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.”
“This also means, Lady Rielle,” said King Bastien, “that once you are anointed Sun Queen, you will take on not only the privileges of the position but also the responsibilities. You understand what this means.”
Rielle shook her head. “No. I don’t agree to this.”
“I beg your pardon?” asked the king.
“I’ll accept your generous offer regarding the wind trial, my king,” she said. “I survived my fall; I’ve suffered the wind’s wrath. Fine. But”—she looked to Tal, imploring—“I must complete the fire trial.”
The Archon frowned. “But, Lady Rielle, we have decided that is not necessary.”
“Forgive me, Your Holiness,” interrupted Tal, “but Lady Rielle is right.” He gave her a small smile, then addressed the king. “Some in the world will be satisfied with four trials and a fall off a mountain. But not all. Some will insist Rielle fight the only element she has not yet faced. And that is fire.”
Rielle blinked, startled. Did you tell him what to say?
I nudged him that way, Corien replied. Your teacher has a remarkably open mind, easier to slip into than most.
Please, don’t. Rielle swallowed hard against a sudden tilt of fear. Not him. Not any of them.
Corien fell silent. Then, his voice coy and curling: Shall I tell you what secrets I sensed in that pretty blond head of his?
“Is this what you want, Rielle?”
The entire room was staring at her. It took her a moment to realize that Audric had spoken. She gathered her scattered mind.
“It is,” she replied. “Not only to show the world that I have mastered every element but also because…my mother died in a fire. Of my own creation.”
To her left, her father tensed. She reached for his hand, her heart in her throat.
After a moment, he curled his fingers around her own.
The part of Rielle that had come alive when her father embraced her now grew wings and took to the skies.
“I would like,” she said, “to prove to myself, and to my father, that I am no longer that girl of ashes and ruin. I am stronger than she was. I am stronger than any flame that burns.”
? ? ?
That evening, Rielle skipped dinner and instead paced through her rooms.
“Are you sure you don’t want something to eat, my lady?” asked Evyline from her post by the door.
“I’m quite sure, Evyline, thank you.”
Evyline glanced out at the terrace. “Do you think your beastly friend will be with us for long, my lady?”
Rielle grinned to see the chavaile there, sleeping curled up on the dusk-lit stone terrace as happily as a cat.
A very large, very horse-like cat.
“I don’t know the ways of godsbeasts,” she told Evyline. “But I certainly hope she stays.”
Evyline tugged at her collar uneasily. “Do you think, if I asked, she would let me pet her?”
“Why, Evyline, I’ve never seen you so bashful.”
A knock on the door interrupted them.
“Lady Ludivine here to see Lady Rielle,” called out Dashiell from the corridor.
All joy vanished from Rielle’s heart. “Please let her in, Evyline.”
Evyline looked dubious but obeyed, her hand on her sword.
Ludivine entered, looking utterly wrung out—her hair a mess, her face red and swollen.
“Hello.” She could not meet Rielle’s eyes. “I wanted to see if you were all right.”
“Well, I’m alive,” Rielle said shortly—then winced. “Sorry. I’m fine. Just resting.”
Ludivine nodded slowly, sitting on one of the hearthside chairs. “I see.”
A terrible silence filled the room.
At last, Rielle blew out a breath and took the seat opposite Ludivine. “Lu, I don’t know what you want me to say or do right now, but I won’t apologize for—”
“I don’t want you to apologize,” Ludivine snapped. Then she scrubbed her hand over her face and sighed. “Do I wish you hadn’t tried to kill my father? Yes. Do I wish he hadn’t been sent home?” She paused. “No. I’m glad of it. I’m so furious with him I can hardly think straight.”
She shook her head, staring into the fire. Then she moved to kneel before Rielle, gathered Rielle’s hands in hers.
“Am I glad you are alive?” Ludivine whispered. “Oh, my darling.” She pulled Rielle down into an awkward hug. “I love you so much I feel I might break from it. I’m so glad you’re all right.”
Rielle helped Ludivine rise and walked her to the bed. She drew back the covers and helped Ludivine lie down, then snuggled close beside her. Resting her cheek against Ludivine’s shoulder, she let Ludivine cry herself out, and when at last Ludivine stopped, Rielle looked up with a smile.
“You’d better not wipe your nose in my hair.”