Distantly, Rielle felt something move nearby, heard someone calling her name. But she ignored whoever it was because it was far more important to shift around this body’s organs and understand how they connected, how they functioned. Like a pack of dumb beasts, pure instinct and meat, all crammed inside one fleshy hot den.
Enraptured, she traced the man’s glowing skeleton with her fingers, feeling every knob and ridge, every rolling joint. She saw the ragged shell of his skin, how the fire had burned off its outer layers, and decided that it would be easy to knit this poor man back together. She saw the tiny storms of his body flashing frantically from skull to limb, from skull to belly, and understood how he currently existed in a froth of unbearable agony.
“I will mend you,” she whispered. “It’s very easy.”
Tell me what you’re doing as you do it, urged a new voice, small but eager. I want to understand.
The voice shook Rielle, jarring her concentration. Lu?
Leave her be, rat, said Corien coldly. You’re ruining everything.
You poison her, Ludivine replied, her voice thick with anger. You will be her undoing, and then all your so-called great work will have been for naught. I will revel in your downfall. I will bask in it.
You are a traitor and a weak-minded fool, Corien snapped, and when she destroys you at last, it will be too kind a fate for you.
Their warring voices sent spikes of pain ricocheting between Rielle’s temples, like hot punching fists. But she could not let them distract her. She had work to do.
She bent low over the man, her hands hovering above the shredded map of his skin. There, on his chest—a particularly horrible burn, the wound wide and deep. A discolored web of the empirium, knocked askew. A darkness where there should have been only light.
She would start there. It would be easy. She would place her hands directly over the burn, energizing the empirium in that spot and encouraging its repair, its growth, until the flesh had re-formed. Layers and layers of it, healthy and new. And then she would move on to the next burn, and the next, and the next—
Something jolted her. A terrible, rasping sound she had never heard before in her life sent violent chills down her spine. Her hands were wedged in something. She tried to dislodge them but found she could not move. The light blooming above her fingers was growing, brightening, so brilliant it hurt her eyes.
Rielle, stop! Ludivine cried. Open your eyes!
Hands grabbed her shoulders, pulled and tugged. A desperate voice called her name.
Rielle blinked, her vision dimming. She was no longer staring at the shifting golden sea of the empirium.
She was staring at her hands, trapped in a misshapen globule of flesh. It was as if some awful monster of skin and pus had arisen from the man’s chest and expanded, overtaking half his torso and continuing to grow. It consumed his burns, his convulsing limbs. It encroached on his glistening red mouth, raw and shining, newborn.
His throat had birthed the terrible scream Rielle had heard. He was writhing underneath her, his eyes white and wild. Rielle tugged on her hands, trying to yank them from his body, but they were stuck fast.
She sobbed, frantic, and Audric’s voice came to her from somewhere in this terrible black-and-white night—mountains and smoke, snow and ice and the man’s eyes, rolling back into his charred skull.
But Audric’s voice, steady and familiar as it was, would not help her. Shaking, she returned her mind to the place it had been moments before—in that golden world, in the realm of the empirium. It was like trying to steer a ship through a gale. Her mind resisted. She teetered, gasping, and at last slipped through a wavering crack into that world beyond the veil of the seen.
She saw the pile of flesh, growing from the juncture of her hands.
Stop it, she commanded, her mind unsteady. Unmake it. Unmake it.
At once, the empirium obeyed. The light that was the man’s overgrown flesh scattered, spilling over the sides of his body.
Unmake it, Rielle said, over and over, light-headed, watching with glazed eyes as the man’s body unfolded and collapsed, the inhuman net of flesh releasing him.
His screams, somewhere in the world outside her mind, abruptly ceased. Her hands were free once more. She pushed herself back from him with a sharp cry and fell against something warm and solid.
Familiar hands caught her. Weak with relief, she allowed them to help her to her feet, but then her stomach lurched, on fire and roiling, and she staggered away from the warmth and retched into the snow.
