Lightbringer

by Claire Legrand

  “And how am I to know you aren’t an angel?” Remy translated.

  Eliana took the dagger from her hip and nicked a thin cut across her forearm. She held it out for him to see. Seconds passed. The wound did not close, a line of ruby marking her skin. She spared a thought for the indestructible Eliana of old. How reckless she had been, jumping off roofs without thinking and taking blows as though they were gifts.

  “And yet you do not speak Celdarian,” said Odo, “and not even the common tongue I know. Yours is a variant of some kind. I recognize only certain words. How very odd.”

  “Not odd,” Eliana replied. “I was taught to speak one thousand years from now. Things have changed.”

  Odo lifted an eyebrow. “Clearly.” He glanced at Remy. “And are you also a child of Saint Katell, you who speak for the princess?”

  Eliana waited for Remy’s translation, then took his hand before he could answer. “No. He is not. But his name is Remy, and he is my brother.”

  Remy’s hand squeezed hers.

  Odo nodded, looking hard at both of them. Then he turned and beckoned for them to follow.

  “You’re lucky, Your Highness,” he said as they hurried across the courtyard. His companions brought up the rear. “There are many hidden entrances to Baingarde through which one might enter unnoticed, and I know all of them. Though please don’t tell your father that.”

  Her father. Eliana’s heart fluttered in her throat. She hoped the Lightbringer, wherever he was, fought far from the castle and its eerie wings of light.

  They moved swiftly through a series of gardens and courtyards strewn with debris. Elemental magic streaked the night sky with color. Beastly roars rolled across the rooftops, and the ground shook with marching footsteps. Hundreds of people jostled for entrance at the doors of each temple they passed. They sobbed on their knees, prayed over shivering candles, gathered chairs and tables with which to bar the doors.

  Odo knew ways around the crowds, secret ways that took them underground. One such passage brought them to an empty mansion, silent as a tomb. Silken curtains fluttered at the open windows, and the light from Rielle’s wings poured golden across the tiled floor. Eliana shivered. They were so close to Baingarde that her tongue felt fuzzy with power.

  Odo’s companions stood guard at the entrance while Odo himself led Eliana and Remy first into the basement, and then into another room below that, dark and damp. Odo went to a table in the corner, found a scrap of paper and a pen.

  “I cannot go with you,” he muttered, sketching out a map. “There are many still trapped in this city, and what you must do is beyond any help I can give you.”

  He gave her the map, then glanced at Katell’s sword. So close to the castle, the blade hummed with a light Eliana could not contain.

  “You say you seek your mother,” Odo said. “When you find her, what will you do?”

  Eliana looked steadily at him, feigning a calm she did not feel. “I think you know the answer to that question, Odo Laroche.”

  After Remy translated, a faint, sad smile touched Odo’s face, and Eliana wondered how he knew Rielle, what he thought of her, if they had been friends before everything went so horribly wrong.

  “Yes,” he said quietly, “I know the answer.”

  Then he unlocked a plain wooden door and a second one beyond it. He knelt at a hatch set in the stone floor. Somewhere above, a detonation. The house’s foundations shook, and dust rained down from the ceiling.

  Odo stood. Katell’s sword lit his stern, sad face. “Hurry, Your Highness. The city has fallen. Soon, its people will too.”

  Remy climbed down the hatch, and Eliana followed him. There was a metal ladder, then a slight drop to a flat earthen floor. Her castings illuminated a narrow dark passageway. She heard the locks click shut above them, looked once at Remy. He nodded, his face grim in the shadows, and they ran.

  44

  Audric

  “There are mornings when I wake and think I’ll be able to reach out and feel her there beside me. I convince myself that I won’t have to fight her. That she will see me and want to come home. Then I turn to find my empty bed and remember the truth of what I must do. ‘I don’t know how to both love you and be the person who sends you to war,’ I once told her. If only I had known then what would come for us. If only we had had more time.”

  —Journal of Audric Courverie, king of Celdaria, dated April 30, Year 1000 of the Second Age

  Inside the castle, all was still. Soldiers and servants lay strewn across the floor of the entrance hall, stiff where they had fallen, their faces drained of color and their mouths frozen in screams.

