Then he said softly against her hair, “My darling, you may not understand all of this just now, but I’ll tell you anyway, because that’s what we do, isn’t it? We talk to each other. We tell the truth.”
“Yes, Papa,” she said, staring up at him. She had heard her father sound sad and serious many times, especially when they visited her mother’s tomb, but this was different. This voice held secrets.
“Simon, I think, grieves the loss of his power. You remember what I told you about what your mother did when she died?”
Eliana had seen paintings of her and had heard her father describe her many times. When she imagined her mother—her green eyes, power painting her hair and arms with gold—Eliana sometimes had to hold her breath, because it felt as if she could turn around and see her mother standing there. As if Eliana’s mind could bring her back from the empirium, wherever it had taken her.
“She helped the empirium go to sleep,” she told her father, her voice falling to a whisper, as it always did when she spoke of her mother. She thought carefully through each word, because her father had taught her how important that was. The magic in their world was gone, he said, but some still remained in the words they spoke, and that power must be respected. She held the necklace her father had given her—a disc of gold on a slender chain, engraved with the image of her mother riding Atheria. Holding it always made her feel a little stronger.
“Someday the empirium will wake up again,” Eliana said to her father, “but right now it’s asleep, and only I…”
She stopped speaking, her cheeks warming as she stared at the floor. When she wasn’t praying at the temples with Miren and Sloane, or reading books about the empirium with her father, Eliana often forgot about the power inside her body. Her power was why she could see Zahra and the other wraiths, while everyone else could not. Her power was why her father sent her to Garver’s shop for lessons, and why her father and Miren and Sloane and Zahra taught her so many things that sometimes she felt like her head had grown three times larger than it should be. They wanted her to learn everything there was to know about this magic that lived in her blood, and to not be afraid of it, and to know many other things too, like healing and music and mathematics, so that her power was not the only thing she loved.
Sometimes, when Eliana remembered that she wasn’t like anyone else in the world, it made her feel lonely, like a bird perched high in a tree, too high for the other birds to reach.
Her father kissed her head. “Only you can still touch the empirium. That’s right, Eliana. And it isn’t a bad thing. You shouldn’t be ashamed of it. Your mother left your power intact for a reason. Maybe she thought something frightening would happen someday. Maybe she loved you so much that she wanted you to keep this piece of her inside you.”
Eliana shivered. What frightening thing might happen someday, and what could she do to stop it?
“This is why Simon sometimes feels sad, I think,” her father said. “Why sometimes he even seems angry with you. You have power still, and he does not. His gift was taken from him, as was mine, as was everyone’s—for good reason, I have to believe it was for a good reason—but they are gone nonetheless. I think seeing you sometimes reminds Simon of what he has lost.”
Hearing this, Eliana’s eyes filled with tears. “Should I not be his friend anymore? I don’t want to make him sad, Papa.”
“No, darling, that’s not what I meant. In fact, I think it would make him saddest of all if you stopped being his friend. There may simply be days when he is not himself, and you will need to be patient with him. Maybe you’ll even feel that you should not talk to him at all at those times, and that’s perfectly all right. You can work together in silence, or read one of Garver’s books and leave Simon alone at his table. Do you think you can do that?”
But today was not one of those days. It was a day of light and cheer in Garver’s shop, and Eliana stared and stared at Simon as he laughed—laughed because of a thing that she had done! Her chest hurt a little, watching him. It was a sweet, quiet hurt, and she didn’t mind it. The feeling reminded her of being home in her safe, warm bedroom, watching her father’s face as he told a story about her mother.
The silver bell rang at the door, and Eliana whirled to see that Zahra had come to bring her home—but she was not alone. Her father had come with her, all the way down from the castle! Even though he had told Eliana he would most likely have to sit in boring meetings for the entire afternoon, there he was with his broad smile and his dark eyes like hers, holding out his arms to catch her.
Eliana nearly tumbled off the stool in her haste to run to him. She shrieked his name in greeting as she jumped at his chest, and he caught her and swung her high and kissed her hair. And there was his voice, so dear and warm, asking her if she would like to eat lunch with him at Odo’s today, and maybe sit on Odo’s terrace with the ferns and the flowers, and Odo himself would join them, which meant stories. Strange, wild stories brought to him by all the people who worked for him, the wraiths who spied for him, the merchants who sold to him.
Eliana felt dizzy. An entire afternoon sitting at her father’s feet while Odo spun stories for them!
She kissed his cheek, which was scratchy from his old burns and because he really needed to shave. She wrinkled her nose and told him so, and he laughed, and tall, wonderful Zahra swooped down to touch her forehead—a cold brush of air like the beginning of winter, when the air smelled of snow.
Eliana turned in her father’s arms. “Are we finished, Garver? Can I go?”
Garver’s mouth twitched. “No, child, I forbid you to go with your father, the king. Instead, you must stay here for the rest of the day and sweep the dust from my floors.”
She gaped at him, a feeling of absolute horror crawling up her arms, and then Garver, chuckling, returned to his work.
“Good day to you, my king, and thank you,” he said with a little bow and a wave. “As always, your daughter was very helpful today.”
Eliana blew out a sharp breath. She looked at her father, indignant. “You mean he was joking?” She looked back at Garver, even more indignant. “You were joking?”
They left the shop, Garver’s laughter in their ears and Simon at their heels. He was quiet at her father’s side and held open the garden gate for them.
