Lightbringer (Empirium 3)

Jessamyn held her breath, waiting for punishment to descend from the skies. Some angel would hear her treasonous thoughts and come for her, drag her to the palace, and let Admiral Ravikant carve her to pieces.

But the library remained dark and quiet. At the far end, a small lamp glowed. A dark-haired figure bent over a book. Remy, studying at his favorite table. Jessamyn blew out a slow breath.

When Varos had been alive, her loyalty had been absolute, her obeisance fervent and unthinking. But now Varos was dead. Jessamyn had witnessed firsthand the Emperor’s erratic state of mind. The Lyceum was full of whispers, and monsters were flooding the world.

For the first time, Jessamyn was feeling the slow turnings of doubt. And she hated it. Doubt was weakness; doubt was betrayal.

There was only one thing to do. She needed to push Remy even harder through his training. Present him to the Five and to the Emperor, and then to Eliana. Jessamyn imagined watching the girl’s face fall as she realized what had been done to her brother—and with it, her will to fight.

Reassured, Jessamyn shook out her arms as if to shake off dust, then darted into the long dark rows of bookshelves and moved swiftly toward where Remy sat, intending to catch him unawares.

But by the time she arrived at his table, he was gone. The book was still open, the lamp glowing softly.

Jessamyn let out a low curse, grabbed a dagger from her boot, and whirled around, but Remy was not distracted by seditious thoughts and moved faster.

He darted out of the shadows and seized her. Blade against her throat, a sharp jab to her solar plexus. He twisted her arm, nearly succeeded in disarming her.

Nearly.

She recovered quickly, cut him quick and sharp on his bicep.

“You walk too loudly, kaeshana,” Remy said. He released her, the edge in his voice glinting silver. “You crashed through the library doors like an animal. Did you think I wouldn’t hear?” It was the first time he had spoken since whatever it was the Emperor had done to him two days ago, whatever had made Eliana want to take her own life.

“I felt generous,” Jessamyn said. “Thought I’d give you a fighting chance.”

Collecting her scattered thoughts, fighting a swell of irritation that he had managed to catch her so completely off guard, she moved around the table to look at him.

In the months since Remy had come to Elysium, he had grown taller. Nearly two inches, she guessed. And now that he had lived in the Lyceum for weeks, he stood straight rather than hunched like a prisoner. The light in his eyes was sharp, focused. He clasped his hands behind his back, waiting for her orders. The deferent student, with his neatly combed dark hair and his long tunic’s tidy collar. On his cheek was a fading cut from their sparring session the previous week.

Jessamyn glanced at the book he had been reading, a brown-papered text written in scripted Old Celdarian. It was part of every Invictus trainee’s schooling—gaining fluency in the languages of the Old World, the angelic languages, and every modern tongue.

“Are you finished translating?” she asked.

“Nearly,” Remy replied.

“Nearly isn’t good enough. You should have completed the entire volume by now.” Jessamyn slammed the book closed and kicked over his chair. The crash was thunder in the quiet, cavernous room. “We’ll go to the training yards. We’ll fight until dawn, and then you’ll sit here and finish, and you won’t eat until you do.”

Remy flinched but kept his eyes straight ahead.

“That would be a mistake,” he said evenly. Only the barest tremor in his voice betrayed his nerves.

Despite herself, Jessamyn was impressed by his defiance. “Oh?” She came around to look at him, peering close. “Have you gone mad, little virashta? Have my fists beaten your brains out of you at last?”

Remy was quiet for a moment, then dared to look at her. His face was hard, but there was a pity in his eyes that unnerved her.

“Fighting with me until dawn would be a mistake,” he told her. His voice cracked, neither boy nor man. “You need rest, and if you go back to the palace without sleep, you may make another mistake and displease the Emperor.”

Jessamyn stared at him, speechless.

“I saw what happened in the yard yesterday,” Remy said, looking away. “I snuck into one of the attics and watched you fight Nevia. I saw it when he came for you. He was too distracted to realize I was there, I think. I saw the others fall. I saw him attack you.”

