Kingsbane (Empirium 2)

It struck her hard in the gut like the flat of a monstrous hand, burning a narrow stripe across her abdomen.

She fell, the wind knocked out of her. Soundlessly, she gasped for breath in the dirt, and then she felt another surge coming and turned, scrambling to right herself, and thrust out her palms in Rielle’s direction.

Her power snagged on the wind, which sent it gusting at Rielle in two sharp points like arrows. Rielle dodged one of them; the other grazed her left shin, making her legs buckle. She fell, catching herself hard on her hands. She whipped her head around, her glare so furious that Eliana felt pinned to the ground.

She raised her hands, brandishing her castings. “I don’t want to hurt you,” she said, hoping she had found the right words. “I want to talk.”

Rielle advanced on her; her wrists flicked sharply. The ground beneath Eliana rippled, throwing her high in the air. Another fist of magic caught her, flinging her back into the trees. She slammed into the trunk of a pine and slid to the ground. She wavered in and out of blackness, and then looked up, head spinning, vision sparking with stars.

Rielle had thrown her some twenty yards deeper into the forest—and twenty yards farther away from where Simon’s threads waited. All it would take, he had told her, would be a single conversation. A few words, a look passed between them. A moment of connection. A seed of an idea planted in Rielle’s mind—that the angels were the enemy, that joining them would lead everyone to ruin, including herself. That, he had said, might very well be enough to change the future.

But neither of them had expected this, and as Rielle stormed toward her through the trees, the earth cresting like waves on either side of her, trees felling themselves at her approach, Eliana realized all at once, with a terrible, sinking feeling in her gut, how rash they had been. How foolish and utterly naive. So tired of fighting and so eager for an ending that they had flung themselves into a conflict they did not fully understand.

“Wait,” she cried, scrambling backward over a clump of tree roots. “Please, just listen!”

With a quick turn of her hand, Rielle uprooted the tree against which Eliana sat. The tree went flying, crashing back into the forest, and Eliana fell twenty feet into a clump of brush. She slammed hard into the ground; the impact shook her mind free of its panic.

She let out a harsh, angry cry and pushed herself to her feet, and this time, when Rielle’s power came rushing at her, she thrust up her palms, holding them before her like a shield.

Their magic locked, the overwhelming heat of Rielle’s crackling against the shaking wall of her own. White-gold sparks flew from her hands. A terrible noise emanated from their interlocked power, like the grinding of metal against stone.

Eliana squinted past the blinding heat between them and caught a glimpse of Rielle’s eyes—a sharp, clear green, rimmed with exhausted shadows. And at the outer edges of her irises, twin rings of gold glimmered, spinning fast.

“Listen to me,” Eliana cried. “I don’t want to hurt you. I must speak to you.” Sweat dripped down her back. She felt fevered, her vision turning cloudy and red. And the stripe of burned flesh across her stomach pulsed with such a searing pain that she could barely hold herself upright. But she held fast, her legs shaking, and forced herself to meet Rielle’s eyes.

And for a single, still instant, once their gazes had locked, Eliana saw a flicker of emotion pass over Rielle’s face. She lowered her arms slightly; the incredible pressure of her attack lessened.

Eliana smiled a little, though the ribbon of pain across her stomach was expanding, brightening like the rising sun.

“My name is Eliana,” she cried over the roar of their sparking power. “I can help you.”

But then, before she could say more, a foreign presence punched its way into her thoughts. She swayed and fell hard to her knees, and then a familiar voice said to her, Ah, Eliana. This is not our first time to meet, it seems. How curious.

Corien. The Emperor. She pushed herself to her feet, looking around wildly. She lost all sense of Old Celdarian and reverted to Venteran. “Where are you?” she screamed. She flung out her shaking hands, aiming them to her left, then her right. “Get away from me! Get out of my head!”

But it’s such a nice head, Corien said, and contains so many secrets. Oh, well, now, this is certainly very interesting. He hummed a little, as if pondering a delicious meal. This is very interesting indeed. What a life you have led. What interesting company you keep.

She ran stumbling into the forest, dodging the explosions of Rielle’s power. Hot bolts of magic sliced trees in half, sent enormous clumps of earth and rock flying into the air. A stone caught her on the small of her back; two more struck her left calf, the nape of her neck. She swayed, nearly fell. Saint Tameryn’s prayer leapt into her mind. Through the pain flaring up her body, she seized onto the familiar words.