“Rielle, we have to leave, now,” Audric said urgently.
She wiped her mouth on the back of her hand, but her lips came away warm and wet. She blinked, bewildered, and looked down at herself.
She was drenched in blood—her hands, her tunic, her boots. She cried out and staggered back, but there was no escaping her own body.
“Rielle,” came Audric’s tense voice, “we have to run.”
“What’s happened?” She looked around and saw three things at once.
Surrounding them, a semicircle of hooded, furred figures. The villagers—no longer fighting, no longer controlled by Corien. They stared in horror, in fury. Several were crying, the wind swallowing their wails.
Then there was Ludivine, pushing her way through the crowd.
And the burned man, on the ground in the snow. The man Rielle had tried to heal.
He was a man no longer. He was a collapsed pile of human parts—bones and organs, misshapen knobs of flesh. A sunken skull, hands shriveled and flayed, a faceless mouth of white teeth grimacing at the sky.
Rielle’s knees gave out. Audric caught her, holding her close against him as the Sun Guard formed a line between them and the stirring villagers.
“Blood Queen!” someone shouted. A rock flew out from the crowd. Riva deflected it with the flat of her sword.
Another voice took up the call. “Blood Queen!”
Soon it was a chant, a chorus. More stones flew at them. Someone rushed at the Sun Guard, wildly waving a small club. Evyline easily dispatched them, knocking them out with a blow of her sword hilt.
“My lord prince?” she called over her shoulder. “Your orders?”
Ludivine joined them. Run. I’ll distract them.
Rielle’s head spun, her vision tilting painfully. I’m not leaving you.
Return to the temple as quickly as you can. Don’t make me force you.
Rielle hurried up the slope to their waiting ponies, Audric’s arm strong around her waist.
Corien? Tears clogged her thoughts. What have I done?
All great work must start somewhere, he replied, his voice blank as untouched snow. Then, without a touch of comfort, he was gone. ntly, Rielle felt something move nearby, heard someone calling her name. But she ignored whoever it was because it was far more important to shift around this body’s organs and understand how they connected, how they functioned. Like a pack of dumb beasts, pure instinct and meat, all crammed inside one fleshy hot den.
Enraptured, she traced the man’s glowing skeleton with her fingers, feeling every knob and ridge, every rolling joint. She saw the ragged shell of his skin, how the fire had burned off its outer layers, and decided that it would be easy to knit this poor man back together. She saw the tiny storms of his body flashing frantically from skull to limb, from skull to belly, and understood how he currently existed in a froth of unbearable agony.
“I will mend you,” she whispered. “It’s very easy.”
Tell me what you’re doing as you do it, urged a new voice, small but eager. I want to understand.
The voice shook Rielle, jarring her concentration. Lu?
Leave her be, rat, said Corien coldly. You’re ruining everything.
You poison her, Ludivine replied, her voice thick with anger. You will be her undoing, and then all your so-called great work will have been for naught. I will revel in your downfall. I will bask in it.
You are a traitor and a weak-minded fool, Corien snapped, and when she destroys you at last, it will be too kind a fate for you.
Their warring voices sent spikes of pain ricocheting between Rielle’s temples, like hot punching fists. But she could not let them distract her. She had work to do.
She bent low over the man, her hands hovering above the shredded map of his skin. There, on his chest—a particularly horrible burn, the wound wide and deep. A discolored web of the empirium, knocked askew. A darkness where there should have been only light.
She would start there. It would be easy. She would place her hands directly over the burn, energizing the empirium in that spot and encouraging its repair, its growth, until the flesh had re-formed. Layers and layers of it, healthy and new. And then she would move on to the next burn, and the next, and the next—
Something jolted her. A terrible, rasping sound she had never heard before in her life sent violent chills down her spine. Her hands were wedged in something. She tried to dislodge them but found she could not move. The light blooming above her fingers was growing, brightening, so brilliant it hurt her eyes.
