Kingsbane (Empirium 2)

The village was situated a washed-out stretch of land, where mudslides had clearly ruined what had once been roads and pastures. Only a few toppled buildings remained, the beach’s dunes had been flattened, and the air was wet and howling.

The whole beach was sopping with mud and ruin: shattered dishes, toppled chests or clothing gone black with rot, paintings bleached pale by the sea, ravaged corpses of livestock and birds. Abandoned stone houses high above the beach in the hills stood in utter disrepair.

But Rielle’s attention was soon drawn out to the sea. The capital, safely tucked away in the nearby mountains, stood tall and white against a sky quilted with knots of storm-yellowed clouds. And the sea stretching out before the mountains like a black carpet was angry and roaring. Waves crashed furiously against the rocky shore. White sprays of foam towered high as houses throughout the broad harbor, connected to the city proper by neighborhoods at lower elevations that had been completely demolished. Along the horizon, a wall of black clouds loomed, threatening more wind.

Audric muttered a low curse as he came to stand beside her. Ludivine joined them, her face tight with worry.

“I hope the villagers managed to get to higher ground in time,” Rielle said, her voice nearly swallowed by the wind. The air was choked with salt and silt; tiny granules of sand spat sharply against her skin.

“Some did,” replied an unfamiliar voice. “But not nearly enough.”

Rielle spun around to face it and saw a slender man with elegant bearing approach from the doorway of what Rielle assumed, given its stone columns and the engravings of wolves upon its obsidian doors, was the village’s House of Night. The man was pale-skinned and clean-shaven, half his long blond hair pulled back and tied with a leather cord. He wore a cloak of shaggy white fur across his shoulders and thick silver bands at his wrists. Rielle sensed the weight of them, the taste of the magic left behind in their metal—alpine and sharp, fleeting and changeful. This man was a windsinger.

“Ilmaire,” Audric said, beaming. He strode toward him and knelt. Rielle and Ludivine echoed him, and then Audric rose to his feet and embraced the Borsvall prince fiercely. Ilmaire returned his embrace, but his arms were stiff, his movements stilted. Over Audric’s shoulder, his eyes locked with Rielle’s. They were blue and grave, and they held her gaze for only a moment before glancing at something over her shoulder.

She turned but saw nothing. Only the eerie village, the wind-battered, salt-crusted hills. The gleaming white capital beyond. The black water and the black sky.

A delicate, scratchy feeling began climbing up the walls of her body, like the drag of a fingernail against rough stone.

Lu? She sent an echo of the feeling Ludivine’s way.

I know, Ludivine replied. Something’s not right. Be on your guard.

“Since they began,” Ilmaire was saying, pulling away from Audric, “the storms have hardly let up for an hour. They’re unnatural. Relentless.” His voice was hollow, and when Rielle looked more closely at him, she saw the weariness of his expression, the haunted look in his eyes. “I wouldn’t have asked you to such a dangerous place, Audric, if we hadn’t lost all hope.”

“Luckily for you, the three of us are accustomed to danger.” Audric gestured for Ludivine and Rielle to join him. “This is Lady Ludivine Sauvillier, my mother’s niece. And this…” He caught Rielle’s hand, his face softening. “This is Lady Rielle Dardenne, recently anointed Sun Queen and my dear friend.”

“And your lover,” snapped a new voice—female, thin, and sharp as the relentless wind. “Or did you think we simple barbarians in Borsvall too far removed from the world’s gossip to know about that?”

A young woman emerged from the ruined temple’s shadows to stand beside Ilmaire. Lithe and glowering and nearly as tall as Ilmaire, her every movement snapped with energy. She had the same pale skin, the same elegant jaw and nose, the same fair hair kept in tight braids. Her long fur coat swept the ground, and the leather jerkin beneath it resembled a suit of armor.

This was Lady Ingrid Lysleva, Rielle assumed—Prince Ilmaire’s twin sister. At twenty-one years old, Audric had told them, she was the youngest commander to ever lead the Borsvall army.

Ludivine bowed her head in greeting, her face troubled. Something is preventing me from reading them.

Rielle bristled at the smug hint of a smile Ingrid wore. “You have an interesting way of introducing yourself, whoever you are.”

Audric gently touched Rielle’s arm. “Lady Ingrid? I didn’t know you would be joining us today.”

Ingrid’s smile hardened. “There are many things you don’t know, Your Highness.”

