Lightbringer

by Claire Legrand

  She left Obritsa sleeping and wandered through the trees until she found a tiny clearing encircled by pines. There, she stripped down to her tights and thin tunic. Alone, free of the thick layers of clothing and with no companions but the trees, she felt less brittle and found it easier to breathe. She sat on a soft bed of moss, leaned her head back against the trunk of a pine, and gazed at the sea of needles swaying above them. Her palms still tingled from destroying the dagger, and she had a passionate desire to sleep for a solid month. But they could not rest for long. The prolonged quiet meant Corien was planning something—or that he knew something she did not.

  Rielle rested one of her hands on her belly. Sometimes the new shape of it revolted her, and she would come close to summoning her power and ridding herself of the creature inside her once and for all. She had neither the time nor the energy for the changes it had wrought upon her body, the new exhaustion of moving herself through the world. And it belonged not only to her but to Audric, and with that particular chain around her, she could never truly be free of him.

  Other times, she felt such a tenderness for the child she carried that it left her faint. Absently, she traced her fingers across her skin, wondering how it was faring after such wild days of travel. She wondered too if she should see a healer—and that made her think of Garver Randell, his little shop that smelled of herbs and resin, and Simon, looking up at his Sun Queen with shining eyes.

  What they must think of her, sitting at their dinner table back in me de la Terre, wondering how they had been so thoroughly deceived.

  How they must have come to despise her.

  Head in her hands, Rielle blinked to clear her burning eyes, and suddenly, though she had not commanded it to, her vision flickered, and when it settled, the forest around her had been redrawn in shades of shifting gold.

  An exhausted sort of dread washed over her body, even as her mind came alive with desire.

  this power is yours

  “No,” she moaned, covering her ears. “Not now.”

  I wake

  The empirium’s presence was cold and infinite, its whisper ageless, its might unthinkable. It rose to her surface like a behemoth of the sea coming up for air. Rielle shut her eyes against it, willing her vision to be small and pale once more.

  this power is yours

  take it

  take me

  I RISE

  “I can’t,” Rielle whispered, tears rimming her lashes. “It’s too much.”

  Her hands crackled with heat, and she flattened them against the dirt, hoping the press of the earth would satisfy their hunger.

  Then there was a shift in the air, a thickening of the world’s quiet that muffled all other sounds. The rush of the waterfall softened to a dull rumble; the wood’s chatter hushed.

  Rielle looked up and saw a faint vision: an airy room lined with fluttering curtains. Windows framing a white city. A terrace piled high with flowers.

  And standing before her was Ludivine, faint but smiling. Golden-haired and pale in a gown of soft rose. Beside her stood a man in a green tunic, his dark curls mussed, his brown skin warm with sunlight.

  Rielle’s breath caught. “Audric?”

  19

  Navi

  “May your ship sail true

  and your fires burn bright.

  May your heart think of me

  while the stars shine their light.”

  —Traditional Vesperian traveler’s prayer

  Malik had been gone for five days, two more than it should have taken him to travel to the island of Laranti and return with Ysabet, the Red Crown leader Hob had arranged for them to meet. A woman, Hob’s contacts in the underground had said, whose influence in the Vespers was unmatched.

  But Malik had not yet returned. Navi couldn’t sleep for worrying about him.

  Instead, she sat up late in her shabby canvas tent, staring at the damp, curling sheets of paper on the table she and Hob had fashioned out of an old tree stump. Beyond the tent flap, clouds of angry flies swarmed, kept at bay by the foul-smelling oil their guide, Bazko, had sold to them for what Navi suspected was an exorbitant price. But she had gladly spent it, even though the coin they’d managed to smuggle out of Astavar—and exchange for Vesperian currency before word of the invasion spread—was disappearing fast. The bog’s flies were ravenous, each the size of a thumbprint.

  “Forty-seven,” Navi breathed, looking over the encoded list of names before her—the latest count of everyone they had recruited to their little army of strays. Red Crown loyalists, refugees, orphans. “It isn’t enough.”

