Kingsbane

by Claire Legrand

  Rielle marched over, her vision suddenly sharp and gold-tinged, and slapped him.

  Corien bore it silently, then looked up at her, his cheek reddened, unafraid and unabashed. “I’ve missed you.”

  As she stood there, her hand stinging from the blow, Rielle could not decipher any of the feelings racing through her mind except one. She had missed him too, with a desperation she didn’t understand. Though she refused to utter the words, they sat heavily on her tongue, and Corien must have sensed their presence, for his small smile broadened.

  He rose, not touching her. Every line of his body looked as tense as Rielle herself felt. “Was it fun for you, being forced to save people who don’t deserve you? Driving yourself to the edge of death for a kingdom of simpletons?”

  Rielle raised her chin. “I enjoyed subduing that wave.”

  “I know you did.”

  Unnerved by the fondness in his voice, Rielle forced her own calm. “Establishing and maintaining a friendly relationship between Celdaria and Borsvall is crucial in these uncertain times. By saving them, I did my part in the name of peace. I’m proud of that, and you can’t take that away from me.”

  Corien hesitated, then moved closer and cupped her cheek. She leaned into his palm, the cool softness of his skin making her shiver.

  “Yes,” he murmured, bitterly. “You were a dutiful Sun Queen that day. You served your kingdom well.”

  Now he held her face in both hands, his fingers unsteady against her cheeks. He leaned closer, lips hovering above her own. Rielle held her breath, every muscle in her body drawn tight and hot. If she moved an inch, she would kiss him.

  “In my kingdom, in my world,” he murmured, his breath hot against her lips, “you would serve no one.”

  Rielle placed her hands on his chest, but not to push him away. She stepped into the bend of his body, her eyes blinded with sudden tears—because she was afraid to be so near him, terrified of what she might do, and because his words resonated within her like the first notes of birdsong after a hard winter. As he wrapped his arms around her, she melted into his embrace. She closed her eyes, breathing him in. On the stiff, fine fabric of his coat were traces of the cold winter outside and some kind of spiced oil that reminded her of leather and smoke. He buried his face in her hair with a muffled sigh of her name, and his fingers dug painfully into her shoulders, but the sensation made her blood hum alive, and she found herself wishing for more of it.

  Frantic for clarity in this moment she did not understand, she closed her eyes—and with that small movement, the world shifted beneath her.

  She faltered, her eyes flying open.

  She was on the Kaalvitsi, straddling Audric. Suddenly, his arms were around her instead of Corien’s, his voice was groaning her name.

  He sensed her unease at once and steadied her with gentle hands on her hips. “Are you all right, darling?”

  She hesitated, breathless and feeling newly vulnerable in his arms. When he reached for her face, she flinched away from him.

  He drew back, not quite masking the hurt in his eyes. “What’s wrong?”

  She shook her head, tears rising fast. Real tears, not creations of Corien’s imagination. Tears she could trust. She wished she could go back to a few moments ago, when she was happy and content in the warm familiarity of Audric’s love and her own desire—and yet she couldn’t. Now, Corien’s voice lingered in her ears, and she welcomed it.

  In my kingdom, you would serve no one.

  Furious with herself, her skin flushed and crawling, she settled beside Audric and curled against him like a child. He turned on his side to face her, waiting patiently.

  Rielle’s chest tightened. She did not deserve him, and she could not meet his eyes. She grabbed his hand, held it to her heart.

  “What can I do?” Audric whispered. “What happened?”

  She shook her head, unable to speak.

  After a still moment, Audric asked, “Was it Corien?”

  The question jarred her. Was she that transparent? She finally managed to look at him, fearing disgust on his face. But as he regarded her warmly, with no judgment or anger, the tension she held within her melted away. She wrapped her arms around his neck, her face pressed against his curls.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I couldn’t see anything. I didn’t… I don’t have anything to report. All of a sudden he was there, and I was there, wherever he was, and I was so surprised, I didn’t pay attention. I’m sorry, I’m sorry…”

  “Please don’t apologize.” Audric cupped the back of her head, his touch so tender it made Rielle ache. She held him like someone lost at sea, clinging to the only steady thing in an ocean of storms.