I fear no darkness, I fear no night.

She whirled, scooped up shadows from the trees, and imbued them with all her desperation and fear. They became a flock of dark birds, knife-winged and knife-beaked, and spun wildly back toward Rielle. Eliana saw her knock them out of the sky as easily as pushing aside a cloud of flies.

She tried again. With the dawn I rise.

She wiped sweat out of her eyes, pulled sunlight from the air and flung it over her shoulders. She heard the impact of Rielle’s fists, saw each of her sunlit knots flying off into the trees like shooting stars.

How valiantly you fight, came Corien’s voice, thin with derision. Your father would be proud.

Eliana fell, tore open her hands against the ground, pushed herself up. The sweat stinging her eyes; the pain of her stomach, her skull, her legs; the blinding fear of Corien’s thoughts pressing against her mind like squeezing fists. She could hardly see as she half crawled up a gentle slope, pulling herself up by her scraped-raw fingers.

And then, at the top, a sight that made her cry out with relief—Simon’s threads, some fifty yards away, still circling faintly in the air where she had left them. But were they too faint? Would she step through them and return to a time that was not her own? Would she end up on the other side of the world from him, from Remy, from everyone?

But Rielle was close behind her, striding calmly through the forest, flinging every obstacle she encountered out of her path. And with every passing moment Eliana could feel Corien sinking deeper and deeper into her mind. She hoped the rift in time would shake his hold on her.

She hoped he had not glimpsed the whole of her life.

She took one last look over her shoulder, unable to resist looking once more at Rielle, and then jumped through the threads, crashing hard to the ground on the other side.

“Close it!” she cried.

She forced her eyes to stay open until she felt hands on her shoulders and heard Simon say her name. She breathed in and out, testing the fullness of her mind. Finding that it was her own once more, she let out a sob and reached blindly for an anchor. Simon’s hand caught hers, and then he saw the wound on her stomach and swore, and said her name again, urgently. He turned her face up to his, but the sky was too bright, a spinning white canvas of trees. ruck her hard in the gut like the flat of a monstrous hand, burning a narrow stripe across her abdomen.

She fell, the wind knocked out of her. Soundlessly, she gasped for breath in the dirt, and then she felt another surge coming and turned, scrambling to right herself, and thrust out her palms in Rielle’s direction.

Her power snagged on the wind, which sent it gusting at Rielle in two sharp points like arrows. Rielle dodged one of them; the other grazed her left shin, making her legs buckle. She fell, catching herself hard on her hands. She whipped her head around, her glare so furious that Eliana felt pinned to the ground.

She raised her hands, brandishing her castings. “I don’t want to hurt you,” she said, hoping she had found the right words. “I want to talk.”

Rielle advanced on her; her wrists flicked sharply. The ground beneath Eliana rippled, throwing her high in the air. Another fist of magic caught her, flinging her back into the trees. She slammed into the trunk of a pine and slid to the ground. She wavered in and out of blackness, and then looked up, head spinning, vision sparking with stars.

Rielle had thrown her some twenty yards deeper into the forest—and twenty yards farther away from where Simon’s threads waited. All it would take, he had told her, would be a single conversation. A few words, a look passed between them. A moment of connection. A seed of an idea planted in Rielle’s mind—that the angels were the enemy, that joining them would lead everyone to ruin, including herself. That, he had said, might very well be enough to change the future.

But neither of them had expected this, and as Rielle stormed toward her through the trees, the earth cresting like waves on either side of her, trees felling themselves at her approach, Eliana realized all at once, with a terrible, sinking feeling in her gut, how rash they had been. How foolish and utterly naive. So tired of fighting and so eager for an ending that they had flung themselves into a conflict they did not fully understand.

“Wait,” she cried, scrambling backward over a clump of tree roots. “Please, just listen!”

With a quick turn of her hand, Rielle uprooted the tree against which Eliana sat. The tree went flying, crashing back into the forest, and Eliana fell twenty feet into a clump of brush. She slammed hard into the ground; the impact shook her mind free of its panic.

She let out a harsh, angry cry and pushed herself to her feet, and this time, when Rielle’s power came rushing at her, she thrust up her palms, holding them before her like a shield.