Then Ingrid bellowed furiously in the Borsvallic tongue.

Ludivine screamed “No!” and threw herself in front of Rielle.

A dozen soldiers in leather and furs jumped out of the bushes and down from the sea-worn statues adorning the half-collapsed temple roof, swarming to surround them. Swords and axes flashed.

“Ingrid, stop!” Ilmaire cried out, followed by several harsh Borsvallic commands.

But the soldiers weren’t listening to him, and a horrible realization sank into Rielle’s chest: these soldiers were loyal not to their prince, but to their commander.

Audric drew Illumenor, the blade so brilliant Rielle had to shield her eyes. A fierce wind gusted, sharp with windsinger magic, and knocked Rielle to the ground before she could turn on their attackers. Her head slammed hard against stone. Audric cried out in pain; Illumenor’s light flickered out.

Rielle looked up, her vision wobbly. Another soldier grabbed Ludivine and wrenched her arms behind her back. When Rielle struggled to her feet, palms sparking angrily to life, mountain wind gathering fast around her fingers, Ingrid roared, “Stop right now, or I slit his throat!”

Rielle turned slowly, dread falling fast in her stomach.

Audric was on his knees, Ingrid standing beside him with his own sword at his throat and her hand tangled cruelly in his hair. Rielle met Audric’s eyes; he shook his head as much as he could.

Soldiers pounced on Rielle, seized her arms, and pinned them at her sides.

Ingrid’s smile was lupine. “Don’t think of throwing that power of yours at us, Sun Queen, or I’ll carve your lover to pieces before your eyes.”

“Ingrid, stop this,” Ilmaire said, his voice the only spot of calm in the tense ocean air. “This isn’t you. This isn’t us.”

“This is who they’ve made us become,” Ingrid argued, jerking her head in Rielle’s direction. “Killing our sister. Ordaining some girl no one’s ever heard of Sun Queen without consulting the holy leaders of any other country.”

Fury boiled red in Rielle’s heart. “How dare you. Soldiers from your kingdom attacked Audric months ago, and now you attack him again when he comes to you on an errand of friendship?” She stepped forward, dizzy with anger. “You are not worthy of touching him. Release him at once.” illage was situated a washed-out stretch of land, where mudslides had clearly ruined what had once been roads and pastures. Only a few toppled buildings remained, the beach’s dunes had been flattened, and the air was wet and howling.

The whole beach was sopping with mud and ruin: shattered dishes, toppled chests or clothing gone black with rot, paintings bleached pale by the sea, ravaged corpses of livestock and birds. Abandoned stone houses high above the beach in the hills stood in utter disrepair.

But Rielle’s attention was soon drawn out to the sea. The capital, safely tucked away in the nearby mountains, stood tall and white against a sky quilted with knots of storm-yellowed clouds. And the sea stretching out before the mountains like a black carpet was angry and roaring. Waves crashed furiously against the rocky shore. White sprays of foam towered high as houses throughout the broad harbor, connected to the city proper by neighborhoods at lower elevations that had been completely demolished. Along the horizon, a wall of black clouds loomed, threatening more wind.

Audric muttered a low curse as he came to stand beside her. Ludivine joined them, her face tight with worry.

“I hope the villagers managed to get to higher ground in time,” Rielle said, her voice nearly swallowed by the wind. The air was choked with salt and silt; tiny granules of sand spat sharply against her skin.

“Some did,” replied an unfamiliar voice. “But not nearly enough.”

Rielle spun around to face it and saw a slender man with elegant bearing approach from the doorway of what Rielle assumed, given its stone columns and the engravings of wolves upon its obsidian doors, was the village’s House of Night. The man was pale-skinned and clean-shaven, half his long blond hair pulled back and tied with a leather cord. He wore a cloak of shaggy white fur across his shoulders and thick silver bands at his wrists. Rielle sensed the weight of them, the taste of the magic left behind in their metal—alpine and sharp, fleeting and changeful. This man was a windsinger.

“Ilmaire,” Audric said, beaming. He strode toward him and knelt. Rielle and Ludivine echoed him, and then Audric rose to his feet and embraced the Borsvall prince fiercely. Ilmaire returned his embrace, but his arms were stiff, his movements stilted. Over Audric’s shoulder, his eyes locked with Rielle’s. They were blue and grave, and they held her gaze for only a moment before glancing at something over her shoulder.

