Kingsbane (Empirium 2)

If she couldn’t find out what Corien was planning on her own, she would need a soldier to help her.

Luckily, in the palace just down the mountain, lived someone perfectly suited for the task.

• • •

Hours later, in the deep of night, Ludivine entered the luxurious royal apartments of the girl queen Obritsa Nevemskaya.

She watched the child lying in her bed—sleepless, frowning, her posture impeccable and poised even as she lay in her bed.

Ignorant to the angel who had just entered her room.

Ludivine settled in a chair, not yet ready to reveal herself, and brushed against the girl’s troubled mind. She had already seen the important things: Obritsa was hardly the silly, coquettish girl she had appeared to be upon their arrival. She was an operative for the human revolution stirring throughout Kirvaya, fighting to unseat the tyrannical elementals who had for so long ruled the country and kept humans enslaved. She had been raised by the leader of said revolution, could make a quick, clean kill with any number of objects. She had been chosen as the queen by the Magisterial Council, who had in turn been convinced to appoint her by one of their own—Akim Yeravet, Grand Magister of the House of Light, himself an ally of the revolution, if only because he saw their victory as inevitable.

All of that would have been an interesting enough story—a human girl, child of radicals, perfectly positioned to facilitate an uprising.

But then there was the delicious little detail that Obritsa was not, in fact, human.

She was a marque.

Ludivine watched as Obritsa rose from her bed and curled up on a chair of scarlet brocade by the fire. She glared at the flames, her thin little mouth pursed with anger. Ludivine caught a glimpse of the terrible red dreams the girl had suffered for the past few nights since she had begun wandering the city, determined to solve the mystery of the capital’s missing children for herself. Such violent dreams—red with anger, red with blood. Dreams Obritsa did not understand.

But Ludivine did.

With a delicate shift of thought, she made herself known.

Obritsa straightened, eyes widening. She reached for her ankle, seeking the knife she usually kept in her boot. But she had forgotten her feet were bare, and when she realized this, anger swept through her, so clear and precise that Ludivine could taste it on her tongue. Anger had a particular flavor to it—meaty, acrid, slightly charred.

Then, at last, Obritsa caught sight of her.

“Lady Ludivine?” The girl blinked, blinked again, and then shrank back in her chair, summoning forth a nervous, shy smile. She clutched her dressing gown closed at her throat.

Amused, Ludivine watched her transform.

“Sweet saints,” Obritsa murmured, laughing a little, “you’re not supposed to be here. I’m hardly dressed, and it’s the middle of the night! However did you get past my guards? This is decidedly odd. Wait a moment.” She hesitated, exchanging her smile for an anxious frown. “Has something happened to Lady Rielle or Prince Audric? Are you ill? Oh, please tell me, Lady Ludivine. I really cannot bear your silence.”

“You’re a wonderful liar,” Ludivine observed. “You’ve convinced Rielle and Audric—particularly Audric, because he trusts easily—but you never had me convinced, not for a second.”

Ludivine felt Obritsa’s quick mind scrambling. The girl fashioned a light trill of laughter. “You’re acting rather strangely, Lady Ludivine. I don’t know what to make of what you’re saying.”

“I know you’re a marque. If you don’t cooperate with me, I’ll tell everyone what you really are, and I won’t lift a finger to help you when they come for your head.”

Obritsa froze, calculations turning in her eyes.

Then her expression hardened. Ludivine smiled. This shrewd, sharp-eyed little wolf was the real Obritsa Nevemskaya.

“How did you find out?” she asked, her voice flat and deadly.

“My family’s spies are better than yours,” Ludivine replied, “and yours are sloppy.”

At the mention of House Sauvillier, Obritsa set her jaw.

“What do you want, then?”

Ludivine’s mind stumbled, and without warning, her thoughts, still agitated from Corien’s abuse, grew black with despair.

What did she want?

What she wanted was to feel something again, to fit inside a body again, to look at Rielle and Audric and not feel those terrible flutterings of fear in their minds—fear of her kind, and of her in particular, no matter how much they claimed to love her, and did love her.

