Lightbringer

by Claire Legrand

  “Yes, my queen.”

  “And I need you to ensure that Audric doesn’t wake, not until I’m far enough away from Baingarde that even if he ran full tilt, even if he raced for me on Atheria, he could not stop me.” She gritted her teeth, blinked the bright spots from her eyes. “You understand why I am doing this.”

  Zahra’s face held a grave sadness. “Of course, my queen.”

  “And you can do both of these things at once? I trust no one else, Zahra. I need you and you alone.”

  “I can, and I will.” A ripple of power shifted across Zahra’s face, as if the current of her mind had changed course. Her voice lowered. “The king will not wake until you reach the Flats, my queen.”

  “Good.” Drawing thin breaths, Rielle looked down the dark tunnel of the stairs. Each step seemed a mountain. Needles of light pushed their way into her muscles. When she moved, pain scraped her insides, as if every bone had grown sharp black bristles.

  “I have much to tell you as we walk,” she said, and stumbled toward the stairs before Evyline could catch her. “Listen carefully, for what I do tonight will touch everyone who lives.”

  She had to stop speaking, then, until they had descended the endless stairs and left the castle behind. Evyline took her to a door near the kitchens, and they emerged into the gardens. Rielle glanced only once toward the dark seeing pools, and when she searched the gloom, the empirium showed her a faint memory, etched in gold—herself running fast across the slippery stones, Ludivine following steadily behind, Audric watching nervously from the grass.

  She wept then, even as her blood roared for her to walk faster. She was almost there; she was nearing the end. Soon, she would feel no pain, and there would be no reason to cling to what was left of her fraying body. Her jaw ached so brutally that it was difficult to speak. Some nights, she had thought she would awaken to find she had ground her teeth to dust in her sleep.

  Only once they were in the city did she retrieve her voice.

  “Tonight I will die,” she said, “and when I do, I will send the empirium here in Avitas into something like sleep. It will lie dormant for years. People will be frightened when they wake and find their power has been silenced. I’m sorry for that, but it must be done.”

  “Why?” Evyline whispered, the word thin with horror.

  “To close the Gate,” Zahra said quietly. “And to stop more war before it begins.”

  Evyline stared. “More war? But we have fought a war, and we have won it.”

  “But revolution blazes in Kirvaya between those with elemental magic and those without, and if left unchecked, it will spread.” Zahra’s words came swift and soft. “Marques will hear of the Eliana who traveled to us from the future, and they will experiment with corners of magic they ought not to touch. The princess will be in danger. Many angels still live, and their grief for Kalmaroth is vicious. They will come for you again and again. They will find a way to call others from the Deep, unless the Gate is sealed.”

  Evyline paled. “I see.”

  Rielle forced her eyes open even as the blinding world urged them closed. Each building they passed burned with a thousand white fires. Her every step sent waves of power rippling across the ground.

  “No new angels will be able to possess human bodies,” she managed, struggling to form words—teeth against tongue, tongue against throat. “Those without bodies will remain so, and any survivors I resurrected will find the power of their minds diminished. Elemental castings will go dark. Marques…” She hesitated, thinking of little Simon. How sober and quiet he had been, standing at the ready while his father brought Eliana into the world. “Marques will no longer be able to thread. I will leave only three things untouched: the godsbeasts, the wraiths loyal to the crown, and Eliana.”

  It was painful to say Eliana’s name, as if each syllable were a bludgeon to her ribs. Her heart lurched back toward Baingarde, toward the quiet rooms that held the two surviving pieces of her heart.

  “The princess will retain all her power?” Evyline asked.

  Rielle nodded. “Someday, the empirium will return. Something will happen to awaken it. Another conflict, perhaps a new enemy. I can see glimmers of this, but the empirium has shown me nothing more. The Gate is a doorway to the Deep, and the Deep is a doorway to every world there is. Something will come. And when this happens and the empirium returns, the world will look to Eliana for guidance.”