  She spoke against his neck. “I should have paid better attention.”

  “That doesn’t matter. You’re here now, and safe. That’s all I want.”

  A sudden, terrible fear took root in her heart, and she clung even more tightly to him. “Don’t let me go, Audric. Please.”

  “Never. I’d never do such a thing. I’m here.” He drew the bed’s quilt over their bodies, creating a warm cocoon.

  “I don’t understand what he wants. He speaks in riddles and half truths. He frightens me.”

  And that was the truth, but not the entire truth, a fact that made her hate herself—even as part of her balked at that hatred and rejected it, defiant.

  In my kingdom, you would serve no one.

  Was that such a terrible thing to crave? Was that a desire deserving of hatred?

  “I’ve got you,” came Audric’s voice, low and soft. His lips brushed her temple, and she closed her eyes, concentrating on his warmth, his solidness. “Hold on to me. Stay with me.”

  Shouted words from the deck above pierced their quiet nest, followed by an echoing cry from Atheria, who had spent much of the last week circling the ship from the air, diving happily for sharks.

  Rielle waited for Audric’s translation: “We’ve arrived.”

  • • •

  From the long white shore, a company of two dozen archers in long gray robes watched their approach, hooded and still. They hadn’t yet raised their weapons, but as Rielle stood on the main deck of the Kaalvitsi, snarls of tension twisted hotly in her shoulders.

  Audric came to stand beside her, and Ludivine on her other side—both of them attired, as she was, in fur-lined traveling clothes and heavy woolen cloaks that fastened at their throats with silver clasps in the shape of the legendary Borsvallic ice dragons. Even so dressed, the sea winds cut bitterly.

  “The Obex,” Audric said, a thrill of excitement in his voice.

  The Obex. The sacred guard, loyal to no kingdom or country, and instead loyal only to the legacy of the saints, to the protection and maintenance of the Gate. Rielle wished, for Audric’s sake, that circumstances were different. He had longed to make the journey to the Sunderlands and meet the Obex guard for as many years as he’d known of their existence.

  But inspecting a damaged Gate in danger of falling was surely not the visit he’d always dreamt of.

  “We sent word of our arrival,” snapped Ingrid, standing rigidly a few feet in front of them, hands tight around the hilt of her sword. “Why this aggressive stance?”

  “Because they guard the Gate,” Ilmaire replied, watching the shore with a wondering gleam in his eyes. “A message means very little to them, even a message from a prince. In their eyes, this could be a trick.” He glanced back at Audric, and a pang twisted Rielle’s heart as she noticed a similar excitement on her beloved’s face. Two bookish, peace-loving princes who could have been true friends—were it not for Ingrid’s warmongering soldiers, whatever evil plagued the Borsvall borderlands, and the long years of ill blood between their kingdoms.

  “We must be cautious, Audric,” Ilmaire urged. “They will not hesitate to protect the Gate.”

  Lu
divine spoke quietly, so the others couldn’t hear. “We aren’t in danger. They do not intend to shoot.” She paused. “For now.”

  “That’s not very reassuring,” Audric muttered.

  “Ilmaire is not wrong. They will not hesitate to protect the Gate from any perceived danger.”

  So I have to control myself? Rielle thought, bristling. Is that what you’re implying?

  Should I be worried that you won’t? Ludivine replied mildly.

  The mysterious northern chamber returned to Rielle in flashes of sensation and sound: Corien’s voice, whispering her name. His arms tight around her. The frigid air, the velvet hugging her body. The thrill of his words and the promise they contained:

  You would serve no one.

  Freedom. Control. The empirium—hers to explore and possess, unfettered.

  Did you speak to him recently? Ludivine’s thoughts felt startled. Rielle… You saw him. You touched him. You didn’t tell me.

  Rielle’s surprise rattled them both. You didn’t know? You didn’t sense him?