  Audric moved past them in silence, trying not to think of where his mother might be. When he had left her, she had been overseeing the citywide evacuation, ushering people south through the once-secret mountain tunnels.

  But that was hours ago. Any one of the bodies lying dead at their feet could have been hers. Or perhaps she was somewhere in the city, her unseeing eyes turned up to the stars.

  Audric did not look at any human shape he passed, too frightened of seeing an auburn fall of hair.

  “What is this?” Kamayin whispered. She stood near one of the hall’s stone pillars. Rivulets of gold spilled down it, pulsing with light. They were everywhere, in the walls and across the ceiling. Floating down the stairs from the second-floor mezzanine, they drifted like delicate branches suspended in water.

  Kamayin, eyes wide, reached for the nearest one. Her castings sparked brighter as she approached it.

  Miren hurried over, caught her wrist. “It’s Rielle. She’s doing this. Don’t touch it, not any of them.”

  She looked back over her shoulder, and Audric saw on her face the same longing he felt. His power ached inside him—he could scarcely breathe around it—and Illumenor hummed in his hand, as if it truly belonged not to him but to the light streaming golden through the palace.

  Audric.

  He did not answer Rielle’s voice and said nothing to the others. He stepped carefully up the grand staircase, avoiding the slender lines of gold that shifted and hissed, blind snakes seeking heat. Sloane followed behind him, then Kamayin, Miren, Evyline, Fara, Maylis. Seven frightened shadows creeping slowly through a castle seething with light.

  As they ascended, the drifting veins of light grew brighter. Audric’s heart pounded; the fear was thick inside him. Every step forward sent doubt plummeting through his body.

  What would they find at the top? In his mind’s eye, he saw Rielle as she had been on their wedding night. Before the vision from Corien, before that awful scene in the gardens. She had been radiant in his arms as they spun across the dance floor, her gown a glittering cloud and her happiness as unfettered as he’d ever seen it.

  He held that image in his mind as he stood before a set of stained glass doors on the fourth floor of the west wing. Set in the doors shone twin suns in amber and orange glass, crafted in honor of Saint Katell, each rising over a field of green. Framing the doors was a sea of golden veins pushing their way inside. The air vibrated in Audric’s ears and in his teeth, a lightning-charged heartbeat. Beyond the doors was a sweeping terrace that spanned the width of the castle’s fourth floor. It had been a favorite place of his father’s for private gatherings.

  Audric paused, hand hovering over the latch. He didn’t look back at his friends, but he felt them nearby, their castings snapping with eager power, their swords at the ready.

  He drew a breath and opened the doors.

  A blast of heat greeted him, hotter than any he’d felt since childhood, when he had forged Illumenor. He pushed through the scorching air, walked out onto the terrace. Tears filled his eyes. Light was everywhere, the heat of it unbearable. He heard Sloane curse behind him and Kamayin’s sharp gasp.

  Tangles of light streaked across the terrace and spilled over the railing like waterfalls. A
nd at the far side, looking out over the city toward the battlefield, was a luminous figure. Dark hair threaded with gold, crimson gown edged with cords of light. She faced away from them. Her hands clutched the railing, and from her fingers stretched the wings he had seen from the battlefield. They filled the night sky, too tall and close to see in full.

  Beside her stood a man in a long black coat and cloak, a secret smile on his pale face.

  Anger exploded inside Audric, anger as he had never felt before. It burned his fingers; it boiled in his chest like oil popping over a flame.

  Corien’s smile widened.

  “She told me not to kill you,” he said. “I could have, easily. All those heroics, that impressive sword work, the shouting and the chanting. Inspiring, truly. But she wanted you to see her. She wanted to look upon you one last time.”

  Then Corien stepped aside, bowing graciously, and Audric watched, holding his breath, as Rielle turned to face them.

  The moment he saw her eyes, his heart sank.