  Her tears crested savagely. “I wish I did not have to ask this of her. I wish I were not leaving Audric to face a world grieving the loss of its magic. But I know no other way of protecting them in the coming hard years, and soon I will no longer be here to do it myself.”

  “And what of the temples, my queen?” Evyline asked thickly. “What will we worship, if magic is gone?”

  “Nothing will stop you from praying to sun and shadows. And if the old prayers become ill-fitting, you will write new ones.”

  Fresh agony sent her crashing to the ground. Cracks raced across the cobbled road, splintering hundreds of precisely cut stones. She trembled, gasping, and when she looked up, she saw not a road, not a city, but a vast shallow sea. At its horizon, a girl in white.

  Evyline tried to help her rise but could only manage to bring her to her knees. The earth pulled at Rielle’s neck, its tendrils stubborn and hungry. Fighting it was like fighting the hard press of the ocean. If she was to reach the mountains in time, they would need help. Another body to help her stand and walk, someone she could trust.

  Zahra’s voice came to her, distant and faint. “My queen, we are near the house of Garver Randell.”

  “Bring him to me,” she croaked, and every word tasted of lightning. “Tell him to hurry.”

  He came at once, stood quietly for a moment, then knelt at her side. Rielle squinted at him through a white wall of pain. His lined face, his bright sharp eyes.

  “You do seem to insist upon the theatrical,” he observed wryly, and with Evyline’s help, both of them straining, he managed to lift Rielle back to her feet. She felt the gentle press of a worn hand against her forehead.

  “Wherever you go, child,” he said softly, “I hope you find peace there.”

  Peace. She laughed, baffled at the thought. Would she be allowed such a thing, even in death?

  not death

  The empirium scolded her, a bewildered correction. Why would she think anything was as simple as a single human death?

  Then what? she asked, gasping for air.

  It replied with a feeling, the thin bones of a single word: more

  They reached the great wall standing battered and charred around the city. Zahra hid them from the guards as they hurried through the freshly built gate. Once, me de la Terre had not needed such a wall. Once, none of them had thought any of this could happen, no matter the prayers they muttered by their beds.

  And then they were across the lake bridge and in the Flats, stumbling across the ruined ground. Furrows from beastly claws, craters still steaming from elemental magic. The temple acolytes hadn’t yet made the necessary repairs to the battlefield, focusing instead on retrieving bodies, cleaning the city, offering counsel to the bereaved. And now, whenever the people of me de la Terre looked out their windows, they would see the remnants of war. They would think of the Blood Queen and how she stole their magic from them. Some of them would be grateful for it, find comfort in the new quiet of the air. Some would be wild with grief, but without magic to aid their fury, and with the castle guarded by an army of wraiths, Audric and Eliana would be safe, at least for a few years.

  Thunder rolled across the Flats, drawn by the stumbling fall of Rielle’s feet. As they neared the pass, the air crackled gold. Evyline looked up, her expression caught between awe and fear.

  “Zahra, you may allow Audric to wake now,” Rielle choked out, her bare feet slapping through the cold mud. “Go to him. Tell him everythi
ng I have said, once he is ready to hear it.”

  Zahra said nothing, but a cold stream of air kissed the back of Rielle’s neck, and then the wraith was gone.

  “Tell me what you see, Evyline,” Rielle breathed.

  “I see golden light streaming across the sky,” Evyline replied. “Instead of jagged bolts, like lightning, it is petals, vast and pulsing. They meet, they break apart, they meet again.”

  “And I see Audric,” said Rielle, her voice catching on each word. The empirium was a canvas vast and unending, shapes swirling from ground to sky. She read everything written upon it. “He has awoken. He is running through our rooms, looking for me. He’s calling my name over and over. Eliana…” She burst into tears. In her life, she had loved fiercely, but never so perfectly as this. “Eliana is awake and crying. Audric is… He’s calling for the guards. He’s holding Eliana against his chest, shouting my name again. She’s screaming in his ear, and he’s going out onto the terrace. He sees my light. He knows what I’ve done.”