  No. I felt nothing.

  But what does that mean?

  Ludivine had no answer, and as they traveled across the choppy gray water in small dinghies, the sea spray misting their faces, she remained quiet, her mouth pinched and her thoughts closed to Rielle in a way that felt like reproach.

  I don’t owe you every part of me, she told Ludivine.

  Instead of answering, Ludivine clasped Rielle’s gloved hand more tightly in her own.

  When they reached the shallows, they climbed out of the boats and walked ashore through thin sheets of foam that clung to the white sand—Rielle, Audric, Ludivine, Ilmaire, Ingrid, and a contingent of six guards.

  Ingrid led the way, her blond braids and white fur cloak snapping furiously in the wind. The glower on her face was spectacular. She had wanted to bring a larger company, but Ilmaire had insisted they keep their party small to seem less threatening.

  A few yards from the line of archers, they stopped, and Ilmaire made a show of laying down his sword. He raised his wrists, his castings catching the sunlight, and subdued the sea wind until he could easily speak over it.

  “My name is Ilmaire Lysleva, crown prince of the kingdom of Borsvall,” he began, “and I come to you humbly in the name of Saint Grimvald the Mighty, and in the name of my father, King Hallvard Lysleva, requesting access to the Gate.”

  The archers stood motionless, unresponsive. The foremost archer wore a long horn carved out of bone on a link of chains slung around his torso. Embroidered on his robe was a single symbol—a high, square tower capped with a single, unblinking eye.

  Ingrid shifted restlessly.

  Ilmaire gestured back at Rielle. “I bring with me Audric Courverie, crown prince of Celdaria; his cousin, Lady Ludivine Sauvillier; and Lady Rielle Dardenne, recently named Sun Queen—”

  “We know who Lady Rielle is.” The foremost archer’s cold gaze flicked to Rielle, then Audric, and then to Ludivine. He stiffened. His eyes widened.

  With a sharp gasp, Ludivine jerked as if struck.

  Swiftly, the archer raised his bow and let a strange, copper-tipped arrow fly. Ludivine dodged it in time; instead of striking her heart, it hit her left shoulder. The impact sent her staggering back with a cry.

  The air shimmered around her body, like faint ripples on the surface of a lake. The space around her body jerked and tightened before violently reversing course, like a swift, raging current. All the light and life seemed to rush out of her. The arrow glowed white-hot for a moment, then darkened.

  She dropped flat to the ground.

  Audric ran for her at once, Rielle just behind him. With a furious cry, Ingrid drew her sword and stepped between them and the line of archers.

  Audric fell to his knees beside Ludivine and gathered her in his arms.

  “Lu? Lu!” He brushed the sand from her face. “Say something!”

  The archers raised their bows in unison and fired.

  Rielle spun round, lightning in her veins. She flung up her arms and crossed them, forming a shield. The wind gathered at her command, forming a wall between her party and the approaching arrows. The gusting wall lit up, a gold sheet of fire, and when the arrows impacted it, they dissolved into ash and drifted in dark whorls to the sea.

  Rielle smiled coldly at the archers, her arms rigid. The golden wall she had created shimmered in rhythm with her breathing. “If you move against any of us even once more, I will kill you where you stand.”

  The head archer lowered his bow, the others following him.

  “Ingrid, watch them,” Rielle snapped. “If they look like they’re going to shoot again, shoot them first.”

  Ingrid gestured at her own archers, readying her sword with a hard grin. “With pleasure.”

  Rielle knelt at Ludivine’s side. “Is she all right?”

  Audric looked up at her, eyes bright, hands covered in Ludivine’s blood. “She’s not breathing. She’s gone utterly cold.”

  “That’s not possible. She couldn’t have…” Rielle shook her head, her throat closing painfully. She could not believe it; she would not. “Even for an ordinary person, that shot wouldn’t have been fatal. Would it?”

  “Nor would she have lost so much body heat so quickly.”

  Ilmaire joined them. “An ordinary person? What do you mean?”

