Lightbringer (Empirium 3)

He saw the change at once, and at the sight of her rounded stomach, her swollen breasts, he let out a small, strange sound that was neither laugh nor sob.

A smile flickered across Rielle’s face. There was a soft light in her eyes, and he rejoiced to see it.

But he could not quite dislodge the sudden fear that jumped into his mind. It was a horrible thing to wonder, a jealousy that deserved no place in this moment.

Was the child his? Or was it Corien’s?

He dismissed the thought as soon as it formed. The child was Rielle’s, and he would love it with all his heart.

“Oh, Rielle,” he breathed, smiling, and his desperate longing to hold her in his arms was a spear through his chest. “How are you feeling? Are you seeing a healer? I know you must be frightened and worried. The prophecy—”

“I saw that,” she said, her distant voice thistle-sharp. “I saw your face.” She let her arms fall, her hands in fists and her eyes snapping with fury. “That’s the first thing you think after all this time apart? Whether or not the child is yours.”

Audric’s heart sank. “No, Rielle, that doesn’t matter to me. The first thing I thought was how relieved I am to see you unhurt.”

“Liar,” she said coldly. Her gaze sparked an angry gold. “Rest assured, Audric—you were the one who did this to me. All of this.”

A violent force sliced the moment in two, falling between them like the drop of an ax.

Audric staggered back and collapsed, his head and shoulders forced to the floor, and by the time he was able to move again, the wood had disappeared, and so had Rielle.

He was in his apartment in the palace of Queen Bazati and Queen Fozeyah, and apart from Ludivine, he was alone.

His vision spinning, despair sewing his throat shut, Audric pressed his brow and fists into the soft rug. Vaguely, he heard Ludivine moving, and he looked up as she settled beside him, her face sweating and pale. Beyond her, the open windows framed a calm sea, the sun cheerfully lighting the water, the city, the ravaged beach. Darkness brewed at the horizon kissing the open sea, painting the sky a buttery slate blue.

“He found her,” Ludivine said, gently touching his knee. “I’m sorry. There was nothing I could do.” She drew in a shaky breath. “He is stronger than he has ever been.”

Audric said nothing. He found the edge of the rug, where Rielle’s image had been moments before. He pressed his palms against it, hopelessly seeking the warm echo of her body.

After a long moment, Ludivine said softly, “The child is yours, Audric.”

“I wasn’t lying when I said it doesn’t matter to me.” The words were ash in his mouth and came too late. “She’ll be terrified regardless, and she’ll hate it and love it too, and that I can’t help her through this is a great unkindness dealt to us both. One I deserve but she does not.”

“I should tell you that Rielle knew before your wedding, as did I.”

Audric laughed bitterly. It was agony to imagine a world in which he and Rielle would be able to celebrate and worry together. He would dote on her, provide her with anything she desired. She would have everyone in Âme de la Terre fussing over her—or no one, if she preferred it.

“You knew a piece of information that was important for me to know,” he said, “and yet you kept it from me? Astonishing. Unprecedented.”

Ludivine was quiet. “She told me not to tell you. I could not ignore that.”

“If I’d known…”

He stopped himself, looked away.

“If you’d known,” Ludivine said, “you would have treated her more kindly in the gardens? You would have stopped to think? You would have shown your child mercy and understanding that you did not grant your wife?”

Audric stared at the floor until he recovered his voice, then glared at Ludivine. His blood was a quiet drum of anger.

“If I’d known,” Audric said tightly, “we would have had this joyful thing between us, a light to illuminate the darkness of that day. An anchor to help us weather its storms. You’re not wrong to accuse me of rashness, of foolishness, even of unkindness. But I am not alone in my mistakes. And none of that absolves you.”

Ludivine met his eyes for a long moment. The feeling of her own shame rose to meet his.

“Absolution,” she said at last, “is something I neither seek nor deserve.”

“On that, we can agree,” he said, which was perhaps unfair, but he could feel himself slipping back into the quiet black depths that had ruled his life for those first long weeks in Mazabat, and the hopelessness of that feeling, the inevitable weight of it, acted upon him like a drug, plying his tongue.

He rose, gathering the shreds of his voice, and sent her a silent dismissal.

“Thank you for your help,” he said aloud. “It was a gift to see her face again.”

Ludivine hesitated, then gently opened up all her love to him before leaving him to his solitude and the escape of sleep.

• • •

Not two hours later, Audric awoke to the feeling of rain on his face.

Audric, hurry, came Ludivine’s urgent voice. They need you.

The doors to his apartment burst open. Evyline rushed in with the rest of the Sun Guard.

“My king, we must move quickly,” Evyline said, her gaze darting to the windows.

Audric sat up and wiped his face. Atheria stood near the bed, shaking out her wings and mane. She pawed the rug, nostrils flaring.

Audric, glancing past her, immediately saw why.

He hurried to the windows, beyond which the world was dark, the tide high and furious. Huge churning waves spilled across the shore. Trees shook at a slant in the roaring wind. Even the castle seemed to sway. The sky swirled black with clouds, illuminated by jagged fans of lightning. Bells from the city’s seven temples chimed, faint through the howling storm.

Quickly, he found his clothes, threw on his jacket, pulled on his boots.

“Are they evacuating the city?” he asked.

“Yes, my king,” Evyline replied. “But there is much confusion, and many of the roadways are already flooded. They have seen hurricanes before, my king, especially in recent months, but have always had adequate time to prepare.”

Audric found Illumenor beside his bed. When his hand closed around the hilt, the familiar tremor of power flew from palm to shoulder. “Why did no one wake me sooner?”

“It came upon us in minutes, my king. Ten minutes ago, it was a clear day, the clouds distant.”