  “Please don’t, child,” said Garver. “Don’t look. It will only hurt you to watch them.”

  Rielle fell to her knees into a soft rise of mud. Above her towered trees golden with the last flush of autumn, and above them, the pine-dark foothills of Mount Taléa.

  “Get back,” she cried out, pushing at Garver’s chest. She grabbed Evyline’s hand, squeezed once, then shoved her away as well. She waited until they had shrunk back into the trees, both of them standing on a ridge piled high with rocks. Below them in the mud, she shook on her hands and knees. Gulping airlessly, swallowing against the storm rising within her. It was time, and yet she knew not where to begin.

  breathe

  let go

  Rielle stared at her hands in the mud. Pale and small, surrounded by shadows.

  we rise

  The girl crouched before her—her child self, bright-eyed and smiling. Barefoot, white gown fluttering at her ankles, skinny wrists and wild dark hair.

  “Come with me now,” the girl said, entirely kind, her voice tender. “There is so much more for us to do.”

  The world glittered with diamonds. Blistering pain knocked at Rielle’s temples, but when she reached for the girl’s hand, some of the terrified knots in her shoulders unwound, and at the edges of her vision, roses of shimmering gold light blossomed by the millions. Light burst from her in a thousand brilliant streams, and in the last moments before it consumed her, she saw too many things to name. But some things she saw, and knew, and held close.

  She saw the shattered city that had been her home, its seven temples alight with candles of mourning, the lake glittering like a smile around its wall.

  In the Sunderlands, the Gate’s light groaned and spun, spiraling into itself, a cyclone of violet and gold, until there was nothing left of the door that had once been. Only two great gray stones, the air between them entirely ordinary and shivering with sea winds.

  In the high, cold mountains of Borsvall, King Ilmaire slept beside his new husband, Leevi of the Kammerat, the dragon-speaker. The capital of Styrdalleen was once more the winged city it had been in the First Age, for dragons large and small perched on every tower, great wings folded, tirelessly watching the night for enemies. At a wall of white stone overlooking the shore stood Ingrid Lysleva, commander of the army and the king’s beloved sister. She looked with narrowed eyes across the Northern Sea toward the distant island of the Gate, where strangely lit clouds turned slowly, like no storm she had ever seen.

  In the burnished city of Genzhar, in a palace of scarlet and gold, the young queen, Obritsa, looked coldly upon the traitorous magisters who had sold her city’s children to Corien in exchange for places of honor in the new angelic world. The executioner lifted his sword, but at the last moment, Obritsa stopped him, sparing the magisters’ lives. She knelt before them as they wept on her hands, and then, smiling a hard smile, told them something Rielle could not hear.

  In the city of Quelbani, the pearl of its country, its shattered streets painted pale by the moon, the princess Kamayin Asdalla read by the light of candles in her mothers’ room. Behind her, they slept in their broad white bed, their faces soft, their hands entwined. Kamayin looked up from her novel, bare feet on the window sill, and absently tapped her toes. She left her book on her lap and turned to the table beside her, added several notes to the paper at her elbow. At the top of the page was a question, circled twice: How do we move forward from here?

  And on a small terrace outside the finest suite of rooms in Baingarde, the king of Celdaria cradled his daughter against his chest, watching the horizon bloom bright with farewell.

  A Beginning and an End

  “My darling daughter, my little one. You may not understand what I have done for a long time. You may be angry with me, you may hate me, you may grow up and be indifferent to me. But whatever you feel, know that I have loved you desperately, and that’s why I had to leave you. You will have a life now, and though the world has changed, it will be safe for a time. You will be frightened, some days. You’re allowed to be frightened. But you are stronger than any flame that burns. Watch over your father. Hold him close to your heart. Cherish your friends. Love yourself and the power I have given to you. Watch the skies and feel the sun on your skin. Swim the rivers and play games in the shadows. In every moment, in every blade of grass, in every path untraveled—there I will be, beside you, and there I will always be. My Eliana. My brave girl. There you are, beginning.”