Remy’s mouth twisted; he was biting the inside of his lip, a nervous habit Jessamyn had broken him of their first week together. She should have struck him for it, but she was too shocked to move.

“And I heard what happened to Eliana,” he added, his eyes bright. “I heard it was your knife she almost used. Everyone’s talking about it.”

“Everyone,” Jessamyn said, quietly reeling.

“Here at the Lyceum. I notice things, when you’re not here. I sneak around and spy, as you’ve taught me.” Then he looked at her again with a ferocity that startled her. “I don’t think you should fight me tonight. I think you should rest. I think you’ll need to stay sharp.”

Jessamyn finally managed a soft laugh. “Such a devoted student you are. I’m touched by your concern. You, who hate me and would probably love to see me executed or exiled by the Council of Five. Thrown out into the tent cities for the refugees to devour.”

“It doesn’t matter whether I hate you,” Remy replied. “You need to stay alive and in the Emperor’s favor. And you being alive is good for me.”

The library’s shadows suddenly felt oppressive, as if they held the weight of many staring eyes. So he had overheard whispers. Her fellow trainees, no doubt, gossiping about her rumored failure. Jessamyn laughed, circling Remy so he would not see her face and how he had shaken her.

Then she whirled around and kicked him in the small of his back, sending him flying forward into the table.

“I need to stay sharp?” she snapped, swallowing the revolting fear curling at the back of her throat. “So do you, little virashta. And if you think you can weasel out of a fight tonight, you are gravely mistaken.”

Remy glared at her over his shoulder, wiped the blood from his lip.

Then he launched himself at her, and Jessamyn felt herself relax with her first savage blow to his head. They would fight until she decided it was time to rest.

They would fight until Remy remembered his place—and until she remembered hers.

22

Rielle

“There are scholars who believe the empirium to be a conscious force, kind and merciful, a gift from a benevolent God. Others believe it to be inherently indifferent to the life it has made. I posit that the empirium and God as some have conceived it are one and the same. It is neither unkind nor particularly benevolent. It simply is—an incomprehensible essence that I, for one, am glad I cannot knowingly touch.” myn held her breath, waiting for punishment to descend from the skies. Some angel would hear her treasonous thoughts and come for her, drag her to the palace, and let Admiral Ravikant carve her to pieces.

But the library remained dark and quiet. At the far end, a small lamp glowed. A dark-haired figure bent over a book. Remy, studying at his favorite table. Jessamyn blew out a slow breath.

When Varos had been alive, her loyalty had been absolute, her obeisance fervent and unthinking. But now Varos was dead. Jessamyn had witnessed firsthand the Emperor’s erratic state of mind. The Lyceum was full of whispers, and monsters were flooding the world.

For the first time, Jessamyn was feeling the slow turnings of doubt. And she hated it. Doubt was weakness; doubt was betrayal.

There was only one thing to do. She needed to push Remy even harder through his training. Present him to the Five and to the Emperor, and then to Eliana. Jessamyn imagined watching the girl’s face fall as she realized what had been done to her brother—and with it, her will to fight.

Reassured, Jessamyn shook out her arms as if to shake off dust, then darted into the long dark rows of bookshelves and moved swiftly toward where Remy sat, intending to catch him unawares.

But by the time she arrived at his table, he was gone. The book was still open, the lamp glowing softly.

Jessamyn let out a low curse, grabbed a dagger from her boot, and whirled around, but Remy was not distracted by seditious thoughts and moved faster.

He darted out of the shadows and seized her. Blade against her throat, a sharp jab to her solar plexus. He twisted her arm, nearly succeeded in disarming her.

Nearly.

She recovered quickly, cut him quick and sharp on his bicep.

“You walk too loudly, kaeshana,” Remy said. He released her, the edge in his voice glinting silver. “You crashed through the library doors like an animal. Did you think I wouldn’t hear?” It was the first time he had spoken since whatever it was the Emperor had done to him two days ago, whatever had made Eliana want to take her own life.

“I felt generous,” Jessamyn said. “Thought I’d give you a fighting chance.”

