Kingsbane (Empirium 2)

“My lady,” she began quietly as Rielle knocked on Ludivine’s door. “If there’s something I can do to help you, please let me know of it.”

Lu, I’m coming in.

“Please, not now, dear Evyline,” Rielle said tightly and then hurried inside.

Ludivine was sitting up in bed, her hair a golden cloud that fell to her waist. Her nightgown’s loose sleeves exposed the terrible blue map of her blightblade scar—blue, and growing. Slow but inexorable, it reached for her neck, climbed down the bend of her side.

“What’s wrong?” She started to rise, her worry buffeting Rielle’s mind like ocean waves.

“Stay there,” Rielle snapped. “Please. And don’t you know? Haven’t you looked?”

“I’ve been granting you space during your evening prayers, as you requested.”

“He keeps talking to me,” Rielle said, pacing. “He’s trying to tell me something, I can feel it, but I don’t know what it is. He kissed my hand tonight, and I wanted him to kiss me more than that. He’s been visiting me during my prayers. Maybe he knows you’re leaving me alone during that time. Maybe he doesn’t like that I pray and wants to distract me.”

She stopped, fists clenching and unclenching. “I went to Audric, but he was asleep. I couldn’t bring myself to wake him. What would I tell him? That Corien was touching me? That my body is afire for him? ‘Make love to me, Audric, and try not to think about the fact that the hand touching you bears the stamp of Corien’s mouth.’”

Ludivine said softly, “Rielle, please come here. You’re shaking.”

Rielle obeyed at once. She crawled onto Ludivine’s bed and then onto her lap, her vision a frantic field of tears. She cupped Ludivine’s face in her hands, drinking in the sight of her grave, pale face.

“When I was younger, I loved you for a time,” she whispered, her thumbs stroking Ludivine’s cheeks. “I loved you as more than a friend, more than a sister. The feeling came and went, as these things do, I suppose. And when it came, I thought of you often. I still think of you, sometimes.” She leaned against Ludivine, dragged her hands down her body. “Please, Lu, I feel like I’m going mad. My head is spinning. I can hardly breathe.”

“Rielle, listen to me,” Ludivine said, her compassion blossoming gently in Rielle’s mind.

But Rielle didn’t want to listen. She wanted someone to drive this wildness out of her; she wanted to erase Corien’s touch from her skin. She slammed the feeling of her own desperation back at Ludivine, uncaring and grasping, and then bent low to kiss her.

For a moment, Ludivine allowed it. Her body softened, melting into the frantic hook of Rielle’s arms. Through the feeling of Ludivine’s worry came a soft pulse of curiosity, of delight.

Then, just as quickly, she pulled away, her cheeks flushed. “Rielle, listen to me.”

Rielle let out a sharp sob, reaching for her. “Please, don’t stop. I’ll go mad if you do.”

“Rielle.” Ludivine’s voice was stern. She caught Rielle’s wrists and held them to her heart. “I love you, my darling, but this will not help you. It might, for a time, and then you would feel just as frightened, just as frayed. And,” she added gently, “you would have to tell Audric, and that conversation would be uncomfortable, I think.”

“Audric wouldn’t mind,” Rielle argued. “In fact, he and I have spoken of asking you—”

“I know,” Ludivine said with a small smile. “And we can discuss that, all of us, and it would delight me to love you both in that way. But this is not the moment for that, and you know it.”

For a moment, Rielle remained perched stubbornly in Ludivine’s lap. Then exhaustion came for her. She moved away, hugging one of the pillows to her chest, and turned her back on Ludivine. Curled into a tight, tense bow, Ludivine’s fingers gently unwinding the knots in her hair, Rielle glared at the fire across the room until, at last, her body began to relax.

“I think,” she mumbled, as sleep crept closer, “that we should begin in Kirvaya. We’ll retrieve Marzana’s casting.”

“Oh?” Ludivine said, still stroking Rielle’s hair. “Why Kirvaya first?”