An ill feeling brewed in Audric’s chest. This was the Gate’s doing. “It is no ordinary storm, then.” w the change at once, and at the sight of her rounded stomach, her swollen breasts, he let out a small, strange sound that was neither laugh nor sob.

A smile flickered across Rielle’s face. There was a soft light in her eyes, and he rejoiced to see it.

But he could not quite dislodge the sudden fear that jumped into his mind. It was a horrible thing to wonder, a jealousy that deserved no place in this moment.

Was the child his? Or was it Corien’s?

He dismissed the thought as soon as it formed. The child was Rielle’s, and he would love it with all his heart.

“Oh, Rielle,” he breathed, smiling, and his desperate longing to hold her in his arms was a spear through his chest. “How are you feeling? Are you seeing a healer? I know you must be frightened and worried. The prophecy—”

“I saw that,” she said, her distant voice thistle-sharp. “I saw your face.” She let her arms fall, her hands in fists and her eyes snapping with fury. “That’s the first thing you think after all this time apart? Whether or not the child is yours.”

Audric’s heart sank. “No, Rielle, that doesn’t matter to me. The first thing I thought was how relieved I am to see you unhurt.”

“Liar,” she said coldly. Her gaze sparked an angry gold. “Rest assured, Audric—you were the one who did this to me. All of this.”

A violent force sliced the moment in two, falling between them like the drop of an ax.

Audric staggered back and collapsed, his head and shoulders forced to the floor, and by the time he was able to move again, the wood had disappeared, and so had Rielle.

He was in his apartment in the palace of Queen Bazati and Queen Fozeyah, and apart from Ludivine, he was alone.

His vision spinning, despair sewing his throat shut, Audric pressed his brow and fists into the soft rug. Vaguely, he heard Ludivine moving, and he looked up as she settled beside him, her face sweating and pale. Beyond her, the open windows framed a calm sea, the sun cheerfully lighting the water, the city, the ravaged beach. Darkness brewed at the horizon kissing the open sea, painting the sky a buttery slate blue.

“He found her,” Ludivine said, gently touching his knee. “I’m sorry. There was nothing I could do.” She drew in a shaky breath. “He is stronger than he has ever been.”

Audric said nothing. He found the edge of the rug, where Rielle’s image had been moments before. He pressed his palms against it, hopelessly seeking the warm echo of her body.

After a long moment, Ludivine said softly, “The child is yours, Audric.”

“I wasn’t lying when I said it doesn’t matter to me.” The words were ash in his mouth and came too late. “She’ll be terrified regardless, and she’ll hate it and love it too, and that I can’t help her through this is a great unkindness dealt to us both. One I deserve but she does not.”

“I should tell you that Rielle knew before your wedding, as did I.”

Audric laughed bitterly. It was agony to imagine a world in which he and Rielle would be able to celebrate and worry together. He would dote on her, provide her with anything she desired. She would have everyone in Âme de la Terre fussing over her—or no one, if she preferred it.

“You knew a piece of information that was important for me to know,” he said, “and yet you kept it from me? Astonishing. Unprecedented.”

Ludivine was quiet. “She told me not to tell you. I could not ignore that.”

“If I’d known…”

He stopped himself, looked away.

“If you’d known,” Ludivine said, “you would have treated her more kindly in the gardens? You would have stopped to think? You would have shown your child mercy and understanding that you did not grant your wife?”

Audric stared at the floor until he recovered his voice, then glared at Ludivine. His blood was a quiet drum of anger.

“If I’d known,” Audric said tightly, “we would have had this joyful thing between us, a light to illuminate the darkness of that day. An anchor to help us weather its storms. You’re not wrong to accuse me of rashness, of foolishness, even of unkindness. But I am not alone in my mistakes. And none of that absolves you.”

Ludivine met his eyes for a long moment. The feeling of her own shame rose to meet his.

“Absolution,” she said at last, “is something I neither seek nor deserve.”

“On that, we can agree,” he said, which was perhaps unfair, but he could feel himself slipping back into the quiet black depths that had ruled his life for those first long weeks in Mazabat, and the hopelessness of that feeling, the inevitable weight of it, acted upon him like a drug, plying his tongue.

He rose, gathering the shreds of his voice, and sent her a silent dismissal.

“Thank you for your help,” he said aloud. “It was a gift to see her face again.”

Ludivine hesitated, then gently opened up all her love to him before leaving him to his solitude and the escape of sleep.

• • •

Not two hours later, Audric awoke to the feeling of rain on his face.

Audric, hurry, came Ludivine’s urgent voice. They need you.

The doors to his apartment burst open. Evyline rushed in with the rest of the Sun Guard.

“My king, we must move quickly,” Evyline said, her gaze darting to the windows.

Audric sat up and wiped his face. Atheria stood near the bed, shaking out her wings and mane. She pawed the rug, nostrils flaring.

Audric, glancing past her, immediately saw why.

He hurried to the windows, beyond which the world was dark, the tide high and furious. Huge churning waves spilled across the shore. Trees shook at a slant in the roaring wind. Even the castle seemed to sway. The sky swirled black with clouds, illuminated by jagged fans of lightning. Bells from the city’s seven temples chimed, faint through the howling storm.

Quickly, he found his clothes, threw on his jacket, pulled on his boots.

“Are they evacuating the city?” he asked.

“Yes, my king,” Evyline replied. “But there is much confusion, and many of the roadways are already flooded. They have seen hurricanes before, my king, especially in recent months, but have always had adequate time to prepare.”

Audric found Illumenor beside his bed. When his hand closed around the hilt, the familiar tremor of power flew from palm to shoulder. “Why did no one wake me sooner?”

“It came upon us in minutes, my king. Ten minutes ago, it was a clear day, the clouds distant.”

An ill feeling brewed in Audric’s chest. This was the Gate’s doing. “It is no ordinary storm, then.”