Factions of resurrectionists from other cities, wild-eyed and beaming, flitted through the city in their white-and-gold robes like birds in mating season, praising Rielle as their one and only salvation. They launched themselves at the protesters that gathered at the castle gates, waving their crimson-spattered brass suns. Minor scuffles broke out every few minutes; deadlier fights ending in injury and death erupted every day. The city guard was stretched thin for several harrowing days, until Merovec arrived from the north with his own soldiers, ready to help where needed.
But even this was a matter of contention, for many in the capital remembered all too well that it had been soldiers of House Sauvillier who had slaughtered their brothers and mothers and neighbors on the day of Rielle’s fire trial. Among those uncertain citizens, there were a radical few who continued to challenge the presence of anything related to House Sauvillier in their city. Not even Merovec, with his popularity and his flashing smile, could convince them. They cared nothing for the rumors speculating that those soldiers had been under angelic influence. That knowledge merely served to heighten their hysteria. House Sauvillier was tainted; House Sauvillier was vulnerable to angelic attack.
It was a time of chaos in me de la Terre. The perfect time for a wedding, Tal had remarked dryly.
And at least a dozen times each day, Rielle felt herself buckling under the stacked weight of a thousand different expectations. When this happened, wherever she was, she stepped back from whatever conversation or meeting or appointment she was half sleeping through, closed her eyes, and recalled the night of Audric’s proposal.
It had been an unremarkable, tender thing, both of them naked and breathing hard in her bed. They’d fallen into it only moments before. Though the endless meetings and the tumult of the riotous streets were wearing both of them out in every other sense, in this, at least, their appetites remained ravenous.
But their lovemaking had changed since that awful, wonderful night in the empty Hall of the Saints. It had begun to take on an air of desperation that Rielle had never felt before. And she knew, when she caught Audric’s eyes, when she heard his voice break against her neck and felt his hands tremble around her body, that it was the same for him. Something had shifted, something irrevocable.
That night, after Rielle had caught her breath, a terrible sadness had settled upon her, like the slow press of a boot against her chest. She turned into Audric’s arms and caught him looking at her, solemn and bright-eyed, the expression on his face mirroring the hot, sick feeling wedged in her throat.
And suddenly she began to cry. “He hates you,” she said, touching his face, “and he hates me for loving you. He’ll make you hate me too. Somehow, he’ll do it. And then you’ll want to turn me away, and I won’t be able to bear it.”
“Now you listen to me.” Audric sat up, pulling her gently into his arms. He wiped her cheeks with his thumbs, made her look at him. “I don’t care what he does, or tries to do. I could never hate you. Not ever.”
Rielle shook her head. “He’ll make you.”
“No. Never. I’m yours, and you’re mine. No one can change that, not even him.” He pressed her hands gently against his chest. “Feel me. I’m right here, and I’m not going anywhere. This is real. My heart, and yours. Never mind Corien, or any war that may come, or this mad city full of people who, frankly, need to have a glass of wine and go to bed for a good long while.”
Rielle laughed through her tears. “Or several glasses of wine.”
“Really, just send them all to bed forever,” Audric declared with a sweep of his arm. “I’m happy to be the king of a sleeping country. That means more time for you, my love.” And then he had kissed her, gently, small kisses across her face like the fall of soft rain, and she’d burrowed against him, both of them cocooned in the warm den of her pillows. He’d held her, drawing slow circles across her bare shoulder, and then he’d pressed a kiss to her forehead and murmured, “Marry me, Rielle. I want you with me always. Please, darling.”
At that moment, she’d thought of the child she carried and had had to hide her face in his neck to keep from crying anew. Someday, she would no longer be able to hide it. Someday, he would know, and then what? What would the people think of a Sun Queen who could be the mother of a Blood Queen? Already people wanted her dead, and Audric too.
It was a terrible idea, to marry him. To even stay in this city was a risk for everyone who lived there. Someday, Corien would come for her. It was inevitable.
