Rielle glanced at Audric, who waved at the gathered crowds with a broad grin on his face. A child broke free of her father’s arms and rushed forward, a bouquet of wildflowers in her arms. The Celdarian royal guard, who had replaced their Borsvall escort at the city border, tried to intercept her, but Audric waved them aside.
He knelt to meet the girl’s gaze. When she thrust out her fistful of flowers, he accepted the offering with a smile. “These are lovely. Did you pick them yourself?”
The girl nodded, her brown cheeks dusted with gold powder. She bit her lip, as if considering her options, and then flung herself at him, hooking her arms around his neck. The force of her affection nearly knocked him off his feet, but he nevertheless returned her embrace before gently redirecting her back to her father, who watched, mortified, from a few paces away.
Pride bloomed in Rielle’s chest, clearing her thoughts of the erratic, faint visions of Corien she’d seen on their journey home. Since then, a word had sat coiled in the deepest hollow of her mind—eyes open, breathing steady. A watchful reptile.
Resurrection.
She glanced at Ludivine, who was absently fiddling with the end of her left sleeve. She tugged it farther down her arm, even though the blightblade scar was completely obscured.
They all adore Audric, Rielle told Ludivine, determined to distract them both. This sort of thing suits him, beautifully.
Ludivine was silent.
What is it?
They do not all adore him, Ludivine replied.
The ones who don’t are unworthy of him, Rielle said at once. Then, after a pause: And me? How do they feel about me?
Ludivine hesitated. Many are pleased to see you return.
And some, Rielle guessed, are not as pleased.
We’ll have to talk about this later, I think.
Why?
With a gentle press against her mind, Ludivine directed Rielle’s attention up the road, toward the grand outer gates of Baingarde’s lower yards, where a group of people awaited them: Sloane, in her blue-and-black House of Night robes. Evyline, and the rest of Rielle’s gold-armored Sun Guard.
And Tal.
Despite the clamor of the crowd, the cries of her name, the flowers thrown at her and Audric’s feet, Rielle felt Tal’s anger as clearly as if someone had taken a knife to the fleshy underside of her arm.
Her throat clenched up at the sight of him. She should never have abandoned him in Carduel without so much as a message explaining herself.
They entered the massive stone yard that separated the lowest reaches of Baingarde from the city’s upper neighborhoods. The yard glittered with fountains, adorned with dramatic sculptures of the saints. Rielle held her breath and bowed low before Tal. Behind her, the gates clanged shut. At once, the crowd pressed against the iron flourishes—banging their fists, waving their silken gold banners, chanting her name, Audric’s name, Ludivine’s name.
“Did you really stop a tidal wave, my lady?” called out a jubilant male voice.
Rielle smiled hopefully up at Tal. Implacable, he opened his mouth, most likely to admonish her, but before he could, she jumped to her feet and threw her arms around his shoulders. The smoke-sharp scent of his clothes and the soft press of his blond waves against her cheek were such familiar sensations that a burst of homesickness, irrational and surprising, overwhelmed her.
“If you yell at me in front of everyone,” she teased, “they might tear down the gates to rescue me and carry you screaming to the nearest dungeon.”
His embrace was stiff. “My office,” he murmured. “One hour.”
• • •
Rielle had known Tal would be furious with her, but she hadn’t realized just how furious.
She arrived at his office ten minutes early, after convincing Audric to stall their meeting with Queen Genoveve. Taking her customary seat at the scarlet-curtained window, she waited, hands folded tightly in her lap. The clock on the mantel, crowned with gilded flames, ticked away her every breath. Tal’s shield sat on its stand near the hearth, grinning a demented, polished grin.
Beside Rielle’s feet sat a padded wooden crate, which their Borsvall escort had helped carry on the journey south. The crate’s contents quietly hummed, a phantom energy that she felt more than heard, like an arm drawing shapes in a dark room.
