Her chest caught fire.
“No.” Signey’s voice suddenly ricocheted through the garden, drenched in dismay. “Saints, not now. Please, not right now—”
Elara gasped out a breath, tipped her head back, and roared.
CHAPTER NINE
FARON
FARON STEPPED INTO THE SPACE THAT HAD BEEN CLEARED FOR HER.More dignitaries were drawn to her like moths to candlelight, presumably realizing that something incredible was about to happen. She could feel their eyes weighing her down, could hear their whispers clawing at her skin.
The Childe Empyrean. The chosen one, who is able to summon the spirits of the gods themselves.
A miracle.
A wonder.
A saint.
Faron closed her eyes and reached out for the gods. Anger pulsed through her blood, and she used it to help her concentrate on exactly what she wanted from this showing of power. Aveline had given her a list of ideas and warnings. “Do just enough to make them respect you, but not enough to make them fear you,” she’d said. “We want them to believe we can handle any threats that come our way, but not that we are a threat they need to ally against.”
The queen’s lips had pursed as if she’d sucked on a lemon whenFaron had insisted on ignoring all her suggestions. She was the Empyrean, not a pet. Either Aveline learned to trust her, or the only demonstration she’d have was a demonstration of her inability to get the Empyrean to come when she called.
Now Faron summoned Mala, the goddess of the stars, the keeper of the astrals, the ruler of dawn and dusk. Mala appeared before her like a giant among ants. Her blush-pink gown rippled out from her trim waist in a waterfall of fabric, topped by a fitted bodice that brought out the red undertones of her leather-colored skin. Her waist-length curls were surrounded by a glowing halo of tiny silver stars winking in and out of view, a crown of the cosmos. Pupilless eyes gleamed silver as she collided with Faron, filling her with magic.
Power hummed within Faron until it felt as if she were made of the cosmos, too.
My dear Empyrean, Mala’s girlish voice echoed from inside her mind.Let’s have some fun.
Faron grinned in reply.
The lights flickered. The colors dimmed. The sounds hushed.
Make them see what I tell them to see.
Their magic sang in reply.
“Oh,” the queen breathed, sounding, for a moment, like the gangly girl she’d been when Faron had first met her. “Empyrean…”
The hall had fallen away. In its place was a beach, white sand glittering beneath an imaginary sun with cool, clear water ebbing and flowing over the shore. The scent of salt and seaweed clung to the invented breeze that brushed over her skin. Faron had been to the beach twice in her life—only once for fun—but it was the kind of sight you never forgot: how the water seemed to go on forever,how it kissed the sky at the distant horizon, how the colorful fish twisted out of sight beneath the waves and gorgeous seashells clustered against the briny ocean floor. She put every bit of that memory into this living daydream.
But you can do more, Mala whispered in the back of her mind.
Any santi with imagination could make a crowd this size experience a beach, and that wasn’t Faron’s goal to begin with. She drew on more of Mala’s magic and the sky darkened, shadows smothering the beach until the sand looked gray. A dragon flew above them, so large, its body was like a second sky. The heat of the day turned oppressive as the dragon spat flame across the endless blue.
She heard the gasps, the worried murmurs, and her anger returned tenfold. This was nothing but a conjuring, but it represented something that had been her life foryears. These Novan dignitaries were just tourists to her trauma. They would return home to their continent, safe and snug in their beds, this memory tucked away somewhere to be forgotten. As if they weren’t the reason this and many other moments formed the basis of her nightmares.
Faron released another wave of power, and a second shadow joined the first. A drake took to the air, its scalestone skin glowing. She had no idea which one it was—she wasn’t Elara, able to name every drake and its color and its pilots by heart—but it aimed with single-minded focus for the dragon, then released a fiery blast of its own. It wasn’t the natural flame that dragons held inside of them; instead, drake pilots channeled the magic of their astrals through the scalestone into an artificial fire that could burn a Langlish dragon’s hide. The beautiful column lit up the beach, dispelling the shadows for a moment before the two figures collided.
The sun returned as their fight began in earnest, giving everyone a clear view of the battle. Faron didn’t need to look since she’d lived it, but she did wave her fingers with a final pull of magic to change the ending. Instead of the drake tearing the wing off the dragon, sending it and its Riders tumbling into the water below, the dragon hung in the air in front of the drake before nuzzling its scaled head against the drake’s metal one. A display of affection. An olive branch of peace. A moment that had never happened but contained the kind of symbolic resonance that these people would eat up.
“Amazing,” someone gasped. Faron’s body felt as if it were on fire, so she couldn’t identify who had spoken, but their sentiment seemed to be passing around the room. Her job was done, thank the gods. She had to release Mala before she collapsed in front of them all.
Then a masculine voice resounded from everywhere and nowhere, as dark and seductive as eating the last slice of rum cake in the middle of the night.
It’s begun.
The voice laughed, the deep sound so jarring that Faron’s concentration snapped.
