—Journal of Miren Ballastier, Grand Magister of the Forge

June 8, Year 998 of the Second Age

When the doors to the Council Hall opened, Rielle rose from her chair and steeled herself.

She did not expect her father to enter and hurry straight toward her, his face pale.

Rielle’s guards formed a tight circle around her.

“Sorry, Lord Commander,” said Evyline, her hands hovering above the hilt of her sword. “I can’t let you past.”

“Let him past,” ordered King Bastien, the Archon and the Magisterial Council filing in behind him.

As soon as the guards stepped aside, Rielle’s father hurried over and gathered her close.

“Oh, my darling girl,” he whispered against the top of her head.

Rielle’s shock was so great that tears sprang to her eyes before she could draw a full breath. “Papa?”

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

Rielle’s thoughts had scattered at the touch of her father’s hands. How long had it been since he had held her like this? Years.

She clutched his jacket, burying her face in the scratchy, stiff fabric. All at once, she was four years old again, and her mother was still alive, and nothing had happened except a few unexplained odd incidents: candles extinguishing themselves, an overflowing sink, a crack appearing in the kitchen floor beneath Rielle’s small, tantrum-throwing body.

All at once, she was four years old again, and her father still loved her.

“Papa,” she whispered, “I was so frightened.”

“I know.” He wiped her tears with callused fingers. The implacable Lord Commander of the Celdarian army was gone, and in his place was a mere aging father. “He won’t hurt you again.”

King Bastien, standing before the council table, cleared his throat. “Lady Rielle.”

She turned to face the king, but her father remained at her side, and despite everything, a part of Rielle’s heart she had thought long dead swelled with joy.

“Yes, my king.” She curtsied. “I must apologize for my treatment of Lord Dervin.”

“No, indeed you must not.” The king’s face was grave. “Lord Dervin has been found guilty of attempted assassination and is being sent home to Belbrion, under house arrest for the remainder of his days. He and his accomplices will never again set foot in this castle.”

Rielle immediately looked past the king to Queen Genoveve, rigid in her chair, and then to Ludivine, who sat in the corner with her hands held tightly in her lap. Audric stood behind her, his hand on her shoulder.

When Ludivine’s red-rimmed eyes met her own, Rielle had to look away.

“I…I don’t know what to say, my king,” she said quietly. “I cannot be glad for it, and yet I must thank you.”

But you are glad for it, Corien murmured. In fact, you wish you’d kept going, don’t you? You wish you’d squeezed your fist closed, popped his head right off.

I don’t.

His voice was low and angry: Don’t lie to me, Rielle.

She flinched at the sound; it came like a sharp slap.

King Bastien’s smile was tight but genuine. “I am glad you are safe, Lady Rielle,” he said, taking his chair. “Now, the Archon has an additional piece of news for you.”

The Archon rose from his seat. Rielle looked at once to Tal, who was trying unsuccessfully to hide his smile.

Beside him, Sloane scowled and elbowed him in the ribs.

“Lady Rielle,” the Archon began, “it is the unanimous decision of the Magisterial Council, including myself, that, given recent events, we shall forgo the remaining two trials and now begin the canonization process.”

Rielle stared at him, silence gathering around her in thick spools until she at last managed to say, “But…what does that mean?”

“This means, Lady Rielle, that you have demonstrated tremendous control and power throughout your trials thus far—”

“And that,” interrupted Grand Magister Duval with a broad grin, “by surviving a fall off a mountain and arriving back home not only alive but with a flying godsbeast, you have more than fulfilled the requirements of the wind trial.”

The Archon sniffed. “In short, Lady Rielle, in the eyes of the Church, you are indeed and inarguably the Sun Queen as foretold by the angel Aryava, and therefore will be accorded all protections and privileges that are due you as a symbol of the Church and the protector of Celdaria.”

As Rielle listened to him speak, her heart pounded harder and faster until it felt ready to burst from her chest.

No more trials.

No more training.

No more dark rooms or hiding herself away.

All of this, and a kingdom full of people—a world full of people—cheering her on.

But would that be enough? Were five trials—four if she counted shadow and sun as one—and a fall off a mountain sufficient to claim her crown?

Some people would be satisfied with that, but not all.

Some would insist she fight the only remaining element she had not faced.

Fire.

She glanced at Tal, saw him watching her carefully. A thrill of her oldest, deepest terror raced across her skin.

Tal nodded, his mouth in a grim line but his gaze soft.

“…of course,” the Archon was saying, “I must still discuss what has happened with the other churches of the world. But stories of your trials have already spread so far and so quickly that I doubt I will have trouble convincing them of what and who you are. You will visit them, if you must, to prove yourself. Or they will come here, and we will show them that any doubts they may have are baseless.”

Beside Rielle, her father bristled. “Must she be paraded around like a prize horse?”

But Rielle hardly heard them.

She could hear only her mother:

Rielle, darling, please help your father put the fire out.

Rielle, it’s time for bed.

Rielle, I’m not going to ask you again!

She opened her eyes. Breathing in, she smelled the smoke of her parents’ house crumbling to ashes, heard the horrible choked sounds of her father sobbing over his wife’s body.

Corien’s words were gentle: You are not your mother. The flames, if you face them, will not hurt you.

Rielle’s breath snagged on tears she would not allow to fall. Hurting myself is not what I’m afraid of.

The Archon was addressing Rielle’s father. “I cannot say what the other churches will require of her. But rest assured, Lord Commander, that whatever they request will have to go through me before it so much as touches your daughter’s hem.”