The clock chimed a single golden tone—half past four—and the door flew open, admitting a glowering Tal. He slammed the door shut behind him, unclasped his scarlet-and-gold day coat, and tossed it onto his chair. For a long moment he leaned hard against the desk, his back to Rielle.
“It’s lovely to see you too,” Rielle remarked when she could no longer bear the tense silence.
Tal turned, his eyes bright and anguished. Rielle’s froze, staring. She had not expected tears. She had expected him to yell at her or, even worse, to tell her in that soft, wounded voice of his how deeply she had disappointed him.
Instead, he sank to his knees before her, gathered one of her hands in his, and kissed their interlaced fingers. His mouth lingered against her skin, hot and urgent, as if it were his last chance to show her affection. The afternoon sunlight slanted against his skin, illuminating lines of exhaustion around his eyes and mouth.
Rielle struggled to find her voice. With her free hand, she touched his hair. “Tal, I’m so sorry.”
He shook his head against her knuckles, then rose to sit beside her. “Rielle, may I hold you for a moment? To convince myself that you are in fact here, and safe?”
Rielle could not remember a time when she had felt more taken aback. “Of course.”
Without hesitation, Tal’s arms came around her. When he exhaled into her hair, his hand cupping the back of her neck, the sound came out torn. Rielle’s body sat at an awkward angle, but she did not dare move to ease her discomfort. She spared a fond feeling toward her younger, smitten self, who would have been giddy to have Tal touch her in such a way.
“Now that I’ve reassured myself you are in fact not a dream here to torment me, I must ask you a question,” he said at last. Dry-eyed, he straightened his tunic and then fixed her with a glare as hard as sunlit nails. “What in God’s name were you thinking, leaving us all in Carduel like that? And taking Ludivine and Audric with you? My God, Rielle.”
He dragged a hand through his hair. “No one knew where you had gone. No one knew if you were even alive, until we received word from our spies in Borsvall that, yes, you were alive, though you’d barely avoided capture by the Borsvall commander and her soldiers, who had been plotting to do so for weeks. And don’t think I won’t take our own spies to task for that blunder—if they survive Queen Genoveve’s fury, that is.”
Tal rose and began to pace. “And, of course, the fact that you abandoned frightened citizens in Carduel hasn’t exactly increased your popularity among those who deeply distrust any power that could accomplish what you’ve achieved, and therefore distrust you.”
“Tal—”
“No, I’m not nearly finished yet. Then, a tidal wave threatens the Borsvall capital, and you fly out on Atheria to stop it, with no regard for your own safety.”
Rielle bristled. “I’ll have you know—”
“I said, I’m not finished yet!” Tal snapped, his voice cracking. The sound of his anger seemed to deflate him; he rubbed a hand over his face. “And then, after all of this, you journey to the Sunderlands, still not sending word to anyone in Celdaria of your health, your whereabouts, your intentions. You visit the Gate, of all places, and attempt to repair it, without any preparations or assistance, and thereby weaken it dramatically.”
He whirled on her. “You heard, I suppose, of the thousands of birds that lost all their navigation abilities, thanks to the shock waves from your efforts, and dropped dead across the streets of Luxitaine? Five citizens dead. Seventeen injured. And thank God it wasn’t more than that. Storms u
p and down the coasts. Wildfires in the heartlands.”
The resolve required to sit there, still and silent, made Rielle’s shoulders burn. She refused to break or blink. Her tears could build all they liked.
Tal glared at his casting, arms stiff at his sides. Rielle allowed him his seething silence for a full minute before she decided enough was enough.
“Will I have the chance to defend myself,” she asked, “or am I to bear you yelling at me without complaint?”
Tal looked back at her. “What right have you to complain?”
“You don’t own me, Tal,” she snapped. “No one does, Sun Queen or no. Not Audric, not Queen Genoveve, not the Archon.” She rose, lifting her chin. “I did save Styrdalleen, yes, and every one of its citizens, from a wave that would have dragged them all into the sea. And by doing that, I proved myself to the Borsvall people, to Prince Ilmaire and Princess Ingrid, to their magisterial council. Even to the Borsvall Obex.”