And yet she wanted Audric. She wanted the officialness of it, she wanted a grotesquely grand wedding, at which she would look every one of her detractors in the eye and dare them to try anything. She would wear two crowns—one of sunlight, and one of Celdarian gold. The Archon would place the cloak of House Courverie over her shoulders, and everyone in attendance would tremble before her with adoration and jealousy. They would burn with shame that they had ever decried her, that they had doubted Audric.
“Yes,” she had answered, lips pressed against his skin. “Yes, I’ll marry you.”
• • •
Merovec’s coming.
Rielle blinked out of the memory and realized she was alone in her rooms with Ludivine. The maids and tailors had been sent away, and Ludivine was looking up at her with a strangely wistful expression.
What is it like? Ludivine asked. To love someone so completely in every possible sense? To feel it with every part of yourself?
“I asked you not to mind-speak to me until I’ve decided whether or not to trust you again,” Rielle snapped. “Now, help me down.”
Ludivine offered Rielle her arm, helping her step carefully down from the platform. “It seems I keep doing things that require forgiveness,” she said, her voice low. “It’s an awful feeling.”
“Well, you could stop doing things that require forgiveness.”
Ludivine’s eyes flared. “And you could help me learn how to do that, I suppose? For you never do anything that’s worth apologizing for.”
Rielle backed away from her. “How dare you say such a thing to me, when it was you who encouraged me to lie to Audric in the first place, all those months ago.”
A sharp knock sounded on the door to her rooms. A moment later, Evyline entered, shutting the door quietly behind her. “Lord Sauvillier is here to see you, my lady.”
For a moment, Rielle and Ludivine simply stared at each other. Ludivine was the one to break first, dropping her gaze to the floor.
“We’ll speak about this later,” she said quietly. “Today is your wedding day, and despite everything, I’m happy for you.” She hesitated, then hooked her fingers through Rielle’s. Her smile was thin but warm. “I can feel Audric’s love for you as keenly as if he stood beside me. The entire castle is suffused with it today. It’s like he’s a sun newly born.”
Rielle felt herself relent, tiny wings of joy fluttering up her body. She squeezed Ludivine’s hand in reply. “Well, then I should go to him. But first, tell me what your brother wants.”
“He wants to walk you downstairs,” Ludivine said. “He thinks it will show everyone in attendance that House Sauvillier supports the crown, even with new bodies on the throne.”
“A sentiment in stark contrast to the ones he displayed the last time he was here,” Rielle said darkly.
“Perhaps he has had a change of heart.”
“Shouldn’t you know?”
“With so many people in the city,” Ludivine replied, “and so many conflicting passions, it’s difficult to read him.”
But Rielle heard the hesitation in her voice. “That’s not all though, is it? He’s hiding something.”
“He lets certain thoughts roam freely, and others he keeps locked tightly away.” Ludivine frowned. “Merovec is not one for such immaculate mental control.”
Rielle stiffened. “I haven’t heard anything from Corien in days.”
> “Neither have I. We should be on our guard.”
“Mustn’t we always?”
Ludivine’s expression softened. “It’s my great hope for you that someday you won’t have to worry about such things.”
Then she kissed Rielle’s cheek, and though Rielle still felt uncertain around her—and though she was, honestly, a little afraid of tearing her gown—she drew Ludivine into a fierce embrace.
“You won’t leave me to walk alone with him, will you?” she whispered.
Ludivine’s voice held a smile. “As long as I live, you’ll never have to walk alone.”
• • •
Rielle hadn’t ever imagined that she would be escorted to her wedding on the arm of Merovec Sauvillier, but the world was a strange place and getting stranger by the day.
Baingarde’s doors and windows had been thrown open to the glorious day beyond. The sky was a cheerful, crystalline blue. Flower petals carpeted every courtyard. Banners in Courverie colors snapped from the balustrade of every guard tower. The crisp autumn breeze cooled the sweating brows of noble guests in their finest coats and gowns, and acolytes in their formal robes.