Too tired for words, Rielle pushed images of Corien’s recent visions toward Ludivine’s mind—the high, foreign mountains. The snowy passage, the ice crusting the water of the Baths. The warm clearing, green and impossible in the heart of a blizzard, like the very same clearing in which, long ago, Saint Marzana had found her godsbeast—a great bird with feathers as brilliant as fire.

17

Eliana

“My darling Nerida, it has been far too long since I have seen your face. Please, come to Astavar before the moon turns. I have a gift for you, and if you like it well enough, perhaps it will convince you to stay forever at my side. My nightmares of the Deep continue. Only when I’m with you do they spare me. Savrasara, Nerida. Come home to me.”

—A letter from Saint Tameryn the Cunning to Saint Nerida the Radiant, archived in the First Great Library of Quelbani

Eliana burst up through the water in Tameryn’s cavern. Her lungs were on fire, but that was nothing compared to the heat of her palms.

She swam and crawled for shore, coughing, and collapsed onto the flat expanse of black pebbles. Her heart pounded between her shaking fingers.

Harkan tried to help her up, out of the water, but recoiled with a hiss. “Your hands are burning. El, God, your castings…”

Woozy, Eliana looked down. Her castings had burned their shapes into the flesh of her steaming hands.

“Do you have the antidote?” she asked, her words fat and faint.

He patted the bag at his hip, his smile tired. “We did it. You did it, El. And Zahra?”

She pulled the tiny copper-rimmed box from her coat pocket, handling it gingerly, as if it would break with too much pressure. For all she knew, it might—and then what? Would Zahra be free? Or would breaking the strange box somehow hurt her?

Eliana sat back heavily on the shore, digging at the box’s smooth copper edges with shaking fingers. But there was no catch she could see, no lid to pry open. The box was insubstantial in her fingers, a container constructed of metal light as leaves. She pressed the heel of her boot into it, hesitated, then slammed it against the rocks underfoot.

“Goddammit,” she gasped, her efforts sending blazing jolts of pain from her wounded hands up her arms and into the joints of her shoulders. “What is this thing?”

“El.” Harkan knelt before her, stilling her hands. “Remember, we did this for Navi. She’ll live now.” o;My lady,” she began quietly as Rielle knocked on Ludivine’s door. “If there’s something I can do to help you, please let me know of it.”

Lu, I’m coming in.

“Please, not now, dear Evyline,” Rielle said tightly and then hurried inside.

Ludivine was sitting up in bed, her hair a golden cloud that fell to her waist. Her nightgown’s loose sleeves exposed the terrible blue map of her blightblade scar—blue, and growing. Slow but inexorable, it reached for her neck, climbed down the bend of her side.

“What’s wrong?” She started to rise, her worry buffeting Rielle’s mind like ocean waves.

“Stay there,” Rielle snapped. “Please. And don’t you know? Haven’t you looked?”

“I’ve been granting you space during your evening prayers, as you requested.”

“He keeps talking to me,” Rielle said, pacing. “He’s trying to tell me something, I can feel it, but I don’t know what it is. He kissed my hand tonight, and I wanted him to kiss me more than that. He’s been visiting me during my prayers. Maybe he knows you’re leaving me alone during that time. Maybe he doesn’t like that I pray and wants to distract me.”

She stopped, fists clenching and unclenching. “I went to Audric, but he was asleep. I couldn’t bring myself to wake him. What would I tell him? That Corien was touching me? That my body is afire for him? ‘Make love to me, Audric, and try not to think about the fact that the hand touching you bears the stamp of Corien’s mouth.’”

Ludivine said softly, “Rielle, please come here. You’re shaking.”

Rielle obeyed at once. She crawled onto Ludivine’s bed and then onto her lap, her vision a frantic field of tears. She cupped Ludivine’s face in her hands, drinking in the sight of her grave, pale face.

“When I was younger, I loved you for a time,” she whispered, her thumbs stroking Ludivine’s cheeks. “I loved you as more than a friend, more than a sister. The feeling came and went, as these things do, I suppose. And when it came, I thought of you often. I still think of you, sometimes.” She leaned against Ludivine, dragged her hands down her body. “Please, Lu, I feel like I’m going mad. My head is spinning. I can hardly breathe.”