With that, Rielle crouched beside the chest and undid its four bronze latches. She opened the lid and stepped back, allowing Tal to look for himself.
He approached, frowning. The moment he laid eyes upon Grimvald’s hammer, his expression eased open, as if he were witnessing dawn for the first time.
Before he could speak, Rielle hurried on. “Jodoc Indarien, speaker of the Obex in the Sunderlands, thinks I may need the castings of the saints in order to repair the Gate. That their castings hold the memory of the Gate’s creation, and that by using them, I could follow those memories, reproduce their actions, and make the Gate stand strong once more.”
Tal said nothing, still staring at the hammer in disbelief.
Rielle watched his face, craving some kind of sign that he accepted her and what she had done. That he was proud of her, that this strange new rift between them was fleeting and meaningless.
“I know we should have told you our intentions when we left Carduel,” she said quietly. “Audric had received an urgent letter from Prince Ilmaire, and we could not delay going to Borsvall. If we had, I’ll remind you, the capital would have been destroyed. And Lu was convinced that it was safer for me to stay away from Carduel, for I had just…”
She swallowed. She had not yet told Tal about Corien, and wasn’t eager to, not with her nerves so frayed. “Well. Lu thought we should stay away from Carduel for a time, given our encounter with those assassins, and I trust her. I trust both of them. I could have asked them to return, or forced them to, if it came to it. But I didn’t want to go back there and face all of those people who hated me.”
Tal glanced at her. “Many in Carduel that day did not hate you.”
“But some did, and they tried to hurt me for it. They could have hurt my friends. Can you blame me for running away?”
Tal shook his head. “You’re the Sun Queen, Rielle. You have a duty to your people. You have a responsibility to be a stable, comforting force during times of peace, and a standard-bearer, a warrior, in times of strife. You can’t simply fly away on Atheria whenever it pleases you.”
At the mention of Atheria, Rielle’s tears broke through her defenses. She dashed a hand angrily across her eyes.
Tal softened. “Audric told me about her. I’m sorry.” He came to her, hesitated, then kissed her forehead and each of her cheeks.
Rielle closed her eyes, leaning into his touch. “Didn’t I do well? Despite everything I did wrong, I did some things right. I know I did. Please tell me I did.”
Tal’s voice was thick. “Rielle. What you accomplished in Borsvall was remarkable.”
She opened her eyes, relieved, to find him watching her closely. The way he held himself, the new flare in his eyes as he watched her face, was not something she had seen before. A rogue thrill, jittery and bewildered, skipped across her navel.
“Our spy saw you stop the wave with his own eyes,” Tal went on. “I received his report three days ago, and I’ve read it dozens of times over. Rielle, I don’t understand how you did what you did. It shouldn’t be possible for one human to control such an immense force all on her own.”
Rielle beamed. “I don’t think I could have without all your years of interminably boring lessons to draw upon.”
Tal smiled wistfully. “I’m not sure my lessons did you any good.”
“Oh, come now. Surely you don’t mean that.”
“Books and recitations, praying at the feet of statues.” Tal scoffed. “You are beyond such things, Rielle, and always have been. Your father and I were deluding ourselves to think a few prayers could ever contain you.”
The unexpected mention of her father dislodged Rielle’s sense of calm. For a moment, she could hardly speak. A wild desire broke open against the walls of her chest. Suddenly, she wanted to confess everything about what had really happened on the day of the fire trial. To see the shock on Tal’s face and confront his disgust. To unburden herself of a secret that seemed to be growing a mind and will of its own.
Instead, she forced out words that were not a lie, but certainly not the whole truth. “I miss him. He hated me, and yet…” She laughed a little, marveling at her own performance. “I miss him every day.”
Tal hesitated, then reached for her cheek.
A slight knock on the door. Tal’s hand dropped. He moved away, turning toward his desk. “Yes?”
A young, scarlet-robed acolyte entered, bobbing her head nervously. Her eyes went immediately to the open crate. Rielle stepped in front of it, glaring.
