“Who is this?” Simon spat. “Show yourself.”

“Your eyes are not worthy of me, Wolf.”

Simon stilled, his expression clearing. “Zahra. The wraith who’s been spying for us.”

Zahra let out a sharp laugh. “I spy not for you but for my queen.”

“She keeps calling me that,” Eliana whispered. “She says…” She let out a shaky burst of laughter.

Behind her, Simon sheathed his sword. She heard him approach her, slowly.

“She says you are the Sun Queen,” he said, his voice very low.

She looked back at him. The shadows drew new scars across his face, but his eyes were clear and sharp, even in the dim light, and in them, she saw a spark of something—pity, she thought, and a burning conviction.

“She says you are the One Who Rises,” he continued, “the Furyborn Child. She says you are the daughter of the Lightbringer and that she will do anything to protect you.” He hesitated, the muscles in his jaw working. “She isn’t the only one.”

“Tell me the truth, then, if you care so much about me.” Eliana’s voice came out a hard whisper. “Tell me no more lies.”

“A few months ago,” he said, moving through the trees, “I heard of a bounty hunter called the Dread of Orline. A girl, the rumors said, who had racked up an impressive number of kills. One of the highest in the Empire, in fact.” He stopped, turned back to Eliana. “A girl who was invincible.”

Eliana watched him, waiting. Her body felt so tense she feared it might snap.

“A silly enough rumor to dismiss, at first,” he continued, “but I kept hearing it, again and again, and when I told the Prophet, I was ordered to investigate. I would go to Orline, find this Dread, and observe her. And if it was nothing, I would bring Princess Navana north, as was my original mission. But the rumors were indeed true. I knew you, Eliana, as soon as I saw your face.”

His voice took on a rough quality that filled Eliana with a slow-creeping fear. What he was saying…whether it was madness or not, he believed it.

“How could you have possibly known me for anyone?” she asked. “We’d never met before that night in Orline, and—”

“I knew your parents,” Simon interrupted quietly. “I see them on your face as clearly as I see the sun rise at dawn.”

She stepped away from him, the truth settling slowly in her mind. “It was never about me helping you bring Navi to Astavar. You didn’t need me for that.”

“No. When I found you, my mission to bring Navi home became secondary to keeping you safe. Everything,” he said, moving urgently toward her, “is secondary to keeping you safe. Navi’s life. My life. Red Crown.”

She stared at him in horror. Zahra murmured close to her ear, “He isn’t wrong in this, Eliana. We may not trust him altogether, but this, at least, is the real truth.”

Simon shot an irritated glance Zahra’s way.

“It’s not my fault your human eyes aren’t strong enough to see me,” Zahra said archly. “There’s no need to scowl.”

“I don’t understand,” Eliana whispered. “This is ludicrous.”

Simon stopped just short of touching her. “Why do you think your body can do what it does? You’ve been lying to yourself about it for years, and I understand why, but it’s time to face the truth.”

She lifted her chin, fumbling for speech. “I’ve just been lucky is all.”

“You don’t believe that.” He did reach for her then, his touch on her cheek so gentle it was a mere whisper of warmth. “It’s your power, Eliana. The power you inherited from your mother. It’s fighting to awaken at last. And when it does—”

A scream pierced the night, followed by Remy’s voice: “El, he’s here!”

Glass crashed against stone.

A brilliant orange light flared to life through the trees, illuminating the awful truth:

The safe house was on fire.

A familiar figure stood before it, staring out into the trees with a flaming torch in one hand.

Simon swore.

“Tick, tock, tick, tock!” crowed Rahzavel. “We’re all waiting for you, Dread! Come out and play!”

43

   Rielle

“Marzana wandered the bitterly cold Kirvayan tundra in search of solace. She dared not touch anyone for fear of burning them and wandered alone for long months until stumbling upon a fresh green woodland tucked inside a canyon of ice. A fire burned in its heart, and as Marzana warmed her feet, a red-eyed firebird emerged blazing from the flames, and Marzana was not afraid.”

—The Book of the Saints

After Tal’s acolytes removed her blindfold, Rielle stepped out of her tent and onto a stone platform, a cloak of feathers draped around her shoulders.

A wall of sound slammed into her—cheers, cries of her name, ringing handbells. For Rielle’s final costume, Ludivine had drawn inspiration from Saint Marzana’s firebird. A scarlet jumpsuit embroidered with golden flames clung to her curves. From her shoulders spilled a dramatic ten-foot-long cloak fashioned to look like trailing wings. Feathers of brilliant violet, vermilion, and amber covered the cloak from clasp to hem. Ludivine had gathered her hair into a high feathered knot, dusted her hair with gold, and painted her cheeks with crimson swirls.

Rielle drew in a long breath, scanning her surroundings.

They’d brought her to a narrow valley between the grassy foothills north of Mount Sorenne, to the east of the city. Stands for spectators had been erected along the rocky ridges that terraced the slopes, but most of the crowd stood on foot, crowding behind safety railings for a better view. Flashes of gold winked at her from all sides: Sun Queen banners, pendants, sun-shaped play castings waved by screaming children.

At the end of the platform, stairs led down into an enormous circular maze of wood and stone. The Archon stood at the top of the stairs—as did Sloane, red-eyed and shaking.

And holding Tal’s bronze shield.

Terror swept through Rielle like a physical force. “Sloane? Why do you have Tal’s casting?”

“He’s in the maze,” Sloane replied, her voice hoarse. “Bound—and waiting for you.”

“Before you accuse me of anything,” the Archon said, “it was Magister Belounnon’s idea, not mine.”

Rielle felt suddenly and impossibly small beneath her heavy cloak. “I don’t understand.”

“He thought it would help you,” Sloane said, “if you were forced to face death by fire once more, as you did the day your mother died. You can save him, as you couldn’t save her.” Sloane’s tears spilled over. “He said, tell her it’s all right to be afraid, but her fear will not triumph this time. Tell her she is stronger than any flame that burns.”