The truth was that she wasn’t like them, that she had lied to them, that she was an intruder living in the corpse of their beloved childhood friend. That was a reality that could not be undone, but if she could be remade, if she was reborn—not as an angel, but as a creature like them, as human—then perhaps their fear would diminish over time.

And she herself would taste again, and see again, and feel again—not simply the gray imitation of sense and color that currently defined her existence.

Existence. She swallowed against a bitter turn of breath. A kind word for what she endured every day. She fought the urge to touch her scar.

“This city is rotten with dark workings,” she said to Obritsa, fighting to regain control of her unsettled mind. “The missing children, the murders. I’ve tried to investigate what it means and have reached many dead ends. All I’ve managed to uncover is that three members of your Magisterial Council are involved in the abductions, and that the children are being taken to somewhere in the Villmark, in the region known as Shirshaya.”

Obritsa raised a cool eyebrow. “Oh, yes? And which magisters are these?”

“Magisters Yeravet, Kravnak, and Vorlukh.”

Obritsa shook her head, her mind struggling to make sense of these revelations. She rose from her chair, arms crossed, and made her way slowly toward her desk, which sat against the southern wall of windows.

“These are incredible accusations,” she said. “Why should I believe any of them?”

“Because they are true,” Ludivine replied. “And because I know many things I shouldn’t. I know you are a tool of the revolution, raised by Sasha Rhyzov in the lower districts of the city of Yarozma. I know they cut the wings out of your back and regrew your skin. I know they want you to abduct Rielle and use her as a weapon of your revolution, which I find hysterical, since Rielle could flatten this city with a flick of her wrist, if she wanted to.”

Obritsa listened, her back to Ludivine, and pressed a tiny brass button on the underside of her desk.

Ludivine nearly rolled her eyes. If she had been a human, perhaps she wouldn’t have noticed the movement, and Obritsa would have gotten away with the deception. But Ludivine could feel the girl’s mind working ten steps ahead, planning her attack. The button had triggered a channel of active earthshaker magic, and soon Obritsa’s devoted guard, Artem, a disguised revolutionary himself, would burst into the room, ready to kill whoever had threatened his charge. e couldn’t find out what Corien was planning on her own, she would need a soldier to help her.

Luckily, in the palace just down the mountain, lived someone perfectly suited for the task.

• • •

Hours later, in the deep of night, Ludivine entered the luxurious royal apartments of the girl queen Obritsa Nevemskaya.

She watched the child lying in her bed—sleepless, frowning, her posture impeccable and poised even as she lay in her bed.

Ignorant to the angel who had just entered her room.

Ludivine settled in a chair, not yet ready to reveal herself, and brushed against the girl’s troubled mind. She had already seen the important things: Obritsa was hardly the silly, coquettish girl she had appeared to be upon their arrival. She was an operative for the human revolution stirring throughout Kirvaya, fighting to unseat the tyrannical elementals who had for so long ruled the country and kept humans enslaved. She had been raised by the leader of said revolution, could make a quick, clean kill with any number of objects. She had been chosen as the queen by the Magisterial Council, who had in turn been convinced to appoint her by one of their own—Akim Yeravet, Grand Magister of the House of Light, himself an ally of the revolution, if only because he saw their victory as inevitable.

All of that would have been an interesting enough story—a human girl, child of radicals, perfectly positioned to facilitate an uprising.

But then there was the delicious little detail that Obritsa was not, in fact, human.

She was a marque.

Ludivine watched as Obritsa rose from her bed and curled up on a chair of scarlet brocade by the fire. She glared at the flames, her thin little mouth pursed with anger. Ludivine caught a glimpse of the terrible red dreams the girl had suffered for the past few nights since she had begun wandering the city, determined to solve the mystery of the capital’s missing children for herself. Such violent dreams—red with anger, red with blood. Dreams Obritsa did not understand.

But Ludivine did.

With a delicate shift of thought, she made herself known.

Obritsa straightened, eyes widening. She reached for her ankle, seeking the knife she usually kept in her boot. But she had forgotten her feet were bare, and when she realized this, anger swept through her, so clear and precise that Ludivine could taste it on her tongue. Anger had a particular flavor to it—meaty, acrid, slightly charred.

