Page 108 of Beyond the Shadowed Earth

“Maybe you can learn to control it. Maybe—”

“I can’t, Morin. I’m sorry.” Her voice cracked. “I’m going home. The gods have cursed me anew, but at least they gave me what I always wanted.”

He looked at her unhappily. “And what’s that?”

“The power of a goddess.” The words tasted bitter on her tongue.

Morin drew a deep breath. “There will always be a home for you, here in Halda. If you change your mind.”

She forced a smile for him. “Goodbye, Morin. Thank you for everything.”

“Eda—”

But she turned and launched herself from the cliff before he could see the tears pouring down her face, and gave herself over to the creature inside.

She welcomed the pain, and when the agony of her shift was over, she spread her wings wide, and flew east into the rising sun.

Chapter Forty-Six

SHE FLEW EAST AND SOUTH,THE SUNwarm on her wings. She didn’t look back; she couldn’t bear it.

All day she flew, not stopping once to rest or eat. She didn’t feel hungry or tired. There was only the sorrow inside of her, compelling her on.

Night came and she flew on, stars sparking to life all around. Tuer’s Rise lay dark and distant below. She tried not to think of Morin standing on the cliff, looking after her. She tried not to think that he must be glad she had gone, hemustbe. She tried to tell herself that she was glad, too.

The days and nights slid into each other; her wings never faltered. After a time, she left the mountains behind her and came to the sea. Ships waited in the harbor, tall vessels with sails and riggings, stout iron steamers pouring choking smoke into the sky. She tried not to think back to that day, so long ago it seemed now, when she’d attempted to convince her council that steamers were the future—the way for them to conquer Denlahn.

But she did think about it, and everything that came after. Sorrow tugged at her. Her own, most of all, but the other sorrow too, that impossible, unshakable mass burning forever in her soul.

She was lonely. She longed for home. For a place that belonged to her.

She told herself, staring down at the ships, that what she most wanted in the world was to reclaim her throne, to drive every last Denlahn from her shore and all her worthless Barons too, while she was at it. She could do it so easily—send the full weight of sorrow into anyone she touched. It would break them. She didn’t need an army, only herself.

But that was not what she wanted. The thought of truly using her newfound power in that way sickened her.

She went on, across the sea. Sometimes, she flew low enough that the ocean spray brushed her wings. She liked the sensation—it made her feel alive. It allowed her to pretend she was full when she knew she was profoundly, utterly empty.

Days became weeks, and still she flew, never tiring, never hungering. The sorrow ate her, and yet it sustained her, too.

And through the long nights and the longer days, all she could think of was Morin, standing on the cliff, the rising sun gilding his face with scarlet.

One day, the shore of Enduena glimmered into being on the horizon. She’d thought she’d feel triumph at the sight of her homeland, or at least a strong sense of relief.

But inside there was only a pit of ever-widening despair.

She flew past the seaport to her childhood estate in Evalla, landing in a rush of dark wings in the inner courtyard near the stable. She allowed her human form to envelop her, then pulled a shirt and a still wet pair of trousers down from the obliging clothesline and shrugged into them. She felt frail, small. The stones underneath her bare feet were hard and strange after so many weeks of endless, empty sky.

A banner flapped from the highest tower of the house, and Eda craned her neck up to peer at it: the symbol of a single Star shining from a red field. It was an old Enduenan flag, not the Imperial crest.

She considered it, uneasy.

A young female attendant stepped out into the courtyard, yelping with surprise when she saw Eda. She gave a hesitant, uncertain bow. “Your … Your Majesty?”

“What’s happened?” The words were cracked and dry from a throat that hadn’t spoken since the cliffside. Since Morin. “Why do you fly the Enduenan flag?”

The girl clutched the doorframe, clearly too frightened to come any closer. “There is no Empire anymore.”

Sorrow and rage burned behind her skin, ready to lash out at the girl, ready to consume her—she had a right to be frightened. But Eda forced herself to be still, to speak softly. “What do you mean?”

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