“You’ll bring her back next week, won’t you?” Simon said hopefully as they started walking up the road. “It’s less boring to cut leaves and things when she’s here.” He paused, his face carefully blank. “You know. Because I have to watch her constantly. Make sure she doesn’t cut off her fingers. Teach her how to use her learning knives.”
Eliana stuck out her tongue at him, but she knew he wasn’t really angry, because he was already smiling, and her father was laughing his big warm beautiful laugh that she so loved. Atheria was flying in great lazy circles through the bright spring sky. Zahra drifted alongside them, telling Eliana about the wildcats she had seen in the mountains that morning, and above them, far up the road, Baingarde stood in the hills and pines, waiting for their return. Their home.
As they walked up the road, Eliana snuggled against her father’s shoulder, watching Simon grow smaller and smaller. He always waited at the garden gate until they reached the top of the road. It was only polite, he said, a show of respect for the king. And the princess, Eliana often reminded him, to which he usually responded with a merry-eyed shrug.
As they neared the road’s end, Eliana held her breath, listening to her heart pound. What if he didn’t wait? What if he returned to the shop before he was supposed to? Her eyes watered as she stared, and she refused to breathe, even though she was starting to feel a little dizzy.
Zahra sent her a fond, slightly exasperated thought: Little one, if you don’t breathe soon, I will force you to.
And then—there. Simon raised his hand at last, as he always did, just as he had promised. Eliana’s heart filled w
ith light to see it, and she giggled against her father’s ear, so happy that she couldn’t answer him when he asked her what was funny. Instead, she smiled and waved back at Simon until they turned the corner and the little shop she so loved, and its garden, and the boy standing patiently at its gate, fell quietly out of sight.
Elements in the Empirium Trilogy
In Celdaria, Rielle’s kingdom, the Church is the official religious body. Citizens worship in seven elemental temples that stand in each Celdarian city. Temples range from simple altars in a single, small room to the elaborate, lavish temples of the capital city, me de la Terre. Similar religious institutions exist in nations around the world of Avitas. In Eliana’s time, most elemental temples have been destroyed by the Undying Empire, and few people still believe in the Old World stories about magic, the saints, and the Gate.
Acknowledgments
Sixteen years ago, I dreamed up a character named Rielle and decided I wanted to tell her story. (Decided, as if she gave me some choice in the matter.)
And now, the final book of the Empirium Trilogy—the story of Rielle and Eliana—is complete. Words can’t describe how lucky I feel to have gotten the chance to share these books with the world. They have been the soul of my creative life. I’m not sure I’ll ever love any story as much as I’ve loved this one, which is a terribly strange and bittersweet feeling.
Over the years, many people have helped me make this trilogy a reality, far more than I can thank here. To all the readers, librarians, educators, and booksellers who have embraced these books and helped them succeed, thank you from the depths of my heart for your support, enthusiasm, and kindness. And to my loved ones, my friends and family—you know how much I adore you, and how grateful I am that you have never stopped believing in me. I’m so glad you’re mine.
For this final book, I want to dedicate these acknowledgments particularly to my publishing team. Without them, without their understanding, commitment, and hard work, this story would still live only in my mind. Their devotion, talent, and skill have made these books a reality, and that is an extraordinary gift I will hold close to my heart forever.
Thank you—a million thank-yous—to my fearless, unflappable agent, Victoria Marini, whose tireless advocacy and compassion have not only helped my books but also helped me as a person. I’m thankful as well for the team at Irene Goodman Literary Agency—especially Lee O’Brien and Maggie Kane—as well as the ever-helpful Penelope Burns at Gelfman Schneider/ICM Partners, and Renee Harleston, for her insight and expertise.
I must express unending gratitude to Annie Berger, editor extraordinaire, who has been such an invaluable creative partner—and who has such unerring confidence in my abilities—that I sometimes sit back and gawk at my own good fortune.
Huge, heartfelt thanks to the indefatigable Sourcebooks team, especially the endlessly patient Beth Oleniczak, as well as Sarah Kasman, Stefani Sloma, Lizzie Lewandoski, Katie Stutz, Mallory Hyde, Valerie Pierce, Margaret Coffee, Sierra Stovall, Ashlyn Keil, Caitlin Lawler, Heather Moore, Michael Leali, Jackie Douglass, Danielle McNaughton, Todd Stocke, Steve Geck, and Dominique Raccah.
I would like to give special thanks to production editor Cassie Gutman, for her sharp eyes and boundless patience; and to Nicole Hower and David Curtis, for the trilogy’s glorious covers. Sourcebooks has been such a wonderful home for Rielle and Eliana, and I am so grateful to everyone who works there for making me and my girls feel like part of the family.
I am particularly grateful to Alison Cherry, exceptional copy editor (and extraordinary friend)—thank you for making this book better and for supporting me, always.
Huge thanks as well to the teams at Penguin Random House Audio and Listening Library—Aaron Blank, Heather Job, Brieana Garcia, Rebecca Waugh, Emily Parliman, and Jessica Kaye—for their work on the trilogy’s audiobooks. And my warmest appreciation goes to Fiona Hardingham for her masterful narrative performance.
The process of bringing a book to life involves so many more people than simply the author alone. When I step back and look at everyone who has helped me tell this story, I feel truly blessed and humbled by the outpouring of love and belief. Thank you.
About the Author
Claire Legrand is the New York Times bestselling author of several books for young readers, including the Edgar Award–nominated Some Kind of Happiness, The Cavendish Home for Boys and Girls, and Sawkill Girls, which has been nominated for both a Bram Stoker Award and a Lambda Literary Award. She lives in central New Jersey.
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