Then, at last, Obritsa caught sight of her.

“Lady Ludivine?” The girl blinked, blinked again, and then shrank back in her chair, summoning forth a nervous, shy smile. She clutched her dressing gown closed at her throat.

Amused, Ludivine watched her transform.

“Sweet saints,” Obritsa murmured, laughing a little, “you’re not supposed to be here. I’m hardly dressed, and it’s the middle of the night! However did you get past my guards? This is decidedly odd. Wait a moment.” She hesitated, exchanging her smile for an anxious frown. “Has something happened to Lady Rielle or Prince Audric? Are you ill? Oh, please tell me, Lady Ludivine. I really cannot bear your silence.”

“You’re a wonderful liar,” Ludivine observed. “You’ve convinced Rielle and Audric—particularly Audric, because he trusts easily—but you never had me convinced, not for a second.”

Ludivine felt Obritsa’s quick mind scrambling. The girl fashioned a light trill of laughter. “You’re acting rather strangely, Lady Ludivine. I don’t know what to make of what you’re saying.”

“I know you’re a marque. If you don’t cooperate with me, I’ll tell everyone what you really are, and I won’t lift a finger to help you when they come for your head.”

Obritsa froze, calculations turning in her eyes.

Then her expression hardened. Ludivine smiled. This shrewd, sharp-eyed little wolf was the real Obritsa Nevemskaya.

“How did you find out?” she asked, her voice flat and deadly.

“My family’s spies are better than yours,” Ludivine replied, “and yours are sloppy.”

At the mention of House Sauvillier, Obritsa set her jaw.

“What do you want, then?”

Ludivine’s mind stumbled, and without warning, her thoughts, still agitated from Corien’s abuse, grew black with despair.

What did she want?

What she wanted was to feel something again, to fit inside a body again, to look at Rielle and Audric and not feel those terrible flutterings of fear in their minds—fear of her kind, and of her in particular, no matter how much they claimed to love her, and did love her.

The truth was that she wasn’t like them, that she had lied to them, that she was an intruder living in the corpse of their beloved childhood friend. That was a reality that could not be undone, but if she could be remade, if she was reborn—not as an angel, but as a creature like them, as human—then perhaps their fear would diminish over time.

And she herself would taste again, and see again, and feel again—not simply the gray imitation of sense and color that currently defined her existence.

Existence. She swallowed against a bitter turn of breath. A kind word for what she endured every day. She fought the urge to touch her scar.

“This city is rotten with dark workings,” she said to Obritsa, fighting to regain control of her unsettled mind. “The missing children, the murders. I’ve tried to investigate what it means and have reached many dead ends. All I’ve managed to uncover is that three members of your Magisterial Council are involved in the abductions, and that the children are being taken to somewhere in the Villmark, in the region known as Shirshaya.”

Obritsa raised a cool eyebrow. “Oh, yes? And which magisters are these?”

“Magisters Yeravet, Kravnak, and Vorlukh.”

Obritsa shook her head, her mind struggling to make sense of these revelations. She rose from her chair, arms crossed, and made her way slowly toward her desk, which sat against the southern wall of windows.

“These are incredible accusations,” she said. “Why should I believe any of them?”

“Because they are true,” Ludivine replied. “And because I know many things I shouldn’t. I know you are a tool of the revolution, raised by Sasha Rhyzov in the lower districts of the city of Yarozma. I know they cut the wings out of your back and regrew your skin. I know they want you to abduct Rielle and use her as a weapon of your revolution, which I find hysterical, since Rielle could flatten this city with a flick of her wrist, if she wanted to.”

Obritsa listened, her back to Ludivine, and pressed a tiny brass button on the underside of her desk.

Ludivine nearly rolled her eyes. If she had been a human, perhaps she wouldn’t have noticed the movement, and Obritsa would have gotten away with the deception. But Ludivine could feel the girl’s mind working ten steps ahead, planning her attack. The button had triggered a channel of active earthshaker magic, and soon Obritsa’s devoted guard, Artem, a disguised revolutionary himself, would burst into the room, ready to kill whoever had threatened his charge.