Kingsbane (Empirium 2)

“Them?”

“Everyone else,” Navi replied, beginning to pant.

Eliana could no longer bear to watch her. She left quickly, sending the nurse back inside. As she walked away from Navi’s room, she heard her friend’s terrible cries of pain and covered her mouth with her hand.

• • •

In the small eastern library, Eliana found Remy sitting at a window beside one of the royal librarians—a young man, fair of skin and hair, with two canes to help him walk propped against the table. He was opening a book for Remy to see, and from her hiding spot, Eliana saw on the tome’s binding the familiar colorful sigils of the ancient elemental temples.

Remy pointed at the open book, his eyes alight. “Saint Ghovan! I’ve read his eagle had a wingspan of eight feet.”

“Only eight?” The librarian smiled, shaking his head. “This is a godsbeast we’re talking about, my friend. The imperial eagles had a wingspan of up to twenty feet. Saint Ghovan’s was especially grand. This particular account”—the librarian gently turned the brittle page, skimming down the lines of text with one gloved finger—“ah, yes, here it is. This account, written by Saint Ghovan himself, reports his godsbeast to have a wingspan of twenty-two feet.”

Remy’s eyes widened. “Saint Ghovan wrote this? This is his actual writing?”

The librarian grinned. “His very pen marks, little one.”

From behind a towering case of books bound in dyed leather, Eliana watched them, numb. She had resolved to try speaking to her brother again, but now, so near to him, her courage vanished.

How would he react to seeing her, after their days apart? More tears? More of that dead-eyed stare, his pale face drawn with hatred?

She turned away from them, retreating to the shadows with her hands in fists. She tried to will her cowardly, aching heart into something black and unfeeling. The words sat unused on her tongue:

I love you, Remy. I’m sorry, and I love you.

• • •

Unsteady and aching, she returned to her rooms to continue her punishment—no water, no food, no rest.

Only memory would sustain her now—the memory of Rozen’s blood.

Rozen’s throat, punctured and gaping.

Rozen’s body, limp in her arms.

Remy’s quiet voice: No. You’re the monster.

Over and over, Eliana forced herself to watch each terrible moment. She mercilessly pushed her body through exercises in her room—practicing punches and kicks, using the bar of her bed to pull up her body. When Harkan arrived at the appointed time, she whirled on him, sweat-drenched and shaking—and her vision, at last, rimmed with gold. She swayed, but she did not fall.

Harkan’s face was grave. “El, you look terrible.”

“I know,” she said, her voice hollow and dreamy.

Zahra drifted at Harkan’s elbow. “Are you ready, my queen?”

Eliana existed in a golden forest, dense and unkind, where pushing past every brambled branch sent shocks of lightning flying up her spine. The world tilted. The way through this strange wild was painful and stifling, but it was hers.

Without hesitation, she reached for the candle flickering on the bedside table. The casting in her palm buzzed and thrummed, as if it had freshly emerged from the Forge’s hearth fire.

And then the candle’s flame flew to her, coming to rest at her fingertips.

She stared at it, turning her hand around it, caressing it. The flame hovered, trembling, on the back of her hand, across her knuckles, in the bend of her palm.

She closed her fingers slightly, dimming the flame. She opened them, held her palm flat. The flame sprang to brilliant life. She cupped both hands beneath it, spread her fingers wide. As if following the steps of a dream, she thrust the flame toward the ceiling. It slammed into the rafters, spreading fast, until it had outlined them in strips of fiery gold.

Harkan cried out in alarm.

A jolt of heat shot up her fingers into the joints of her shoulders, as if twin wires connected her castings to the flames, and they were tugging on her, calling her away from her body to join the flames instead.

She stepped back from that pull, her skin going cold and clammy with sudden dread. An answering spike of heat shocked each of her castings, singeing her palms. The flames were stubborn, clinging to her. They were insatiable in their desire—both for her and to break free of her. Controlling them felt like wrangling a herd of wild animals using only her uncertain will.

