“Of Aryava’s prophecy, there are many interpretations. Some dismiss his dying words as the nonsense ramblings of a great angelic mind gone to ruin. But all scholars do agree on this: despite the war dividing their people, the blood of both humans and angels that stained their hands, the angel Aryava loved Saint Katell the sunspinner—and that love saved us all.”
—“A Discourse on the Prophecy of Aryava”
As translated by Grand Magister Isabeau Bazinet of the Holdfast
Transcribed on October 6, Year 12 of the Second Age
After two hours, the king declared a recess, and Rielle’s guards escorted her into one of the hall’s antechambers.
She sank into the first chair she saw, so tired she felt ill. The councils had attacked her with questions—what it felt like to manipulate so many elements at once, and all with the same body. If singing the wind felt different than controlling fire or shaking the earth, or was it all the same to her?
What sort of lessons had Tal given her over the years?
Oh, he had tried to kill her, on occasion, to test her restraint?
How had he done that, and how many times?
How had she fought the instinctive desire to save herself? What a marvelous testament to her control. And where, they asked, had that control been, out on the racecourse?
They had let her sit for at least some of the questioning, but she still felt as exhausted as if she had ridden the entire Chase all over again. Twice.
Just as her eyes started drifting shut, the doors flew open, and Audric entered the room.
“Leave us,” he told the guards.
The guards did not move. There was a beat of silence in which everything hung suspended.
“I think if Lady Rielle wanted to kill me,” Audric snapped, “she would have done it years ago. Leave us.”
The guards left at once.
Rielle was now entirely awake. She stood, her heart thundering. Where to even begin with him?
“Audric,” she said, her voice coming out frayed, “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.”
“I understand why you didn’t. God, Rielle, I… Please, don’t apologize. Are you all right?”
She let out a soft huff of laughter. “Not entirely.”
Audric came to her, cradled her hands in his. His thumb brushed against her wrist like a kiss. “I cannot forgive them for doing this to you.”
Every gentle press of his fingers made Rielle’s stomach twist. “Father and Tal?”
“They should be ashamed of their cowardice.”
“Well, I’m sure Tal is, anyway.”
“Good.”
“They thought they were doing what was best.”
Audric frowned. “For the kingdom.”
“Of course.”
“And for you?”
She hesitated. How many times had she asked this question of her father, only to be shamed into silence? “My happiness is unimportant compared to the safety of those around me.”
“Unimportant!” Audric released her, dragging a hand through his dark curls. “That’s what they’ve been telling you all these years.”
Suddenly the air around them felt charged; Rielle’s fingers prickled from the nearness of magic. The air bloomed with heat. Rielle caught the slightly singed scent of sunspinner magic—a blazing noon sky, a hot summer’s day. Audric’s eyes snapped to hers before he turned away, his shoulders high and tense. He moved to the window, placed his palm against the sun-warmed glass.
When he looked back to her, his face was not quite so furious, and the air had calmed.
“Your happiness is important, Rielle,” he said softly. “And I’m sorry I didn’t see what was happening this entire time, right before my eyes. If I’d known, I would never have let them…”
He trailed off, his jaw clenched. She wanted so badly to touch him.
“I know,” she told him instead.
“You were marvelous out there, during the race. I’ve never seen that kind of power. Rielle, it was beautiful.”
She could not help but flush with pleasure, despite everything. “They were going to kill you. I couldn’t let that happen.”
He raised an eyebrow. “And I cannot take care of myself?”
“You can, and you did. But—” She fell silent, swallowing her voice.
But if you had died, I couldn’t have borne it.
If you had died, I don’t know what would have happened next. What I would have done to avenge you.
Audric cleared his throat. He seemed to choose his words carefully. “When I saw you riding toward me, I didn’t know that the blood was from your horse. I thought it was yours. You were covered in it, and I thought…” He walked toward her, his gaze lingering on her face, and then looked away.
His presence was like a touch hovering just above her skin. Rielle wanted desperately to lean into it. Bask in it. Claim it.
“You could say thank you,” she finally managed to say. “At the very least.”
“If you promise you won’t terrify me like that again. Or at least give me warning so I can prepare myself.”
“Of course,” she agreed, “if you warn me the next time you plan on getting yourself attacked by assassins.”
He grinned at her. “We did fight well together. I wouldn’t mind doing it again.” Then his expression softened. “Thank you, Rielle.”
She hoped he could not read her face. “What happens now?”
“That’s what I’ve come to tell you,” Audric began, and then the door opened, admitting Ludivine and the guards.
“Did you tell her?” she asked, looking troubled.
“What is it?” Rielle said. “What have they decided?”
“They’re requesting you come back inside at once, Lady Rielle,” said one of the guards.
“Tell my uncle the king that she will attend him momentarily,” Ludivine said, her sweet smile not reaching her eyes. “And if he protests, then you may tell him to bite his tongue or else his niece will hate him for the rest of his days.”
The guard flushed and bowed his head, then retreated into the hall.
“Many in the councils are afraid,” Ludivine told Rielle quickly, “and the king is under tremendous pressure to act before rumors start spiraling out of control and spark a panic. Before…” She paused. “Before anything else happens.”
Before I lose control again, Rielle thought grimly.
“He would not have agreed to this unless he had no other choice,” Ludivine continued.