Collecting her scattered thoughts, fighting a swell of irritation that he had managed to catch her so completely off guard, she moved around the table to look at him.

In the months since Remy had come to Elysium, he had grown taller. Nearly two inches, she guessed. And now that he had lived in the Lyceum for weeks, he stood straight rather than hunched like a prisoner. The light in his eyes was sharp, focused. He clasped his hands behind his back, waiting for her orders. The deferent student, with his neatly combed dark hair and his long tunic’s tidy collar. On his cheek was a fading cut from their sparring session the previous week.

Jessamyn glanced at the book he had been reading, a brown-papered text written in scripted Old Celdarian. It was part of every Invictus trainee’s schooling—gaining fluency in the languages of the Old World, the angelic languages, and every modern tongue.

“Are you finished translating?” she asked.

“Nearly,” Remy replied.

“Nearly isn’t good enough. You should have completed the entire volume by now.” Jessamyn slammed the book closed and kicked over his chair. The crash was thunder in the quiet, cavernous room. “We’ll go to the training yards. We’ll fight until dawn, and then you’ll sit here and finish, and you won’t eat until you do.”

Remy flinched but kept his eyes straight ahead.

“That would be a mistake,” he said evenly. Only the barest tremor in his voice betrayed his nerves.

Despite herself, Jessamyn was impressed by his defiance. “Oh?” She came around to look at him, peering close. “Have you gone mad, little virashta? Have my fists beaten your brains out of you at last?”

Remy was quiet for a moment, then dared to look at her. His face was hard, but there was a pity in his eyes that unnerved her.

“Fighting with me until dawn would be a mistake,” he told her. His voice cracked, neither boy nor man. “You need rest, and if you go back to the palace without sleep, you may make another mistake and displease the Emperor.”

Jessamyn stared at him, speechless.

“I saw what happened in the yard yesterday,” Remy said, looking away. “I snuck into one of the attics and watched you fight Nevia. I saw it when he came for you. He was too distracted to realize I was there, I think. I saw the others fall. I saw him attack you.”

Remy’s mouth twisted; he was biting the inside of his lip, a nervous habit Jessamyn had broken him of their first week together. She should have struck him for it, but she was too shocked to move.

“And I heard what happened to Eliana,” he added, his eyes bright. “I heard it was your knife she almost used. Everyone’s talking about it.”

“Everyone,” Jessamyn said, quietly reeling.

“Here at the Lyceum. I notice things, when you’re not here. I sneak around and spy, as you’ve taught me.” Then he looked at her again with a ferocity that startled her. “I don’t think you should fight me tonight. I think you should rest. I think you’ll need to stay sharp.”

Jessamyn finally managed a soft laugh. “Such a devoted student you are. I’m touched by your concern. You, who hate me and would probably love to see me executed or exiled by the Council of Five. Thrown out into the tent cities for the refugees to devour.”

“It doesn’t matter whether I hate you,” Remy replied. “You need to stay alive and in the Emperor’s favor. And you being alive is good for me.”

The library’s shadows suddenly felt oppressive, as if they held the weight of many staring eyes. So he had overheard whispers. Her fellow trainees, no doubt, gossiping about her rumored failure. Jessamyn laughed, circling Remy so he would not see her face and how he had shaken her.

Then she whirled around and kicked him in the small of his back, sending him flying forward into the table.

“I need to stay sharp?” she snapped, swallowing the revolting fear curling at the back of her throat. “So do you, little virashta. And if you think you can weasel out of a fight tonight, you are gravely mistaken.”

Remy glared at her over his shoulder, wiped the blood from his lip.

Then he launched himself at her, and Jessamyn felt herself relax with her first savage blow to his head. They would fight until she decided it was time to rest.

They would fight until Remy remembered his place—and until she remembered hers.

22

Rielle

“There are scholars who believe the empirium to be a conscious force, kind and merciful, a gift from a benevolent God. Others believe it to be inherently indifferent to the life it has made. I posit that the empirium and God as some have conceived it are one and the same. It is neither unkind nor particularly benevolent. It simply is—an incomprehensible essence that I, for one, am glad I cannot knowingly touch.”