The blindfold was ripped from her eyes, and her mind exploded with fear. She blinked into sheer brilliant white: snowcapped mountains. Sky and a fine mist of clouds. A cliff’s edge.
Oh, God.
“All hail the Sun Queen,” whispered that mocking voice, and then the hands holding her arms flung her off the mountain to her death.
• • •
The wind punched her helpless body through the air as she fell.
She had no chance to scream—and no breath for it. Freezing wind slammed up her nose and mouth.
Save yourself! Corien’s voice was frantic.
She was in the world, falling through the mountains, and she was also on the ground before her throne in that hollow dream realm. Corien scooped her limp body into his arms and tried to breathe life back into her.
Fight this! Fight it!
She knew he was right. She could fight this.
She forced open her eyes; the cold pulled thick streams of tears down her face.
I do not bend or break, she prayed. I cannot be silenced.
But the poison had formed an immovable wall between her body and the empirium. She reached for its power and found nothing.
She knew, then, that she was going to die.
No, you’re not! Corien cried. God, Rielle, no, please!
Beside the throne, his face raw with grief, Corien cradled her body against his chest. The endless dark world around him sent up wailing, terrified screams.
A rush of swirling cold gusted up from below Rielle, spraying her with snow. A spinning ocean of gray peaks sped toward her.
When she closed her eyes, she saw Audric and Ludivine, and her heart clenched painfully with despair, and she wished, and she wished—
She slammed to a stop so sudden that it knocked the wind out of her.
But she felt no pain.
And she was rising.
A creature beneath her let out a piercing cry, part hawk, part horse, part…some unearthly, lonesome thing that sent a pang of longing through Rielle’s heart.
She finally let herself understand the truth:
A chavaile—a godsbeast—had caught her midair and was now climbing up through the sky with Rielle nestled safely on its back between two massive black wings.
Stunned, still gasping for breath, she finished her prayer in the brilliant light of the morning sun:
I do not break or bend.
I cannot be silenced.
I am everywhere.
36
Eliana
“We are the ones he calls at night
We are the vessels of his might
We speak the word that he has prayed
Upon his wings, our souls remade”
—The initiation pledge of the cult Fidelia
The world was a flat gray box, and Eliana lived inside it.
A floor, a wall, a ceiling. No windows. A metal door with a thin slot cut out near the bottom—and a narrow strip of light underneath it the only light source.
The air filled with faint, distant screams.
Slowly, she sat up and realized she was wearing plain white trousers with a matching tunic. Her feet were bare; the floor was cold and hard. Her knives…her knives were gone. As was her necklace.
A cell. She was in a cell.
She drew her knees to her chest, held her aching head in her hands.
Memories returned to her: Rahzavel grinning down at her, the shadowed rafters of Sanctuary arching high overhead. Simon crashing down from the stairs. Running with Navi, the world lurching around her with every step. Remy. She needed to get to Remy.
Her breath came thin and quick. She remembered, she remembered…
A hand over her mouth, poisonous fumes shooting up her nose.
Three women gone in three seconds.
Fidelia.
With a wild cry, she surged to her feet and slammed against the door—over and over, throwing her left side into each blow until her head spun and her teeth hurt. She would be bruised, but only for a little while. Might as well keep going, then, right?
“Who are you?” She pounded her fists raw, kicked her toes bloody. “Release me! Show me your fucking face!”
And then, she remembered one last thing: her mother. Her mother could be in this place.
She threw herself against the door with renewed fervor. “Mother? Mother, I’m here! Someone answer me! Answer me!”
But even her body had its limits. She screamed until her voice gave out. She crumpled to the floor, clapped exhausted palms against the door until she could no longer hold up her arms, then dragged herself to the corner of the cell and folded her body into a tight ball.
Eyes fixed on the bright line of white below the door, she waited.
• • •
She woke up when she heard Navi screaming.
Scrambling upright, she called out hoarsely, “I’m here! Navi, I’m here!” She crouched at the door, ear pressed to the metal, fingers flexed and ready.
Silence.
She held her breath. Had it been a dream?
The screams began again—heart-punching, shattered sounds like something being forcibly unmade. At first wordless, and then, minutes or hours later, Navi began to beg for an end.
“Kill me!” The screams became desperate shrieks. “Kill me!”
Inhuman roars joined the chorus, carved into pieces as if issued from many mouths.
Women?
Girls?
Beasts?
Eliana retreated to her corner, light-headed, hands clamped over her ears. She was not the Dread in this place. She forgot everything but the awful truth of Navi’s screams and her own vulnerable, trembling body. She was a rat in this cell, and the catcher would come for her soon. The stupid animal part of her brain told her so. Faster than she had ever believed possible, it rose up to stomp out all of her training and left her shaking with fear in the dark.
• • •
Would they torture her for information and then feed her to a pit of animals?
What information did they want?
Red Crown?
Navi?
God, what they might have already learned from her…
Eliana paced. Movement made the fear feel smaller. She practiced slicing through the air with the tray that had brought food she dared not touch.
“I shall name you Arabeth the Second,” she told the tray and then laughed and told herself to stop talking to trays right this instant. If she lost her mind so soon into imprisonment, it would be an insult to her mother’s training.