Lightbringer (Empirium 3)

Weak-kneed with fear, Rielle nevertheless marveled at them. Her blood roared in her ears, just as when the rivers of stars had blazed through the sky. Her power reached out from her chest—dozens of seeking fingers, all groping for more. More light to be dazzled by, more worlds to touch, more speed. She longed to cross an ocean even larger than the one at her feet. To jump from pearl to pearl, those opalescent eyes staring down at her from the sky, and follow whatever path they took.

“What are they?” she breathed.

The girl’s cheek pressed against her arm. “Someday you will find out,” she murmured, dreamy.

Rielle, please! Come back to me!

Her heart jumped at the distant sound of Corien’s voice. The pain of her body returned to her, as if carried on the backs of his words: the pangs of her hungry stomach, her parched mouth. She stepped back, turned her gaze away from the sky.

The girl opened her mouth and howled with furious despair, and the world plunged into darkness.

Rielle ran from her through the water, though it broke her heart to leave this part of herself, so pure and unwavering in its desires. She had so many questions, so many worlds to touch. With each step, she wondered if she would find another cliff and fall off the edge of all things.

“You cannot leave me!” the girl wailed. “I will not allow it!”

Something hot and sharp tugged on Rielle’s arms, her chest, her trembling knees. She glanced back and saw nothing. A black abyss, and her feet sinking into the seabed, and a terrible silence that threatened to smother her.

She sent out a thought to Corien. The farther she ran from the girl, the more clearly she could think. Hold on to me. Don’t let me go.

I have you. His voice was firm and steady. He sent her image after image, each less muddy in her mind. The fortress rising dark and square, the mountains in their coats of snow. Corien, cradling her body in his arms. She saw her own inert body flicker, a candle’s flame wavering in the wind. Waves of gold passed over her body’s skin, and she knew they were scorching hot, for she could feel that searing heat in her own blood, how it pulsed like water boiling, and yet Corien did not shy away. He held her and held her, whispering her name against her hair, and with his mind he called her forward across the sea. The girl’s piercing wails spiraled higher, so deafening that Rielle thought her skull would shatter before she escaped.

Then, a wall of cold slammed against her, shoving air back into her lungs.

She burst back into herself, felt the delicate wet fall of snow on her cheeks and the warmth of Corien beside her, and began to laugh. Tears soaked her face; her chest ached with wild sobs.

“Where did you go?” Corien asked quietly, once her laughter gentled.

She pressed her face against his coat. “I went to what is next,” she whispered. “I went inside myself and saw what I am and what I will become. I looked at the stars and pulled them down and held them.”

Corien was quiet. She could feel his mind examining her every word.

“Would you like to go back?” he asked at last.

Rielle scanned the Reach, curious what had happened in her absence. Her power skimmed across the empirium, then brought images back to her: The avalanche she had caused when the empirium took her, how it had crashed down the mountain and flattened dozens of adatrox. Boulders of ice had smashed into one of the enclosures that held the doomed ice-dragons. Several of them were now free, fleeing for the mountains. At their sides limped their Kammerat companions, those odd, obsessive little Borsvallic recluses who preferred the company of dragons to that of humans.

And, Rielle noticed with a flicker of interest, they were not alone.

There was Obritsa and her guard, Artem. And Ilmaire Lysleva too, and another young man beside him. Another of the Kammerat.

At once, Rielle sensed Corien’s rising anger. Now that she was safe, he would kill them.

“Don’t hurt them,” she commanded. “Who is that man? I do not recognize him.”

“His name is Leevi,” Corien told her, his voice thin with anger. “One of the Kammerat, a former prisoner here. He escaped months ago, and now he returns with the king of Borsvall, and more Kammerat too, all come to save their kin.” Corien’s voice curled. “How heroic.”

“Let them go,” said Rielle, already losing interest in the frantic little group.

Corien’s every thought clenched into fists. “They will think they have beaten me.”

“And if they do?” Rielle touched his cheek, turned him to face her. “It won’t matter in the end. We will kill them. They will live and watch us rise. They will die at their own hands, unable to bear the agony of their failure. Whichever of these things happens, their joy will be short-lived.”

