“Did Rozen Ferracora know who you really are? I doubt it.”
She settled the chain around her neck once more and breathed a bit more easily with its weight between her breasts.
“So you believe me now?” he asked.
She avoided looking at him. “About what?”
“That you are who I say you are.”
“What would it mean if it was true?”
“It would mean that you had inherited the power of the Blood Queen. That you are without doubt the only person capable of destroying the Empire. And that soon everyone in the world will know that Rielle’s daughter lives—and want you for their own.”
“Oh, is that all?” A tremor shook her voice.
“You won’t have to do this alone,” Simon said urgently. “I won’t ever leave your side, Eliana. And whatever I can do to keep you safe, I will do it.”
“Because I’m…your queen.” The words sounded hollow and ridiculous to her ears.
“Yes. And because…” He paused. “Because you are the best chance to save us all.”
She rose, moved past him to pace unsteadily through the tiny candlelit alcove surrounding her bed.
“I suppose I can’t deny it anymore, can I? After…” She waved one of her hands in the air.
“After your storm?”
Her storm. She closed her eyes, her mouth souring as she remembered the wildness of lightning and ocean scorching her fingertips, how she’d felt not at all herself and no longer in control of her own body.
She never wanted to feel that way again.
She watched Remy’s chest rise and fall. “Tell me about the night I saw.”
“What night?”
“You told me about it, I think, on Rahzavel’s boat.” She turned to him, losing her breath for a moment at the sheer unwavering focus on his face. “Zahra slipped into my mind, showed me a vision of it. There was a little boy, holding a baby. You showed me the bit of my blanket.”
“It was the night you were born,” Simon said at once. “Your mother—Rielle—decided to send us away, keep you out of Corien’s hands. I was her only chance to do so. She wrapped you in a blanket, put you in my arms, told me to take you north to Borsvall. We would seek asylum there.”
Her hand moved to her necklace. “And this?”
“A gift from King Ilmaire of Borsvall. She placed it around your neck, tucked it into your blanket. It was meant to be a message for him, I think.”
Eliana nodded slowly. She had heard various versions of the Blood Queen’s Fall from Remy over the years, all of them much grander than this one. The thought made her sad, which angered her. She didn’t want to feel sad about the woman whose unholy blood festered in her veins.
“And then she died.”
“And then she died. Her last act in this world was saving you.”
Scoffing, Eliana looked at the ceiling. “I’m not sure she did a good job of that. And I still don’t understand how we ended up here, over a thousand years later.”
Your mother—Rielle—decided to send us away.
I was her only chance to do so.
She walked back to Simon slowly. “You sent us away. You mentioned a thread, that it was too strong for you to hold onto me.” Heart pounding, mind racing, she sank onto the edge of her bed. “You’re a marque.”
Simon’s eyes glittered, watching her. “I was, long ago.”
“But Remy said marques have wings on their backs from birth, like a brand. I’ve seen your back—”
“The force of Rielle’s death threw the entire world out of alignment. Many things do not look as they once did. And whatever proof was left on my flesh, the Prophet made sure to eradicate it.”
The darkness in his voice made Eliana bristle. “Who is this man, anyway? The Prophet. What did he do to you?”
Simon touched her cheek with the backs of his fingers. “My queen worries for me. Be still, my wicked black heart.”
“As your queen,” she interrupted, her voice only a little unsteady, “I could have you hanged for touching me without my consent. Isn’t that right?”
He lowered his hand at once, but Eliana caught it and pressed his palm against her cheek. “I could also order you to stay as close as I please.”
His eyes never leaving hers, he knelt at her feet. “As my queen commands, so shall I obey.”
“Your life is mine,” she whispered, sliding his hand down her face and throat, coming to rest against her necklace. Through the thin fabric of her nightgown, his fingers burned her skin.