  “No,” Hob said simply. “It is not.”

  “We have to move faster, somehow. I hate being stuck in this awful place.”

  “It was the right decision, to stay and keep watch over the fissure.”

  Navi drew in a long, slow breath, hoping it would bring her some semblance of calm.

  It did not.

  The tent’s canvas and some hundred yards of swamp stood between her and the fissure to the Deep, but Navi could still feel it pulling at her. The shape of its dark, jagged eye had stamped itself on her vision, as if she had stared too long at a bright light. Nothing had emerged from the fissure, and the tear had not grown larger.

  But the swamp had grown eerily quiet since the fissure’s appearance. Navi had the sense that she wasn’t alone in holding her breath, waiting for the next quake and what it might bring.

  The tent flap opened, and Miro ducked inside, looking miserable. He dragged his sleeve across his grimy face. “My lady, may I sleep in here until my next watch? The flies are eating me alive.”

  “Yes, of course.” Navi gestured to a battered leather tarp that served as a bed for anyone who needed it, and once the boy’s breathing had evened out, she returned to Hob, wiped her brow with a rag from her pocket, and then hid her face against the damp cloth.

  The only sounds were Miro’s light snores, the buzzing flies, soft shuffling and clanking noises as others moved around the camp, everyone’s voices hushed as if afraid to disturb the swamp’s unnatural silence. Somewhere nearby, those on watch were slowly patrolling the water.

  “What was I thinking, Hob?” Navi whispered. “This is madness.”

  “I think I would call it rash courage, perhaps,” Hob said evenly, “but not madness.”

  She looked up at him, exhaustion making her eyes sting with tears. “An army to crush the Empire. That’s what I said I would build. That’s what I told Malik as we fled Astavar. And now I have forty-seven people in a bug-infested swamp, waiting for me to do something extraordinary while a door to the Deep stares at us day and night, and Malik, who has gone to meet our supposed ally, has been gone for far too long. Have I sent him to his death as well?”

  “There is no supposing. Ysabet will help us.”

  Navi let out a tired laugh and rubbed her eyes, willing her tears to dry.

  “You trust me, don’t you?” Hob said gently.

  “That you have told me what you think is true? Yes, I trust that. But a woman I’ve never met?” Navi stared bleakly at her list of names. “I have failed Eliana.”

  “We’ve done nothing yet. You have not had the opportunity to fail her.”

  Navi made a soft, frustrated sound. “And that inaction could be the thing that kills her, the thing that kills us all. Or maybe…” She sighed, wiped her face once more. She had never sweated so much in her life. “Maybe it’s arrogant, even idiotic, to think that whatever I could do would be of any help to her.”

  “You’ll drive yourself mad thinking coulds and maybes.”

  Navi knew he was right. And yet, the world shrank around her even as it expanded. She felt the truth of her own smallness, the enormity of the world, how much pain and sorrow it contained.

  She rose, rolling her shoulders. A walk might clear her mind, even if
it meant facing the flies.

  Then the lamps outside the tent, dotting the camp like dim fireflies, went out one by one. Muted, startled cries arose from the night.

  Hob stood swiftly, blew out their own lamp, drew his sword, and roused Miro. Navi bent to retrieve her revolver, a crude thing they’d bought in Morsia’s underground market. She was grateful to Hob for dousing their light; already, her eyes had begun to adjust.

  A voice called out from the center of camp. “You who claim this camp. You who calls herself Jatana. If you want the man Rovan to live, you will empty your hands of whatever weapons you carry and come forward at once.”

  Navi stood at the tent flap, her heart pounding. Jatana and Rovan: her false name and Malik’s.

  Whoever these people were, they had her brother.

  Navi dropped her revolver into the mud, ignored Hob’s whispered warning, and stepped outside.

  Immediately, someone grabbed her and roughly shoved a sack over her head. She kicked out and hit a shin, shoved her elbow into something fleshy, but then hands seized her arms, and Navi could no longer stand. The sack, she realized, swaying, had been soaked with a sharp, foul-smelling substance meant to knock her out.