Rielle, stop! Ludivine cried. Open your eyes!
Hands grabbed her shoulders, pulled and tugged. A desperate voice called her name.
Rielle blinked, her vision dimming. She was no longer staring at the shifting golden sea of the empirium.
She was staring at her hands, trapped in a misshapen globule of flesh. It was as if some awful monster of skin and pus had arisen from the man’s chest and expanded, overtaking half his torso and continuing to grow. It consumed his burns, his convulsing limbs. It encroached on his glistening red mouth, raw and shining, newborn.
His throat had birthed the terrible scream Rielle had heard. He was writhing underneath her, his eyes white and wild. Rielle tugged on her hands, trying to yank them from his body, but they were stuck fast.
She sobbed, frantic, and Audric’s voice came to her from somewhere in this terrible black-and-white night—mountains and smoke, snow and ice and the man’s eyes, rolling back into his charred skull.
But Audric’s voice, steady and familiar as it was, would not help her. Shaking, she returned her mind to the place it had been moments before—in that golden world, in the realm of the empirium. It was like trying to steer a ship through a gale. Her mind resisted. She teetered, gasping, and at last slipped through a wavering crack into that world beyond the veil of the seen.
She saw the pile of flesh, growing from the juncture of her hands.
Stop it, she commanded, her mind unsteady. Unmake it. Unmake it.
At once, the empirium obeyed. The light that was the man’s overgrown flesh scattered, spilling over the sides of his body.
Unmake it, Rielle said, over and over, light-headed, watching with glazed eyes as the man’s body unfolded and collapsed, the inhuman net of flesh releasing him.
His screams, somewhere in the world outside her mind, abruptly ceased. Her hands were free once more. She pushed herself back from him with a sharp cry and fell against something warm and solid.
Familiar hands caught her. Weak with relief, she allowed them to help her to her feet, but then her stomach lurched, on fire and roiling, and she staggered away from the warmth and retched into the snow.
“Rielle, we have to leave, now,” Audric said urgently.
She wiped her mouth on the back of her hand, but her lips came away warm and wet. She blinked, bewildered, and looked down at herself.
She was drenched in blood—her hands, her tunic, her boots. She cried out and staggered back, but there was no escaping her own body.
“Rielle,” came Audric’s tense voice, “we have to run.”
“What’s happened?” She looked around and saw three things at once.
Surrounding them, a semicircle of hooded, furred figures. The villagers—no longer fighting, no longer controlled by Corien. They stared in horror, in fury. Several were crying, the wind swallowing their wails.
Then there was Ludivine, pushing her way through the crowd.
And the burned man, on the ground in the snow. The man Rielle had tried to heal.
He was a man no longer. He was a collapsed pile of human parts—bones and organs, misshapen knobs of flesh. A sunken skull, hands shriveled and flayed, a faceless mouth of white teeth grimacing at the sky.
Rielle’s knees gave out. Audric caught her, holding her close against him as the Sun Guard formed a line between them and the stirring villagers.
“Blood Queen!” someone shouted. A rock flew out from the crowd. Riva deflected it with the flat of her sword.
Another voice took up the call. “Blood Queen!”
Soon it was a chant, a chorus. More stones flew at them. Someone rushed at the Sun Guard, wildly waving a small club. Evyline easily dispatched them, knocking them out with a blow of her sword hilt.
“My lord prince?” she called over her shoulder. “Your orders?”
Ludivine joined them. Run. I’ll distract them.
Rielle’s head spun, her vision tilting painfully. I’m not leaving you.
Return to the temple as quickly as you can. Don’t make me force you.
Rielle hurried up the slope to their waiting ponies, Audric’s arm strong around her waist.
Corien? Tears clogged her thoughts. What have I done?
All great work must start somewhere, he replied, his voice blank as untouched snow. Then, without a touch of comfort, he was gone.