumbstruck. “You’re alive.”

The assassin grinned, his pale face marked with a long, swollen scar that ran down from his temple, bissected his face, and disappeared into his collar. His white hair hung in matted clumps.

“Alive,” he agreed, “and so very excited to kill you.”

Then he ripped his sword from the sheath at his waist, raised it with a horrible hungry cry, and swung hard for Eliana’s neck.

33

Rielle

“I’d hoped the recent news wouldn’t reach you for several more days. It is true, however, about Prince Audric and the Dardenne girl. I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you in person. Stay in Belbrion, guard the north. Patience, my son. All will be as it should, and soon.”

—Letter from Lord Dervin Sauvillier to his son, Merovec

May 30, Year 998 of the Second Age

The doors to King Bastien’s council hall banged open.

Rielle shot to her feet. She had been tensely waiting in a hard, uncomfortable chair for a solid hour under the equally tense eyes of her guard. During that hour she had prayed for the hasty arrival of the king, so they could get the inevitable explosion over with.

Now, however, with the king storming to his seat—the Archon, the queen, her father, every member of the Magisterial Council, and Lord Dervin Sauvillier accompanying him—Rielle passionately wished she could return to her lonely chair and sit there for the rest of the day, unbothered.

At least Audric and Ludivine had come in as well, standing at opposite ends of the table. o;Who?” Beside Simon, Navi peered out from under her hood. “What’s happening?”

“One moment these women were there, right there in front of me, and the next—” Eliana staggered against Simon as the sick feeling returned. He caught her around the waist, kept her from falling. “God, that’s annoying,” she bit out, tears smarting in her eyes. “I can’t think for two seconds without feeling sick. What are these people doing to me?”

Simon peered closely at her face. “Who? Someone’s hurting you?”

“Fidelia.” She leaned against the solid length of his torso, suddenly glad he was there. If he hadn’t come, she would have been a pile on the floor. “Camille said they take women, and girls, just like the people in Orline. At least, I think they’re all the same. Angel-worshippers, Camille said. Every seven days. I was going to help her find this girl who worked for her. Then…they came. They’re here. They took three women in a matter of seconds. I don’t understand it.”

Simon’s piercing blue gaze was intent on her face. “You said they’re doing something to you. Explain.”

She struggled weakly to break free of him. “Too much to explain, have to find them.”

“Wrong. We’re going back to Camille’s, and after I dismember her for sending you out here, I’m locking you in the safest room I can find, possibly forever.”

“Touch her,” she mumbled, “and I’ll dismember you.” It was becoming increasingly difficult to organize her thoughts. “What are you two doing here together, even?” She took unsteady step after unsteady step, frowning at the floor.

“Navi and I met outside your room,” Simon said. “We discovered you gone, and she insisted on coming with me to find you.”

“Why were you both there?” Eliana brought a hand to her throbbing temple. “That’s rather odd, isn’t it?”

“Well, I wanted to look in on you, make sure you’d managed to sleep,” Navi said, her voice light. “Simon?” She looked guilelessly up at him. “Why were you at Eliana’s door in the middle of the night?”

Simon’s mouth thinned. “This is not the time for—”

“Not a chance in the Deep that I’m leaving here without finding Fidelia,” Eliana muttered, “and slitting throat after throat until they tell me where my mother is.”

“A charming image. Now, walk.”

Eliana dug deep for strength and pulled free of Simon’s grip. Without him holding her up, the world turned upside down. She collapsed at once, but Simon caught her before she could hit the ground.

“What’s wrong with her?” came Navi’s worried voice.

“Eliana?” Simon’s hand cupped her cheek. “What does it feel like, what’s happening to you? If you don’t tell me, I can’t help you.”

She took three long, shallow breaths to quell the sick feeling rising in her throat, then glared up at him with watery eyes. “This is the first real lead I’ve had since leaving Orline,” she said through gritted teeth. “I’m not going to give it up. Don’t make me hurt you, Simon. I’m not keen to.”

He quirked an eyebrow. “Aren’t you?”

“God, do you ever shut up?” She tried to shove past him, but Navi was the one to stop her that time.

“Eliana, stop this,” she said quietly. “Let’s go back. It isn’t safe out here.”

“But I can find my mother,” Eliana insisted, “and all the others who have been taken.” She glanced at Simon. “Including people from Red Crown.”

“Unimportant,” Simon said. “Our priority is getting Navi to Astavar. Once that’s done, I’ll help you find your mother. As we agreed.”

“Or I could go find her right now. By the time we get to Astavar, it could be too late.”

“A risk you knew when you accepted my offer.”

“Why do you care about me staying with you, anyway? If it’s a fighter you want, Camille has dozens of sellswords to pick from.”

The words said, Eliana’s mind began to clear, cutting through her muddled senses. Why does he care indeed? When she looked back at Simon, his carefully implacable face told her the truth: she’d hit upon a nerve.

“What is it about me,” she said quietly, taking one step toward him, then another, “that makes you want to keep me close?”

Navi looked curiously back and forth between them. Simon opened his mouth, hesitated.

Then a voice rattled from the shadows underneath the nearby staircase: “Because you’re special, Eliana Ferracora. And he wants you for his own. Just as I do.”

Eliana’s mouth went dry at the sound of that voice. She knew it, though now it rasped rather than purred.

A slim figure came into the light, wearing a tattered black uniform and frayed crimson cloak made nearly unrecognizable by the caked mud and bloodstains marring the once-fine fabric.

“Rahzavel,” Eliana whispered in horror. Even Simon seemed dumbstruck. “You’re alive.”

The assassin grinned, his pale face marked with a long, swollen scar that ran down from his temple, bissected his face, and disappeared into his collar. His white hair hung in matted clumps.

“Alive,” he agreed, “and so very excited to kill you.”

Then he ripped his sword from the sheath at his waist, raised it with a horrible hungry cry, and swung hard for Eliana’s neck.

33

Rielle

“I’d hoped the recent news wouldn’t reach you for several more days. It is true, however, about Prince Audric and the Dardenne girl. I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you in person. Stay in Belbrion, guard the north. Patience, my son. All will be as it should, and soon.”

—Letter from Lord Dervin Sauvillier to his son, Merovec

May 30, Year 998 of the Second Age

The doors to King Bastien’s council hall banged open.

Rielle shot to her feet. She had been tensely waiting in a hard, uncomfortable chair for a solid hour under the equally tense eyes of her guard. During that hour she had prayed for the hasty arrival of the king, so they could get the inevitable explosion over with.

Now, however, with the king storming to his seat—the Archon, the queen, her father, every member of the Magisterial Council, and Lord Dervin Sauvillier accompanying him—Rielle passionately wished she could return to her lonely chair and sit there for the rest of the day, unbothered.

At least Audric and Ludivine had come in as well, standing at opposite ends of the table.