  —Letter from Rielle Courverie, late queen of Celdaria, to her daughter, Eliana Courverie, princess of Celdaria and heir to the throne of Katell, dated November 11, Year 1000 of the Second Age

  Five Years Later

  Eliana sat on her favorite stool in her favorite corner of her favorite place in all the world—except for her bedroom, and her father’s bedroom, and her grandmother’s sitting room with the godsbeasts painted on the ceiling, and the quiet, cool catacombs, where the pretty statue of her mother marked an empty tomb.

  Besides all of those places, Garver’s shop was her favorite. She liked the way it smelled of plants and tonics, a sour but clean sort of smell that woke up her nose, and she liked the herbs in their neat little glass jars, the tonics and ointments labeled in Garver’s precise letters. She liked the tidy worktables and how Garver had sanded them smooth, how the air grew steamy when they were brewing new mixtures to be bottled and put away.

  There was the cheerful garden of flowers and herbs outside the windows, and now, in early summer, it was bursting with color. Sometimes Atheria’s shadow would pass across the window as she flew about, searching the skies for lunch. There was the bright silver bell hanging at the door, and there was the broom Garver kept in the corner, and the kettle of tea warming over the fire.

  But out of everything in the shop, as wonderful as it all was, Eliana liked Simon best of all.

  She snuck a look at him while he worked. He had a very solemn face for a thirteen-year-old boy, everyone said. Rather severe, Eliana had heard. But she liked his face and its seriousness. His pale brow furrowed when he read lists of ingredients, and his hair was a dark golden color, falling messily over his forehead. He had deft fingers that chopped up roots and herbs so quickly and carefully that a feeling of warmth came over Eliana as she watched him. The feeling told her that she was safe. When she was with him and his sharp little knives, nothing could hurt her.

  “Can I try?” she asked, scooting forward on her stool.

  He glanced at her. “No.”

  “Why?”

  “Because the knives are sharp. Do you want to cut off your fingers?”

  “No.”

  “Well, then.”

  “But someday I can use the good knives?”

  He smiled a little, finished chopping his pile of yarrow leaves, then scooped them into his palm and dropped them into the crushing bowl.

  “Maybe,”
he replied. “For now, you’ll use the bad knives.”

  He raised his eyebrows, looking at the knives next to her. They were kept dull for her use and therefore were not good for cutting, which meant that when she used them, she was slow and stupid-looking, and she hated looking stupid in front of Simon.

  “They’re not bad knives,” Garver said from his own table. “They’re knives for learning.”

  Eliana made a face at the knives, and then Simon laughed under his breath and bumped her with his elbow. This sequence of events cheered her considerably, so much so that she chopped up her own pile of leaves faster than she ever had before, then shot Simon a look of haughty triumph.

  And that made him laugh aloud, his big laugh that he hardly ever used. She beamed at him, watching him smile. It was a rare thing to see him so happy. Often, while they waited for roots to boil or while they hung leaves to dry, Eliana caught Simon looking out the windows with a terrible sadness on his face.

  It happened most often when the winds were high, carrying the scent of pine down from the mountains. Simon was quiet on those days, strange and serious, and not serious in the way she liked. On those days, he hardly talked at all. There were shadows on his face, and his eyes were sharp and angry, or else flat and full of sorrow. When this happened, he hardly looked at her.

  Once, he had even snapped at her. “Is it possible that you could stop talking to me for once in your life, for even a few minutes?” he had shouted, and then his face had crumpled in horror, for she had immediately burst into tears. Garver had sent him upstairs to his room, not even letting him try to apologize, and then had sat quietly with her until Zahra came to bring her home.

  Later, tearful and sniffling on her father’s lap, Eliana had asked him why Simon had done this. Why he grew so sad some days, so cruel and short.

  And her father—her dear, gentle father, who always had the answers to her questions—held her for a long time, cozy on his lap beneath their favorite blanket. She thought maybe he had fallen asleep.