She turned but saw nothing. Only the eerie village, the wind-battered, salt-crusted hills. The gleaming white capital beyond. The black water and the black sky.

A delicate, scratchy feeling began climbing up the walls of her body, like the drag of a fingernail against rough stone.

Lu? She sent an echo of the feeling Ludivine’s way.

I know, Ludivine replied. Something’s not right. Be on your guard.

“Since they began,” Ilmaire was saying, pulling away from Audric, “the storms have hardly let up for an hour. They’re unnatural. Relentless.” His voice was hollow, and when Rielle looked more closely at him, she saw the weariness of his expression, the haunted look in his eyes. “I wouldn’t have asked you to such a dangerous place, Audric, if we hadn’t lost all hope.”

“Luckily for you, the three of us are accustomed to danger.” Audric gestured for Ludivine and Rielle to join him. “This is Lady Ludivine Sauvillier, my mother’s niece. And this…” He caught Rielle’s hand, his face softening. “This is Lady Rielle Dardenne, recently anointed Sun Queen and my dear friend.”

“And your lover,” snapped a new voice—female, thin, and sharp as the relentless wind. “Or did you think we simple barbarians in Borsvall too far removed from the world’s gossip to know about that?”

A young woman emerged from the ruined temple’s shadows to stand beside Ilmaire. Lithe and glowering and nearly as tall as Ilmaire, her every movement snapped with energy. She had the same pale skin, the same elegant jaw and nose, the same fair hair kept in tight braids. Her long fur coat swept the ground, and the leather jerkin beneath it resembled a suit of armor.

This was Lady Ingrid Lysleva, Rielle assumed—Prince Ilmaire’s twin sister. At twenty-one years old, Audric had told them, she was the youngest commander to ever lead the Borsvall army.

Ludivine bowed her head in greeting, her face troubled. Something is preventing me from reading them.

Rielle bristled at the smug hint of a smile Ingrid wore. “You have an interesting way of introducing yourself, whoever you are.”

Audric gently touched Rielle’s arm. “Lady Ingrid? I didn’t know you would be joining us today.”

Ingrid’s smile hardened. “There are many things you don’t know, Your Highness.”

Then Ingrid bellowed furiously in the Borsvallic tongue.

Ludivine screamed “No!” and threw herself in front of Rielle.

A dozen soldiers in leather and furs jumped out of the bushes and down from the sea-worn statues adorning the half-collapsed temple roof, swarming to surround them. Swords and axes flashed.

“Ingrid, stop!” Ilmaire cried out, followed by several harsh Borsvallic commands.

But the soldiers weren’t listening to him, and a horrible realization sank into Rielle’s chest: these soldiers were loyal not to their prince, but to their commander.

Audric drew Illumenor, the blade so brilliant Rielle had to shield her eyes. A fierce wind gusted, sharp with windsinger magic, and knocked Rielle to the ground before she could turn on their attackers. Her head slammed hard against stone. Audric cried out in pain; Illumenor’s light flickered out.

Rielle looked up, her vision wobbly. Another soldier grabbed Ludivine and wrenched her arms behind her back. When Rielle struggled to her feet, palms sparking angrily to life, mountain wind gathering fast around her fingers, Ingrid roared, “Stop right now, or I slit his throat!”

Rielle turned slowly, dread falling fast in her stomach.

Audric was on his knees, Ingrid standing beside him with his own sword at his throat and her hand tangled cruelly in his hair. Rielle met Audric’s eyes; he shook his head as much as he could.

Soldiers pounced on Rielle, seized her arms, and pinned them at her sides.

Ingrid’s smile was lupine. “Don’t think of throwing that power of yours at us, Sun Queen, or I’ll carve your lover to pieces before your eyes.”

“Ingrid, stop this,” Ilmaire said, his voice the only spot of calm in the tense ocean air. “This isn’t you. This isn’t us.”

“This is who they’ve made us become,” Ingrid argued, jerking her head in Rielle’s direction. “Killing our sister. Ordaining some girl no one’s ever heard of Sun Queen without consulting the holy leaders of any other country.”

Fury boiled red in Rielle’s heart. “How dare you. Soldiers from your kingdom attacked Audric months ago, and now you attack him again when he comes to you on an errand of friendship?” She stepped forward, dizzy with anger. “You are not worthy of touching him. Release him at once.”