Their magic locked, the overwhelming heat of Rielle’s crackling against the shaking wall of her own. White-gold sparks flew from her hands. A terrible noise emanated from their interlocked power, like the grinding of metal against stone.

Eliana squinted past the blinding heat between them and caught a glimpse of Rielle’s eyes—a sharp, clear green, rimmed with exhausted shadows. And at the outer edges of her irises, twin rings of gold glimmered, spinning fast.

“Listen to me,” Eliana cried. “I don’t want to hurt you. I must speak to you.” Sweat dripped down her back. She felt fevered, her vision turning cloudy and red. And the stripe of burned flesh across her stomach pulsed with such a searing pain that she could barely hold herself upright. But she held fast, her legs shaking, and forced herself to meet Rielle’s eyes.

And for a single, still instant, once their gazes had locked, Eliana saw a flicker of emotion pass over Rielle’s face. She lowered her arms slightly; the incredible pressure of her attack lessened.

Eliana smiled a little, though the ribbon of pain across her stomach was expanding, brightening like the rising sun.

“My name is Eliana,” she cried over the roar of their sparking power. “I can help you.”

But then, before she could say more, a foreign presence punched its way into her thoughts. She swayed and fell hard to her knees, and then a familiar voice said to her, Ah, Eliana. This is not our first time to meet, it seems. How curious.

Corien. The Emperor. She pushed herself to her feet, looking around wildly. She lost all sense of Old Celdarian and reverted to Venteran. “Where are you?” she screamed. She flung out her shaking hands, aiming them to her left, then her right. “Get away from me! Get out of my head!”

But it’s such a nice head, Corien said, and contains so many secrets. Oh, well, now, this is certainly very interesting. He hummed a little, as if pondering a delicious meal. This is very interesting indeed. What a life you have led. What interesting company you keep.

She ran stumbling into the forest, dodging the explosions of Rielle’s power. Hot bolts of magic sliced trees in half, sent enormous clumps of earth and rock flying into the air. A stone caught her on the small of her back; two more struck her left calf, the nape of her neck. She swayed, nearly fell. Saint Tameryn’s prayer leapt into her mind. Through the pain flaring up her body, she seized onto the familiar words.

I fear no darkness, I fear no night.

She whirled, scooped up shadows from the trees, and imbued them with all her desperation and fear. They became a flock of dark birds, knife-winged and knife-beaked, and spun wildly back toward Rielle. Eliana saw her knock them out of the sky as easily as pushing aside a cloud of flies.

She tried again. With the dawn I rise.

She wiped sweat out of her eyes, pulled sunlight from the air and flung it over her shoulders. She heard the impact of Rielle’s fists, saw each of her sunlit knots flying off into the trees like shooting stars.

How valiantly you fight, came Corien’s voice, thin with derision. Your father would be proud.

Eliana fell, tore open her hands against the ground, pushed herself up. The sweat stinging her eyes; the pain of her stomach, her skull, her legs; the blinding fear of Corien’s thoughts pressing against her mind like squeezing fists. She could hardly see as she half crawled up a gentle slope, pulling herself up by her scraped-raw fingers.

And then, at the top, a sight that made her cry out with relief—Simon’s threads, some fifty yards away, still circling faintly in the air where she had left them. But were they too faint? Would she step through them and return to a time that was not her own? Would she end up on the other side of the world from him, from Remy, from everyone?

But Rielle was close behind her, striding calmly through the forest, flinging every obstacle she encountered out of her path. And with every passing moment Eliana could feel Corien sinking deeper and deeper into her mind. She hoped the rift in time would shake his hold on her.

She hoped he had not glimpsed the whole of her life.

She took one last look over her shoulder, unable to resist looking once more at Rielle, and then jumped through the threads, crashing hard to the ground on the other side.

“Close it!” she cried.

She forced her eyes to stay open until she felt hands on her shoulders and heard Simon say her name. She breathed in and out, testing the fullness of her mind. Finding that it was her own once more, she let out a sob and reached blindly for an anchor. Simon’s hand caught hers, and then he saw the wound on her stomach and swore, and said her name again, urgently. He turned her face up to his, but the sky was too bright, a spinning white canvas of trees.