  Her eyes blazed gold. The power she emitted, hot as waves of fire, lifted her hair from her shoulders in dark coils, and the hem of her red gown floated at her ankles. His gaze dropped to her belly, round with their child, and once again, he thought of their daughter. Two queens will rise. A princess of peace. Dark-eyed, maybe, like him, but with Rielle’s sharp tongue and coy mouth.

  He found Rielle’s eyes once more. Her beauty was shocking, and he had never been more afraid, not of her, but for her. The shadows drawn sharp across her face, the new hollows in her cheeks, the lines around her mouth—what had carved them there? Grief or pain? Her skin rippled, gold waves surging beneath it. It would not have surprised him to see her flesh peel away, revealing whatever great and terrible power lay beneath it. Another undulation of gold, the shift of waves caught in a storm, and every muscle in her face tightened. She swayed a little, reached back to brace herself against the railing.

  “Rielle, what’s happened?” Audric whispered. He took a step toward her.

  The light snaking across the terrace lashed at his ankles. He dodged it, as did Miren and Sloane just behind him, but Fara and Maylis were not fast enough. The light snatched their legs, then flung them over the railing into the night. They did not even have time to scream.

  Kamayin cried out in horror. Evyline howled Rielle’s name.

  Rielle blinked. At her sides, her hands twitched, and when she spoke, her voice multiplied, as if every river of light hugging the castle were replicating her words.

  “What’s happened,” she said, each syllable slightly slurred, “is that I escaped you. I became what you would never allow me to become.”

  “And what is that?” He dared to take another step toward her. “Tell me what you’ve seen. What has the empirium shown you?”

  She tilted her head, watching him. Her eyes flashed. “Everything.”

  “Can you be more specific? Everything is quite a lot to imagine.”

  A sneer. “For you.”

  He continued approaching her, waved the others back.

  “Tell him,” Corien suggested, leaning carelessly against the railing a few paces from where Rielle stood. “I’d like to watch his mind try and fail to comprehend it.”

  “I saw worlds,” Rielle said, her smile brittle. “I held them in my hands and made them spin. I climbed the stars. I dangled my feet over the edge of all things. I unmade an angel and then made five thousand more. And that is only the beginning.”

  Audric kept his eyes on her face, ignoring Corien. “What do worlds look like?”

  She blinked again. The question had surprised her. A pause, and then a flicker of feeling on her face, something beyond that wild, molten hunger.

  “Ours is blue and green,” she said quietly, “with white clouds swirling around it like ribbons. And there are others. One that is bright violet, and one that is yellow with storms, and other small worlds that are hardly more than rocks.”

  “Astonishing.” He slowed his approach. A step, two heartbeats, another step. “And the edge of all things? Can you tell me what it looks like?”

  “Like a waterfall of a million colors,” she said, smiling. Her gaze was elsewhere. “It falls forever and then begins again.”

  “Enough,” Corien snapped. “It’s time to end this.”

  Rielle glanced behind Audric, and some of the gold faded from her eyes. “Where is Ludivine?”

  “She’s gone,” Audric replied. “She left me some weeks ago.”

  Rielle’s brow furrowed. “Why?”

  “Cowardice.” Corien ticked words off on his fingers. “Selfishness. Shame. Take your pick.”

  Rielle stared at Audric. Her eyes shone, not with light but with tears. She drew in a shuddering breath.

  “Lu,” she whispered.

  Encouraged, Audric took another step toward her. “Think of what you could show us all,” he said, “what you could teach us. Things none of us would be capable of understanding alone. You’ve surpassed us, that’s true, and some people are afraid and will continue to be. Some will hate you. That’s true too. But most will love you, even those who sometimes fear you.”

  He paused, then knelt. Behind him, Sloane muttered a warning. He ignored her.

  “I was wrong to turn you away,” he said, looking up at the brilliant glow of Rielle’s face. “I was frightened. Can you understand why?”

  She stared at him. Her mouth was trembling. Corien came toward her, but then the air rippled sharply, shoving him away. Incensed, he glared at her from within brambles of light.