But with the doors and windows open, anyone milling about the castle with their glasses of punch and small plates of hors d’oeuvres could also hear the cries of the crowds gathered at the gates.
As Rielle descended through the castle, the low roar from outside became thunderous. While in the safety of her rooms, she had been determined not to let the hysterical rumblings of idiots disturb her happiness, but that became a more difficult thing to achieve when faced with the stark, messy reality of them.
“Ah, Lady Rielle, please don’t trouble yourself with the teeming masses,” said Merovec smoothly as they rounded the corner of the north mezzanine onto the grand central staircase. He waved his hand in the general direction of the city. “If I were the sort of man who enjoyed gambling, I’d wager that many people out there today are eager to catch a glimpse of you in your lovely gown. Many more, I would say, than those who would wish to run you out of the city and pray that you never return.”
“You’ve a funny way of putting Rielle’s mind at ease, my brother,” Ludivine remarked quietly.
“I’m sure Lady Rielle is quite capable of putting her own mind at ease, considering her many talents.”
Rielle fixed a smile on her face as they crossed the entrance hall. Each column and banister had been festooned with ribbons of gold and emerald, and the room was packed with whichever guests hadn’t merited an invitation to the actual ceremony. They parted at her approach, murmuring behind fans and fingers, gazing appreciatively at her dress. Movement rippled through the crowd as she passed—bowed heads, low curtsies.
The massive doors to the Hall of the Saints opened, admitting a wave of sound. The temple choirs were singing the “Song of Saint Katell,” accompanied by a small orchestra of flutes, horns, and chimes.
“Why did you want to escort me today, Merovec?” Rielle asked quietly. “The last time you were here, you were full of hate for me.”
“I was,” he admitted, “and it will take some time before I can love you as a proper cousin. But my sister has spoken a good amount of sense to me, and my time on the road home to Belbrion after my last visit gave me much opportunity to think and temper my anger.”
“You’ve chosen to put the past behind us, then? And decided that I’m not some figure of doom come to ruin us all?”
“I’ve decided,” Merovec replied, with a smile, “that the only way left to me is forward.”
At the doors, they stopped. Merovec kissed her cheek and slipped away into the crowd. Ludivine followed soon after, glancing distractedly after Merovec’s retreating form, her brow furrowed beneath her elaborate crown of golden braids, and then Rielle was turning to face the dais at the front of the room, and all other thoughts but one fled her mind.
Audric waited for her on the steps of the dais, and there were others around him, Rielle assumed—the Archon, of course, ready to perform the ceremony, and his acolytes would be there, ready to assist him, and the council, including Tal and Sloane and Miren, would be dressed in their most splendid finery, ready to contribute their own rites to the proceedings. Queen Genoveve would be sitting with Merovec and Ludivine, most likely hating everything that would happen, if she was still herself enough to hate.
But Rielle had eyes only for Audric.
He wore a dress coat in deep green, snug around his trim torso and embellished with gold embroidery—delicate sprays of leaves, suns blazing over crossed swords. The coat fell past his knees and buttoned at his shoulder, and there was a dark-gold vest beneath it, and dark trousers and dark polished boots. Saint Katell’s sash flashed gold over his vest, and a heavy plum-colored cloak swept across one side of his body to clasp at the opposite shoulder.
And he wore Illumenor, sheathed, on a gleaming weapons belt, and gloves fastened with brass buttons. He wore his father’s crown—a simple gold band inlaid with emeralds, and it sat in his dark curls like a conjured ring of sunlight. The very air around him seemed to snap and shine, as if the power contained within him could not bear to be trapped inside his body on such a day.
He beamed at Rielle as she approached, his smile so broad and familiar that for a moment he was a boy again, and she a girl. Not a king and an almost-queen, but children. They were running through the gardens, skipping from stone to stone across the seeing pools. They were huddled in bed beside Ludivine, reading aloud absurd, fantastical stories of the First Age.