“You created them, my queen,” came Zahra’s voice, low and calm beneath the fresh snap of fire. “You can unmake them as well.”

Eliana sank to the floor, needing the solidity of the stone to anchor her to the incandescent sensation of her own body. She didn’t know how to douse these flames, other than to follow the taut thread of instinct vibrating inside her. She held her hands out, palms down. Slowly, she lowered them to the floor, imagining that she could press down on the fury of those flames and cow them into submission. Her castings grew hotter the closer her palms came to the floor, as if they were absorbing the fire’s heat. The flames overhead began to shrink; the room slipped into darkness.

Eliana flattened her hands against the stone. She bowed her head, breathing deeply through her nose.

The flames diminished. The room was still and black.

She looked up—stiff-shouldered, nose burning—and, through the acrid haze of smoke, found Harkan’s wide eyes.

She nodded at Zahra, smiling faintly. “I’m ready.”

Zahra’s mouth was a dubious black line.

But Eliana held her gaze. I won’t wait any longer. You will take me to the Nest. Now.

Zahra relented, with a slight, unhappy nod. “Then we’ll leave tonight.”

• • •

As Zahra led them down to Tameryn’s cave, Eliana held on to the strange sensation firing through her veins. She was feeling the beginning of near-death, she suspected. If she didn’t eat soon, if she didn’t sleep, it would be her end. With every step she took, her mind suspended in its fevered state, the discs in her palms blazed hotter, like twin stars turning.

When they reached the shore of the black lake, Zahra said quietly, “Wait here,” and then disappeared into the water. The glassy surface swallowed her without sound or splash.

Harkan caught Eliana’s arm. “This is a terrible idea. You’re not well enough to go to this place. You need sleep and food. You know now what it feels like to summon fire. You can recover that feeling easily, after you’ve taken some time to rest.”

Eliana watched the lake without blinking. “You don’t know that. I have the feeling now, and I must take advantage of it while I can.” o;Them?”

“Everyone else,” Navi replied, beginning to pant.

Eliana could no longer bear to watch her. She left quickly, sending the nurse back inside. As she walked away from Navi’s room, she heard her friend’s terrible cries of pain and covered her mouth with her hand.

• • •

In the small eastern library, Eliana found Remy sitting at a window beside one of the royal librarians—a young man, fair of skin and hair, with two canes to help him walk propped against the table. He was opening a book for Remy to see, and from her hiding spot, Eliana saw on the tome’s binding the familiar colorful sigils of the ancient elemental temples.

Remy pointed at the open book, his eyes alight. “Saint Ghovan! I’ve read his eagle had a wingspan of eight feet.”

“Only eight?” The librarian smiled, shaking his head. “This is a godsbeast we’re talking about, my friend. The imperial eagles had a wingspan of up to twenty feet. Saint Ghovan’s was especially grand. This particular account”—the librarian gently turned the brittle page, skimming down the lines of text with one gloved finger—“ah, yes, here it is. This account, written by Saint Ghovan himself, reports his godsbeast to have a wingspan of twenty-two feet.”

Remy’s eyes widened. “Saint Ghovan wrote this? This is his actual writing?”

The librarian grinned. “His very pen marks, little one.”

From behind a towering case of books bound in dyed leather, Eliana watched them, numb. She had resolved to try speaking to her brother again, but now, so near to him, her courage vanished.

How would he react to seeing her, after their days apart? More tears? More of that dead-eyed stare, his pale face drawn with hatred?

She turned away from them, retreating to the shadows with her hands in fists. She tried to will her cowardly, aching heart into something black and unfeeling. The words sat unused on her tongue:

I love you, Remy. I’m sorry, and I love you.

• • •

Unsteady and aching, she returned to her rooms to continue her punishment—no water, no food, no rest.

Only memory would sustain her now—the memory of Rozen’s blood.

Rozen’s throat, punctured and gaping.