Rielle’s stomach dropped. “Agreed to what?”
“Seven trials,” Ludivine explained. “One for each element.”
“Tests of your power,” Audric added, “engineered by the Magisterial Council. To ensure you can control your abilities.” He looked away, his mouth twisting bitterly.
Ludivine placed a gentle hand on his arm. “They will not only be testing your control. They will also be testing your loyalty. You must not waver in this, Rielle. One hint of defiance, one glimmer of treachery—”
“What is it, exactly, that they think I’m going to do?” Rielle burst out, an edge of incredulous laughter in her voice. “Defect to Borsvall? Turn around in the middle of a trial and murder the king where he stands?”
“We don’t know what the Blood Queen will do, when she arrives,” Ludivine continued gently. “One with the power to save the world. One with the power to destroy it. One of blood. One of light.”
“I’m already tired of hearing that damned prophecy,” Rielle muttered, and was gratified to see Audric’s tiny smile.
“The point is,” Ludivine pressed on, “that the councils believe you to be one of the Queens. And if they can ensure that you are loyal, that you want only to protect Celdaria, and not destroy it—”
Rielle threw up her hands. “But why in God’s name would I ever want to?”
“Then this will signify to them,” Ludivine said, talking over her, “that whatever the prophecy says, you have made a choice. To protect and not harm. To serve and not betray.”
“And if I choose not to participate in these trials?” Rielle asked, once she had found her voice again.
“Then,” said Ludivine quietly, “they will have no choice but to consider you a threat.”
Rielle stepped back. A cold, sick feeling wound its way through her. “They will kill me.”
“Not as long as I draw breath,” Audric said, his fists clenched.
“I beg your pardon, my lord,” the first guard muttered, uneasily entering the room, “but I delivered Lady Ludivine’s message to the king, and he requests—”
The look Audric threw him was murder. “I know very well what the king requests.” When he at last turned back to Rielle, his gaze was steady. “I won’t allow anyone to harm you. You’ll conquer these trials, and once you’ve convinced everyone—”
“Then I will serve the crown,” Rielle finished for him. Everyone knew the Sun Queen, if she ever arrived, would serve at the pleasure of Celdaria’s rulers. She would lead the kingdom’s armies into battle. Using her power, she would protect the country, protect the Gate.
Protect the king.
“Then you will serve the crown,” Audric agreed.
Someday, he meant, she would serve him—and his queen. She looked to Ludivine and then away.
“My lord,” urged the guard from the door.
“I’m ready,” Rielle said, before Audric could threaten the man further, and led the way back into the hall.
She stood once again before the dais as the councils shifted and settled above her. Her mind danced around the question: How am I feeling right now? I have just been threatened with death.
She recognized she should probably be more upset, but it was all such a wild shift from what her life had been only two days before that she simply felt numb.
I will be tested, she thought.
It will…probably hurt.
Then, slowly trying out the idea: I will show them what I can do.
She considered it. To be sought after instead of hidden away, to protect her country instead of living in fear that she was capable of nothing but hurting people, to be loved instead of hated…
Tears stung her eyes.
I will be loved.
She found her father, surrounded by guards, standing expressionlessly beneath the statue of Saint Grimvald—a metalmaster, just as he was. She wondered what he was thinking. All his and Tal’s careful work, brought to ruin. And now the future—hers and theirs—lay in her hands alone.
She made herself stand tall.
They will love me. All of them will.
Rielle listened as King Bastien repeated what Ludivine and Audric had told her: seven trials, one for each of the seven elements, to be designed by the Magisterial Council and administered to her over the next seven weeks.
If, by the end of that time, she had proven her abilities and her control to a satisfactory degree—if she had throughout the trials consistently demonstrated loyalty and devotion to the crown, and neither defiance nor volatility—then she would be deemed the Sun Queen, the most holy symbol of the Church and the prophesied protector of the crown, and would be accorded all due privileges and tributes.
If not…
“Then, Lady Rielle,” said the king, his voice heavy, “I will have no choice but to order your execution.”
Rielle allowed the hall’s silence to grow. Lord Dervin Sauvillier watched her, his eyes keen. Across the gallery from him, the Archon sat, sedate, with his hands folded in his lap.
“I do not decree this lightly,” added the king. “I have known you all your life, and your father has served me for twice that long. But I cannot allow that to affect my duty to protect my people. We must be certain you are not the danger we have feared for a thousand years.”
Oh, Rielle, said the voice, returning with a swift jolt of anger, please tell me you won’t let them trap you like this.
But she had already stepped forward to speak. She felt as bright and sure as the sun.
The Magisterial Council believed it to be a choice, Ludivine had said—to protect and not harm. To serve and not betray.
It was a choice, and she had made hers.
She would be a symbol of light and not of death.
“I understand your fear, my king,” said Rielle, “and I will happily endure these trials to prove my worth and my strength to you, my people, and my country.” She made herself look around the room. No one would be able to accuse her of cowardice. She found Audric and Ludivine, drew strength from the sight of their faces. “I am not afraid to test my power.”
Whispers moved through the assembled councils. Rielle lifted her chin to stare up at the king.
I will show you what I can do.
I will show you who I truly am.
“Then, Lady Rielle,” said the king at last, his expression torn, “let the trials begin.”