  She growled in frustration, heard Hob bolt out after her. Through the sack’s woven fabric, she saw a distant pinprick of bruised blue light—the fissure’s eye, lidless and staring, watching her struggle without remorse.

  Then she saw no more.

  • • •

  Navi awoke to a fresh breeze. Sunlight kissed her arms and neck.

  She no longer wore a sack over her head. Instead, a rag had been tied tightly around her eyes, leaving her nose and mouth free to breathe the salty air. She shifted on her hard seat; her hands were bound with cloth. It occurred to her that the world was rocking.

  A gruff voice sounded overhead. “She’s awake.”

  Another voice, sharp and authoritative, said, “Let me see her.”

  The blindfold removed, Navi squinted in the bright light, and after a moment, she saw that she was sitting in a small, narrow boat. Across from her on a low bench sat someone wrapped in earth-colored shawls—some with beaded fringe, others hemmed in pink silk, all of which obscured the person’s true shape and size. A dark scarf covered their head, hiding scalp and hair, and over their face they wore an oval mask fashioned of small metal plates bound together by links of chain. Slits marked the nose and mouth.

  Quick glances left and right showed Navi that other boats floated nearby, three figures in each. One person sat to work the oars. The two others stood, spears in hand, all of them trained on Navi.

  The masked person spoke in a low, rich voice. “You are Jatana of Meridian.”

  Navi stared evenly at the mask. “I am.”

  “Why are you here?”

  “You took me from my camp and brought me here.”

  The mask was silent for a long moment. “You come to the Vespers in hopes of meeting Ysabet of Red Crown. You want soldiers. You want weapons. You want to hurt the Empire.”

  Navi said nothing.

  “Fourteen years ago, the Empire claimed the Vespers in the name of His Holy Majesty the Emperor of the Undying,” the mask continued. “Those who would work against him are considered traitors to the Empire. We, his humble servants, are tasked with bringing traitors to the capital for judgment. But we are perfectly capable of performing executions ourselves.”

  Sweat rolled down Navi’s back. The breeze did little to temper the scorching sun. She realized she hadn’t seen Malik in either of the other boats, nor the two people who’d gone with him to meet with Ysabet. She wondered if they were now dead at the bottom of the sea and if she would soon join them. She held her tongue, resisting the urge to lean over the side of the boat and search the water for her brother.

  “What would you say,” the mask continued, “if I asked you to declare your loyalty to the Empire or else lose your life at the hands of my guards?”

  The soldiers raised their spears, their bodies tensing as if ready to throw.

  As the boat bobbed with the waves, Navi imagined the cool, blue world of the ocean floor. It would not be such a terrible place to rest.

  And if she was going to die, she would do so with love for Eliana on her lips.

  “I would say that the Queen’s light guides me,” she replied, looking steadily at the mask’s unreadable plated face, “and that her fire will burn the Empire to the ground.”

  And then, remarkably, the masked person said, “Excellent.”

  They whipped out a dagger from under their clothes and leapt at Navi. Pounced on her, pinned her to her seat, and held the dagger’s blade hard against her throat.

  Navi froze, fighting the urge to struggle. Through the gaps in the plated mask, brown eyes met hers.

  For a long moment, that bright gaze searched her face. Then the masked person relaxed, stood, returned their dagger to its sheath. Navi caught a glimpse of the iridescent copper blade—the same metal as that of the box inside which Zahra had been trapped.

  Navi felt a bitter pang of longing. What she wouldn’t have given to hear the wraith’s voice suddenly drift down from the sky.

  The masked person called out a command in a Vesperian dialect Navi did not know. The soldiers in the nearby boats relaxed, lowering their spears. The rowers resumed their work, pushing the boats toward a small black island on the horizon.

  Navi’s attacker untied their mask and unwrapped the scarf from their head, revealing a slim, ruddy-faced young woman, her skin marked with freckles and one rather large white scar. She shook out her shaggy, chin-length hair, bleached white from the sun, and shrugged off her layers of shawls. Beneath it she wore snug brown trousers over slim shapely legs and battered knee-high boots. The collar of her white tunic gaped open to reveal two knotted cords of leather tied around her neck.