“Rielle, listen to me,” Ludivine said, her compassion blossoming gently in Rielle’s mind.

But Rielle didn’t want to listen. She wanted someone to drive this wildness out of her; she wanted to erase Corien’s touch from her skin. She slammed the feeling of her own desperation back at Ludivine, uncaring and grasping, and then bent low to kiss her.

For a moment, Ludivine allowed it. Her body softened, melting into the frantic hook of Rielle’s arms. Through the feeling of Ludivine’s worry came a soft pulse of curiosity, of delight.

Then, just as quickly, she pulled away, her cheeks flushed. “Rielle, listen to me.”

Rielle let out a sharp sob, reaching for her. “Please, don’t stop. I’ll go mad if you do.”

“Rielle.” Ludivine’s voice was stern. She caught Rielle’s wrists and held them to her heart. “I love you, my darling, but this will not help you. It might, for a time, and then you would feel just as frightened, just as frayed. And,” she added gently, “you would have to tell Audric, and that conversation would be uncomfortable, I think.”

“Audric wouldn’t mind,” Rielle argued. “In fact, he and I have spoken of asking you—”

“I know,” Ludivine said with a small smile. “And we can discuss that, all of us, and it would delight me to love you both in that way. But this is not the moment for that, and you know it.”

For a moment, Rielle remained perched stubbornly in Ludivine’s lap. Then exhaustion came for her. She moved away, hugging one of the pillows to her chest, and turned her back on Ludivine. Curled into a tight, tense bow, Ludivine’s fingers gently unwinding the knots in her hair, Rielle glared at the fire across the room until, at last, her body began to relax.

“I think,” she mumbled, as sleep crept closer, “that we should begin in Kirvaya. We’ll retrieve Marzana’s casting.”

“Oh?” Ludivine said, still stroking Rielle’s hair. “Why Kirvaya first?”

Too tired for words, Rielle pushed images of Corien’s recent visions toward Ludivine’s mind—the high, foreign mountains. The snowy passage, the ice crusting the water of the Baths. The warm clearing, green and impossible in the heart of a blizzard, like the very same clearing in which, long ago, Saint Marzana had found her godsbeast—a great bird with feathers as brilliant as fire.

17

Eliana

“My darling Nerida, it has been far too long since I have seen your face. Please, come to Astavar before the moon turns. I have a gift for you, and if you like it well enough, perhaps it will convince you to stay forever at my side. My nightmares of the Deep continue. Only when I’m with you do they spare me. Savrasara, Nerida. Come home to me.”

—A letter from Saint Tameryn the Cunning to Saint Nerida the Radiant, archived in the First Great Library of Quelbani

Eliana burst up through the water in Tameryn’s cavern. Her lungs were on fire, but that was nothing compared to the heat of her palms.

She swam and crawled for shore, coughing, and collapsed onto the flat expanse of black pebbles. Her heart pounded between her shaking fingers.

Harkan tried to help her up, out of the water, but recoiled with a hiss. “Your hands are burning. El, God, your castings…”

Woozy, Eliana looked down. Her castings had burned their shapes into the flesh of her steaming hands.

“Do you have the antidote?” she asked, her words fat and faint.

He patted the bag at his hip, his smile tired. “We did it. You did it, El. And Zahra?”

She pulled the tiny copper-rimmed box from her coat pocket, handling it gingerly, as if it would break with too much pressure. For all she knew, it might—and then what? Would Zahra be free? Or would breaking the strange box somehow hurt her?

Eliana sat back heavily on the shore, digging at the box’s smooth copper edges with shaking fingers. But there was no catch she could see, no lid to pry open. The box was insubstantial in her fingers, a container constructed of metal light as leaves. She pressed the heel of her boot into it, hesitated, then slammed it against the rocks underfoot.

“Goddammit,” she gasped, her efforts sending blazing jolts of pain from her wounded hands up her arms and into the joints of her shoulders. “What is this thing?”

“El.” Harkan knelt before her, stilling her hands. “Remember, we did this for Navi. She’ll live now.”