And now they were here, watched by hundreds, and thousands more waited outside, cheering for them, jeering at them, and none of it mattered but this: Audric took off one of his gloves and reached for her, and his fingers folded around hers.
She stepped up onto the dais beside him, unable to tear her eyes from his face. His soft curls, his strong brown jaw, his eyes warm and happy as he gazed down at her. He was so beautiful, so marvelous and fine, and looked such a king in his crown and cloak. The presence of his power was palpable, like the touch of lightning across her skin.
Then the Archon delicately cleared his throat.
Rielle turned to him, startled. A small wave of laughter moved throughout the assembled guests, and with it came a reprieve. Faintly, she could still hear the crowds shouting outside, but this particular room, and everyone inside it, felt suddenly kinder, more pliable.
The Archon held out his hands for theirs and then brought them together to press gently between his own.
“Today,” he said, “we celebrate not only the marriage of a king and a queen, but also the union of the Sun Queen and the Crown.”
And in that moment, as the Archon continued through the ceremony they had practiced, the midday sunlight warm against Rielle’s neck, the stress of the last weeks melted away. There was no phantom girl on the mountain, no lies told by angels, or by saints who were supposed to have been valiant and pure. There was no melted villager in Polestal. There were no dead Obex, and Rielle was neither Sun Queen nor Kingsbane, and there was no child growing inside her.
In that moment—singular and bright, held carefully in time like a single drop of rain balancing on the edge of a trembling petal—she was simply a girl on her wedding day and was unbearably, unthinkably happy.
50
Eliana
“His Excellency Ravikant, Admiral of the Imperial Fleet, Loyal Servant to His Majesty the Emperor of the Undying, invites you to the city of Festival on October 4, to partake in the Jubilee to be held in his honor, to celebrate His Excellency’s naming day, and to commemorate the arrival of imperial forces that did seize this kingdom and began the great work of restoring it to its previous angelic glory. Attendance is not required but is strongly encouraged.”
—Invitation to the Admiral’s Jubilee, sent to all citizens of Festival and surrounding territories September 14, Year 1018 of the Third Age
>
The day before the Jubilee passed in a blur of nerves and preparation. Red Crown operatives flitted through the mansion like birds, carrying messages and supplies. Dani’s sons clomped upstairs and downstairs, rushing plates of food to everyone working. Rain beat yet again on the windows, which no one was happy about, for mud made everything more easily trackable.
And through all of this, Eliana rested, stewing.
She had been ordered to rest by Simon, and then had scolded him roundly for ordering her to do anything, and then, after he had obeyed her command to leave her alone for a while, she had chastised herself into admitting he was right. She did need to rest. Fighting Rielle had left her considerably drained, as had the trip through time. Her power felt far from her, buried beneath layers of stone. And Simon himself was resting in his own room, which had become a war chamber, everyone hurrying to and from with messages for him, rolled-up maps of the city, weapons to be inspected and approved.
Logically, Eliana knew that the longer each of them rested, the more successful their next attempt to travel back to the Old World would be.
But that didn’t make the agony of sitting idly, waiting for time to creep on, any less agonizing.
In the late afternoon, Dani came to Eliana’s room and found her cross-legged on the floor, cleaning her knives. Remy sat squashed in an armchair near the window, writing out phrases in Old Celdarian for her to study.
Dani leaned against the door frame. “I’m not sure those knives could get any cleaner if you worked on them for another hundred years.”
Eliana had barely glanced up when Dani arrived. It was a strangeness unmatched in her very strange life to adjust to the new reality of the world—Jessamyn gone, Dani’s husband gone, the house changed just enough to leave her feeling unbalanced, and no one but her and Simon noticing the difference. Several times during the last few hours, she had had to bite her tongue to keep from pulling Patrik away from his work to sit him down and tell him everything she knew about Jessamyn, curious if it would trigger some faint, warped memory inside him.
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