  “Apologies for the dramatics,” she said, gesturing noncommittally with a lazy flick of her hand. “And for the knife. But I don’t trust anyone until I’ve looked them in the eye and held a blightblade to their throat. You understand.”

  Navi, shocked into speech, said, “I do, actually.” Then she paused, wondering. This was a much younger woman than she had been expecting, perhaps only a year or two older than Navi herself. “You are Ysabet?”

  Ysabet raised an eyebrow. “And you are Navana, princess of Astavar.”

  “My name is Jatana.” Navi wrinkled her brow, feigning confusion, but her heart lurched with sudden fear. “You know this.”

  “What I know,” said Ysabet, looking out to sea as the island grew larger and nearer, “are the stories I’ve heard from the north. A princess working in Lord Arkelion’s maidensfold as a spy for Red Crown. A death-defying escape. An alliance with the notorious Wolf. Rumors too of a girl with miraculous powers. Some say she is the Sun Queen. A fleet of imperial warships sunk by a freak storm in Karajak Bay. An army of monsters. Astavar invaded at last and fallen. The kings dead, but no royal children found. And now, a girl named Jatana and her brother arrive on my islands, wanting to meet me. Wanting to build an army.”

  Ysabet paused, then turned to look back over her shoulder.

  Navi’s chest ached with fresh sorrow, but she held Ysabet’s curious gaze and did not flinch.

  “We may be scattered, here in the Vespers,” Ysabet continued, “and our number much smaller than I would like. Red Crown is weak in these islands, but it still lives, and my crows fly far.” Ysabet hesitated. Her voice was hard, but there was something soft to the bow of her mouth. “I know what it is to lose your family, Navana. The unfairness of it. The agony of grief. This is why I fight. You are among friends here. I simply had to see you for myself before I could be sure.”

  “And my brother?” Navi asked, raising her chin. She would hide her astonishment and her heartbreak. This Red Crown queen would not rattle her. “His companions?” />
  “They are probably resting, like the reasonable people they are. He is no doubt pacing lines into my floor as he awaits your arrival. Not sure we’ll ever be true friends, he and I. Don’t think he’ll want to forgive me for frightening you as I’ve done. Ah, well.” She flashed a little grin at Navi. “You and I can be friends instead.”

  Navi was not sure how to respond, so she chose not to. They sat in silence as their small fleet of boats approached the island that was no longer so distant. As the waves brought them closer, she noticed how comfortably Ysabet sat in the prow, patiently watching the island near.

  Then there was a rumble deep in the water. Even the air seemed to tremble. Navi noticed one of the island’s black peaks spewing steam.

  Ysabet caught her staring. Her lips quirked. “Not to worry, princess. Raratari is not set to erupt for another three months. I have two Saterketa scholars in my employ, and they have never been wrong in their readings of the earth.”

  “Hopefully this will not be their first mistake,” Navi said, irritated that her alarm was so obvious.

  Ysabet laughed, then stood in the prow and called out commands to the other boats. They passed through a wide mouth of rock and into a black cove, and Navi’s jaw dropped, for the cliffs ahead of them began to open—two massive doors tugged apart by some hidden mechanism Navi’s mind burned to inspect. The doors moved slowly but quietly for their size. Ingeniously crafted to resemble rock, disguised by grime and vegetation, they opened to reveal an inner hidden cove. And in the water sat an enormous dark ship, half-built. Cannons glinted on its lower decks.

  Navi joined Ysabet at the prow, gazing in wonder as they glided past. It was gigantic, easily matching the size of an imperial warship.

  “It’s beautiful,” she whispered.

  Ysabet glanced over. “My mother designed it. The last plans she drew before her death, and one of her only possessions my uncle managed to save. I’ve enhanced her ideas myself. Uncle says I’ve the same gifts my mother had. An eye for design. A mind for building.”