“Pardon me, my lady,” the acolyte said, “but I bring a message from Her Majesty the queen. She requests that you come to her sitting room at once.”
“Ah,” Rielle muttered. “Time for more yelling.”
Tal cleared his throat with a pointed look.
“Please tell the queen I will—”
“My apologies, my lady,” interrupted the acolyte, looking rather stricken, “but I bring another message, from His Royal Highness the prince. It says…” The acolyte unraveled a slip of paper. “Please tell Lady Rielle that ‘at once’ means ‘at once,’ and not ‘when you and Tal have finally stopped shouting at each other.’”
Rielle tossed a grin Tal’s way. He returned an echo of it, half-formed.
“Well, then. I suppose I should hurry.” She moved toward Tal, placed her hand on his. “May I leave the hammer with you? Your office has always been a safe place for me. I would feel comforted if I knew it remained under your watch.”
Tal lifted her hand to his lips. “Of course.”
Rielle searched his face, but found nothing reassuring. He would not meet her gaze, his mouth set in a bitter line. Without warning, Corien’s coy words from long weeks before returned to her:
Shall I tell you what secrets I sensed in that pretty blond head of his?
Rielle fled to the hallway to join her guard, Tal’s kiss imprinted on her hand and a foreign bramble taking root in her gut. “Evyline?”
The woman stared straight ahead at the wall, flanked by two other members of the Sun Guard. “Yes, my lady.”
“It appears we’ve been summoned.”
“It appears so, my lady,” Evyline said stiffly.
As they began walking, Rielle glanced sidelong at the head of her guard. “For how long will you be angry with me, Evyline?”
Evyline relented slightly. “I estimate for only a day or two longer, my lady.”
Rielle grinned, relief loosening her shoulders. A few more exchanges with Evyline, and she would shake off her strange meeting with Tal like old feathers. “Quite right, Evyline. That seems only fair.”
• • •
Rielle approached Queen Genoveve’s sitting room with no small amount of trepidation, for she could hear raised voices from all the way down the corridor—the queen’s, and Audric’s.
She stopped at the sitting room doors, which were thick enough to muffle the queen’s w
ords, if not their vicious sentiment.
Evyline cleared her throat. “I don’t think staring at the doors will make the shouting stop, my lady.”
Rielle rolled her eyes. “I wonder if your tendency for insubordination will ever lose its charm, Evyline.”
“Unlikely, my lady,” said Evyline mildly, “for I have had an excellent tutor.”
Rielle swallowed a smile, took a deep breath, and pushed open the doors.
Queen Genoveve turned at once. “I marvel, Lady Rielle, at the length of time required for you to travel here from the Pyre, all those many miles away.”
Rielle was too startled to reply. In the weeks since leaving for their tour of Celdaria, the queen’s appearance had drastically altered—her cheeks hollowed, her mouth thin and pale, her once meticulously groomed auburn waves now flying tangled about her head. She was still lovely, in the dramatic Sauvillier fashion, but there was a thorny quality to her now, a brittle energy, that spoke of sleepless nights and restless, unsatisfied days.
Rielle bowed low, her travel-muddied skirts gathering stiffly on the rug. “Forgive me, my queen. I came as quickly as I was able.”
Genoveve gestured irritably. “You’re getting mud on my carpet. Next time you come before me, make sure you change into something suitable first.”
With great effort, Rielle refrained from commenting that if she had taken the time to find clean clothes, she would have been even later to their meeting. “Yes, my queen. Of course.”
Audric, his expression grim, helped Rielle to her feet. He gently pressed her palm; she squeezed back, grateful. She was not unaware of Genoveve’s sharp eyes upon their joined hands.
“I was just telling Mother about our time in Borsvall, and in the Sunderlands,” Audric began, his voice carefully even. “And about our conversations with Jodoc Indarien.”
“Yes,” Genoveve interrupted, “and I would like to hear your version of events, Lady Rielle, before we proceed.”
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