  Audric peered at the arrow in Ludivine’s shoulder. “This arrow is odd.”

  “What do you mean?” Rielle asked.

  “Look at it.”

  She did, noticing that the arrowhead was unusually long and hadn’t disappeared entirely into Ludivine’s body. Perhaps three inches of it protruded from her flesh. On its bright copper planes swirled shifting clouds of darkness and light, as if the arrowhead now contained a tangle of storms.

  Rielle rose to face the head archer, barely stifling the urge to destroy him. “What did you do to her? What is this weapon?”

  The archer approached, his expression flat as he regarded Ludivine’s prone form. “Were you ignorant of what she is, or did you know and keep the truth from us?”

  Rielle’s stomach dropped.

  Ilmaire looked back and forth between them. “What truth? What is he talking about?”

  Rielle went still, flabbergasted, and the archer smiled grimly. “Ah. So you did know.”

  “Audric, what is he talking about?” asked Ilmaire.

  Audric ignored him. “Is she dead?”

  “No,” the archer replied. “She is trapped.” He reached for the arrow, as if to pull it from Ludivine’s body.

  Rielle moved to block him, the wind spinning angrily around her and the beach trembling beneath her feet. “You will not touch her.”

  The archer raised one cool eyebrow. “It won’t hurt her. This body means nothing now. The creature you love is contained in this blade.”

  Rielle stepped back, aghast.

  “What?” Audric breathed.

  Ingrid spat a quiet curse from a few paces away. “If someone doesn’t explain what’s going on right this instant, I’ll start shooting indiscriminately.”

  “You’ll do nothing of the sort, Commander,” Ilmaire replied, the ferocity in his voice startling Rielle. “I’ll remind you that I am our father’s heir, and that you obey my orders.”

  Ingrid stared, her mouth parting in surprise.

  Ilmaire knelt beside Ludivine. “Audric, please explain this to me. I know I haven’t yet regained your trust, but if my soldiers are in danger, I must know.”

  “Ludivine is an angel,” Audric said at once. “My cousin Ludivine died of a fever when she was younger, and an angel inhabited her body. We were unaware of this until several weeks ago, when Rielle was anointed Sun Queen.” He glanced at Rielle. “She is our friend. We can trust her.”

  Ingrid stepped back, horror pla
in on her face. Even Ilmaire seemed struck speechless, though he stared at Ludivine’s body with a new curiosity, as if she were a specimen he was eager to examine.

  Corien’s gleeful voice arrived. My God, this is entertaining.

  An image of him lounging in that chair by the windows flashed across Rielle’s vision.

  “Quiet,” she hissed aloud, distracted. “Leave me alone.”

  “Who is she talking to?” Ingrid demanded.

  The archer raised an eyebrow, considering Rielle. “Who indeed?”

  She ignored the question. “Explain this to me. What is that arrow?”

  “It is a blightblade,” the archer replied as tonelessly as if describing the weather. “It is forged from a combination of a copper alloy and the blood of monstrous beasts known as the cruciata. The cruciata originate from the Deep. Their blood, which is venomous to angels and extremely potent, gives the blightblades their power. When used against a body possessed by an angel, the blightblade extracts the angelic spirit from the body and traps the angel within it, leaving the body empty and free to die naturally.”

  Rielle looked at him in horror. Audric shut his eyes and turned away.

  Ingrid was horribly pale. “What is he talking about? How can this be true? Angels?”

  Ilmaire gazed at Ludivine’s body in astonishment. “Can she be removed from the blightblade?”

  The archer hesitated.

  As Rielle advanced on him, the sand crackled beneath her feet as if flames were gathering inside it. “Well? Can she?”

  After a moment, the archer nodded. “Yes. The blightblade, if shattered, will release the trapped angel.”

  “And then she can return to her body?” Audric replied.

  “It’s not her body, I’ll remind you. She stole it, as have any angels who now live in this world.”

  “Once the blade is shattered,” Audric repeated angrily, “she can return to her body?”

  “Yes.”

  “And her body will be whole and well?” Rielle added.