Rozen’s body, limp in her arms.

Remy’s quiet voice: No. You’re the monster.

Over and over, Eliana forced herself to watch each terrible moment. She mercilessly pushed her body through exercises in her room—practicing punches and kicks, using the bar of her bed to pull up her body. When Harkan arrived at the appointed time, she whirled on him, sweat-drenched and shaking—and her vision, at last, rimmed with gold. She swayed, but she did not fall.

Harkan’s face was grave. “El, you look terrible.”

“I know,” she said, her voice hollow and dreamy.

Zahra drifted at Harkan’s elbow. “Are you ready, my queen?”

Eliana existed in a golden forest, dense and unkind, where pushing past every brambled branch sent shocks of lightning flying up her spine. The world tilted. The way through this strange wild was painful and stifling, but it was hers.

Without hesitation, she reached for the candle flickering on the bedside table. The casting in her palm buzzed and thrummed, as if it had freshly emerged from the Forge’s hearth fire.

And then the candle’s flame flew to her, coming to rest at her fingertips.

She stared at it, turning her hand around it, caressing it. The flame hovered, trembling, on the back of her hand, across her knuckles, in the bend of her palm.

She closed her fingers slightly, dimming the flame. She opened them, held her palm flat. The flame sprang to brilliant life. She cupped both hands beneath it, spread her fingers wide. As if following the steps of a dream, she thrust the flame toward the ceiling. It slammed into the rafters, spreading fast, until it had outlined them in strips of fiery gold.

Harkan cried out in alarm.

A jolt of heat shot up her fingers into the joints of her shoulders, as if twin wires connected her castings to the flames, and they were tugging on her, calling her away from her body to join the flames instead.

She stepped back from that pull, her skin going cold and clammy with sudden dread. An answering spike of heat shocked each of her castings, singeing her palms. The flames were stubborn, clinging to her. They were insatiable in their desire—both for her and to break free of her. Controlling them felt like wrangling a herd of wild animals using only her uncertain will.

“You created them, my queen,” came Zahra’s voice, low and calm beneath the fresh snap of fire. “You can unmake them as well.”

Eliana sank to the floor, needing the solidity of the stone to anchor her to the incandescent sensation of her own body. She didn’t know how to douse these flames, other than to follow the taut thread of instinct vibrating inside her. She held her hands out, palms down. Slowly, she lowered them to the floor, imagining that she could press down on the fury of those flames and cow them into submission. Her castings grew hotter the closer her palms came to the floor, as if they were absorbing the fire’s heat. The flames overhead began to shrink; the room slipped into darkness.

Eliana flattened her hands against the stone. She bowed her head, breathing deeply through her nose.

The flames diminished. The room was still and black.

She looked up—stiff-shouldered, nose burning—and, through the acrid haze of smoke, found Harkan’s wide eyes.

She nodded at Zahra, smiling faintly. “I’m ready.”

Zahra’s mouth was a dubious black line.

But Eliana held her gaze. I won’t wait any longer. You will take me to the Nest. Now.

Zahra relented, with a slight, unhappy nod. “Then we’ll leave tonight.”

• • •

As Zahra led them down to Tameryn’s cave, Eliana held on to the strange sensation firing through her veins. She was feeling the beginning of near-death, she suspected. If she didn’t eat soon, if she didn’t sleep, it would be her end. With every step she took, her mind suspended in its fevered state, the discs in her palms blazed hotter, like twin stars turning.

When they reached the shore of the black lake, Zahra said quietly, “Wait here,” and then disappeared into the water. The glassy surface swallowed her without sound or splash.

Harkan caught Eliana’s arm. “This is a terrible idea. You’re not well enough to go to this place. You need sleep and food. You know now what it feels like to summon fire. You can recover that feeling easily, after you’ve taken some time to rest.”

Eliana watched the lake without blinking. “You don’t know that. I have the feeling now, and I must take advantage of it while I can.”