  “Rielle, he’s trying to distract you,” Corien snarled. “I know you can see that. If you force my hand—”

  “Touch my mind, and I’ll kill you,” she said calmly.

  Audric kept his voice just as steady. “Rielle, I asked you a question. Please, will you answer it?”

  She looked down at him, seas of gold in her eyes. They cast their own light. “You were frightened of me.” She spoke slowly, as if deciphering a puzzle. “I understand why.”

  “But I never stopped loving you, never,” he told her quickly. The moment was precarious; he had to tell her everything before the air between them snapped. “Not once during these past months have I stopped loving you. Nothing you do can change that, and I know how much you can do, darling. I’m beginning to understand it, just some of it, and the rest I want to understand. I want to hear all about the worlds you’ve seen; I want to sit with you by the fire and hear you speak of how the stars feel in your hands, and if it’s cold by that waterfall at the edge of all things, and which of the worlds is your favorite. Ours, so pretty and green-blue, or maybe that fierce storming one, its skies angry and yellow.”

  Audric watched her eyes shine, felt his own tears rise to match. “But we can’t do any of that if we don’t first stop this war. Our people are fighting to live when they could do it so easily, if you allow it. Our ancestors couldn’t live together, but we can. The saints tricked the angels, but we won’t. Help me do this. We can make a new world, you and I. Right here where we were born. Our home. We can make it into a place where all of us, even our enemies, can learn to live in peace.”

  He refused to look at Corien, but he could feel the great rise of his anger.

  For a moment, Rielle seemed to consider it. Her face softened.

  Carefully, Audric smiled at her. “Come home to me, Rielle. Please. We’ve missed you.”

  It was the wrong thing to say.

  There was no warning. She lunged for him, tearing light from the air as she moved. He pushed himself to his feet, and when they crashed together, it was with swords. Rielle had made one out of nothing, a searing weapon of pure light and power. She held it in her bare palms, glaring at him over its wide, crackling blade. Audric gripped Illumenor in hands slick with sweat. His muscles burned, and his knees shook.

  “They’ve misse
d me?” Rielle’s voice had fractured once more, hundreds of booming pieces hissing with fury. “Everyone who has feared me? Everyone who told me to pray and pray and pray, to ignore my hunger, to use my power, yes, but only as ordered by church and crown? Kingsbane, they called me. And you never admonished them. In private, you loved me. You put your child in me. You married me. But you let them scream epithets at our gates, curse me and yell for my death. And when the truth was made known, you became just like them, even though you’d swore you never would.”

  She leaned closer. Her mouth was bright with stars. “Kingsbane. Monster. You said it yourself. And now you see you were right in that, at least, and wrong in everything else. You never thought I could become this, never let yourself imagine it. It frightened you. Not my Rielle, you told yourself. She would never. She is good and faithful and pure of heart. And when glimpses of my true self became clear to you, you shrank from me. You touched me with anger. You looked at me as if you didn’t know me. And you never did. You knew a lie.”

  Audric had gathered his power as she spoke and now used it to push up hard against her. Illumenor flared white. Rielle stumbled, caught herself. Her sword went out like a snuffed candle, but when she spun back around, she had made another one. This one snapped with red fire, and when it crashed against Illumenor, the sparks burned Audric’s cheeks and brow. He screamed in pain but held fast to his sword. Shadows moved across Rielle’s face. He could see the startling shape of her skull, how it blazed like lit bronze.

  The others rushed forward to help, and through an exhausted haze, he watched Rielle fling them away—Miren, Sloane, Kamayin, Evyline, each of them pinned flat to the terrace with hissing tendrils of power.

  “Rielle, look at what you’re doing!” His knees gave out. He dropped to the stone floor. “These people are your friends!”

  “Are they? Is anyone?” Rielle’s eyes darted to the others. Her tongue wet her lips. She looked at Sloane. “I killed her brother.” Then at Miren. “And her lover.” Her eyes found Evyline. “Her friends, just now. They’re broken on the ground.” And then Kamayin. “And half her people are lying dead on the battlefield. And everyone in this palace is dead, and so is your father, and mine.”