Furyborn (The Empirium Trilogy Book 1)
Furyborn: Chapter 43

“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.”

The doors at the bottom of the stairs opened, revealing a narrow dirt path between twelve-foot wooden walls.

Rielle stared at the path in dismay, the crowd’s cries ringing in her ears.

“You will replace Magister Belounnon in the maze’s heart,” the Archon explained, pointing at a structure in the distant center of the maze. “Each dead end you meet will result in his acolytes setting fire to a section of the maze that surrounds him.”

The world fell away, leaving Rielle adrift. She glared at the Archon. “How could you let this happen?”

The Archon’s face was grave. “Magister Belounnon insisted on it.”

“Then you should have stopped him!”

A horn blasted from one of the stands overhead.

Rielle nearly lunged at the man. “At least let me bring him his casting!”

“He requested that his casting remain with his sister,” the Archon replied.

The horn blasted a second time. Across the maze, hissing snakes of fire sprang to life along random stretches of wall.

Rielle ripped off her cloak and flung it to the ground. Feathers went flying; her palms blazed hot as she advanced on the Archon.

“If he dies,” she ground out, “I will flay every inch of skin from your body.”

The Archon did not flinch. “If he dies, Lady Rielle, you will have no one to blame but yourself. The maze will burn quickly. I suggest you run.”

A third horn blast. Rielle threw a desperate look at Sloane, then raced down the stairs and into the maze.