Furyborn (Empirium, #1)

by Claire Legrand

It was strange to see the queen like this—small in her nest of pillows, looking hardly more than a girl though she was twenty years old. This queen who had allied with the angels and helped them kill thousands of humans. This queen who had murdered her husband.

Corien knew—that his father was a marque, and Simon was too. Neither angel nor human, but with the blood of both inside them.

“You did this,” he cried. “You killed us all! You’re a monster! You’re evil!” He tried to say more: She had betrayed everyone in the kingdom of Celdaria, everyone in the world. She was supposed to be the Sun Queen, their savior and protector. And yet she had become the Blood Queen. The Kingsbane. The Lady of Death.

“I’ve tried so hard for so long,”

The queen, his father had always told him whenever Simon stewed in his hatred, was once just a girl. Remember that. Remember her.

“Hello,” he said and touched her cheek. “I’m Simon.”

His skin smarted where her lips had touched; tears gathered behind his eyes. He felt like he stood on the edge of a swaying cliff, like a terrible thing was about to happen and he could do nothing to stop it.

The empirium lies within every living thing, and every living thing is of the empirium. Its power connects not only flesh to bone, root to earth, stars to sky, but also road to road, city to city. Moment to moment.

Only marques, Simon knew, had this mighty gift. The gift of traveling. The ability to cross vast distances in an instant and walk through time as easily as others walk down the road. Simon had often fantasized about what it would be like to travel back to the time before the Gate was made—before the old wars, when angels still walked the earth and dragons darkened the skies.

As his books had instructed, he guided his breath along every line of his body, every sinew, every bone. Now. His eyes snapped open. Twisting strands of light, thin and smoky, floated through the air before him. Heart racing, Simon held the princess close with one arm and reached out with the other. He listened to his blood, for it knew the way just as it knew to step, to swallow, to breathe. He felt through the night for the correct threads of here and there. Somewhere before him lay a road, hidden to his eyes but known, unquestionably, by the power that thrummed in his veins, and if he could just find the right thread, tug it free, lay it out before his feet like a winding carpet— There. A single thread, brighter than the others, danced at his fingertips. Simon hardly dared to reach for it. If he moved too slowly or too quickly, if his mind wandered, the thread could slip away from him.

Harkan paused, that sad, tired look on his face that made her hackles rise because she knew he hoped it would change her, one of these days. Make her better. Make her good again. She lifted an eyebrow. Sorry, Harkan. Good girls don’t live long.

“El, what are we doing?” She grasped his hand, made him face her. “Surviving,” she told him. “And that’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

“Have I ever given you reason to doubt me?” “On numerous occasions, in fact,” Odo replied. There was a pause. “Shall I enumerate them for you?”

“You have the face of a liar. I can see all the machinations of the world in your eyes.”

She would win the race, and Audric would sweep her into his arms, laughing. He would congratulate her, beaming with pride, and then leave her to dine privately with Ludivine, and a part of Rielle would die, as it always did when she was reminded of the simple, terrible truth of their engagement. Rielle caught a scent on the wind—singed hair, scorched horseflesh. It had been no dream. How could she have done this? How had she done this? Her father was right. Tal was right. She should spend the rest of her life in a quiet room, dulled with poison. She could not be trusted. She fell to her knees, her head spinning, and strong arms caught her. She felt a hand in her hair and lips hot against her forehead. “Rielle,” Audric cried. “Rielle, God, you’re hurt. Stay with me. Look at me, please.” Before blackness took her, she heard another voice—male and lovely and soft as shadow. I think it’s time I said hello, said the voice. It felt something like a kiss, and it came from both far away and very near.

“I am not afraid.” “My daughter,” he replied, something new and haggard in his voice, “you should be.”

“What do you want?” she asked. His smile spread slowly. “Why, Madam Dread, I want you.”

“Are you mad?” she snapped. “Many have wondered.”

“Yes or no, Wolf.” He tilted his head. His eyes caught the moonlight and made him look like something from one of Remy’s more fanciful tales—a night creature, made of secrets and sharp edges. An Empire monster for the Sun Queen to slay. “Only those who are frightened of me call me that. And you aren’t frightened of me. Are you?” Harkan approached through the shadows—one step, two steps. “Not even a little bit,” she lied. “So what shall I call you instead?” He inclined his head. “You can call me Simon.”

“The Gate will fall,” the king recited. “The angels will return and bring ruin to the world. You will know this time by the rise of two human Queens—one of blood, and one of light. One with the power to save the world. One with the power to destroy it. Two Queens will rise. They will carry the power of the Seven. They will carry your fate in their hands. Two Queens will rise.”

“I look good,” she declared. Remy rolled his eyes. “You always look good.” “Yes, but tonight it’s really something, isn’t it?” “I’m just going to keep rolling my eyes until you stop talking.”

“I’ve always loved you,” he whispered against her mouth. “You tell me this now?” She wanted to smack him. A sob burst out as shaky laughter. “You idiot—”

“You three,” he said, looking at Rielle, Audric, and Ludivine in turn, “have had far too much practice concocting schemes together. It is difficult to argue with such a front.”

“Have you always been this unspeakably irritating?” “Has your face always looked so temptingly carvable?”

“She’s afraid and lashing out.” Eliana burst out laughing. “You think I’m afraid?” “Everyone’s afraid. You’re just better at hiding it than most.” The man’s eyes flicked to Simon. “So Simon says, at least.”

“People like us don’t fight for our own hope,” he said quietly. “We fight for everyone else’s.”

“Your move,” she said with a slight bow. “Your Holiness.”

“What are you? Show yourself!” The woman obeyed, drifting forward until she knelt at Eliana’s feet. She was a colorless distortion in the air. Shimmering, thread-thin lights outlined robes, a full mouth, and a mass of hair that fell to her hips. “It’s true, then,” the woman murmured, reaching out to touch Eliana’s hand. Eliana’s vision jolted, then blackened. She swayed on her feet, braced her hands against her knees, fought against unconsciousness. “You don’t belong here,” she managed. “You feel wrong.” “I know,” said the woman, a great sadness in her eyes. “I’m sorry for that. You will get used to it, if it’s any comfort.” “You’re Fidelia. Get the fuck away from me.” “I am certainly not Fidelia.” Eliana pressed her fingers to her temples. “I felt this sickness in Sanctuary, right before you took me. And the night you took my mother and when you took those girls from the slums—” “I did none of this, my queen. The Prophet does not snatch girls from their beds, and neither do I.” Eliana squinted at the woman, breathing thinly through the ill feeling churning in her gut. “What did you call me?” “There have been rumors for months that Simon found you at last,” the woman continued, her voice thrumming with excitement, “but I did not let myself believe it until now. Now, I see your face, I hear you speak, I feel you breathe, and I know.” The woman floated nearer, cupped Eliana’s face in her hand. Eliana felt nothing at her touch except for a fresh wave of nausea. She squeezed h...