She felt Corien settle, watched the lines of tension melt from his shoulders. He pressed his thumb to her chapped bottom lip.

She smiled at him. “You see? They are nothing to us. Let them flee for their mountains like rabbits running scared. I would like to see them realize the futility of escape. I would like to watch that dawn on their faces. Wouldn’t you?”

Corien pressed his brow to hers and closed his eyes. His mind rose to meet hers gently, and when he next looked at her, he was calm.

Then a thought occurred to Rielle. “Did I kill him?” she asked, thinking of the angel she had smashed between her hands.

A pause. Corien’s fingers stroked her arm. “You did.”

“I hardly remember it,” she said, and yet the girl inside her, eyes glittering in her endless sea, could remember every speck of the angel, how it had felt to split him open with her power. Mere dust in her hands, easily swept away.

“I’m sorry,” she added, because she felt it was the thing to say.

“He meant very little to me. A child from a common family, neither strong nor clever.” Corien paused. “And anyway, you don’t mean it.”

He was right. The death of that angel had sent her to that place beneath the rushing stars, and she already longed to return to it.

But before she could do that, she would need to be stronger still, in both mind and body, so she could understand what she saw and be worthy of it.

More than that, she needed to look once more into the eyes of those who had feared her. She thought of them all, their names plucked easily from her distant memories: Audric, Ludivine, the Archon, Miren Ballastier, Queen Genoveve. Tal, dead at her hands.

She drew each of their faces to mind and felt a cold white rush of anger. They would be cursing her even now. They would still think of her as human, look at her as if she were one of them. They would perhaps still imagine themselves capable of gentling her.

Corien’s lips brushed her brow. She could sense how she baffled him, how carefully he moved around in her mind, as if stepping barefoot around broken glass. kneed with fear, Rielle nevertheless marveled at them. Her blood roared in her ears, just as when the rivers of stars had blazed through the sky. Her power reached out from her chest—dozens of seeking fingers, all groping for more. More light to be dazzled by, more worlds to touch, more speed. She longed to cross an ocean even larger than the one at her feet. To jump from pearl to pearl, those opalescent eyes staring down at her from the sky, and follow whatever path they took.

“What are they?” she breathed.

The girl’s cheek pressed against her arm. “Someday you will find out,” she murmured, dreamy.

Rielle, please! Come back to me!

Her heart jumped at the distant sound of Corien’s voice. The pain of her body returned to her, as if carried on the backs of his words: the pangs of her hungry stomach, her parched mouth. She stepped back, turned her gaze away from the sky.

The girl opened her mouth and howled with furious despair, and the world plunged into darkness.

Rielle ran from her through the water, though it broke her heart to leave this part of herself, so pure and unwavering in its desires. She had so many questions, so many worlds to touch. With each step, she wondered if she would find another cliff and fall off the edge of all things.

“You cannot leave me!” the girl wailed. “I will not allow it!”

Something hot and sharp tugged on Rielle’s arms, her chest, her trembling knees. She glanced back and saw nothing. A black abyss, and her feet sinking into the seabed, and a terrible silence that threatened to smother her.

She sent out a thought to Corien. The farther she ran from the girl, the more clearly she could think. Hold on to me. Don’t let me go.

I have you. His voice was firm and steady. He sent her image after image, each less muddy in her mind. The fortress rising dark and square, the mountains in their coats of snow. Corien, cradling her body in his arms. She saw her own inert body flicker, a candle’s flame wavering in the wind. Waves of gold passed over her body’s skin, and she knew they were scorching hot, for she could feel that searing heat in her own blood, how it pulsed like water boiling, and yet Corien did not shy away. He held her and held her, whispering her name against her hair, and with his mind he called her forward across the sea. The girl’s piercing wails spiraled higher, so deafening that Rielle thought her skull would shatter before she escaped.

Then, a wall of cold slammed against her, shoving air back into her lungs.

She burst back into herself, felt the delicate wet fall of snow on her cheeks and the warmth of Corien beside her, and began to laugh. Tears soaked her face; her chest ached with wild sobs.

“Where did you go?” Corien asked quietly, once her laughter gentled.

She pressed her face against his coat. “I went to what is next,” she whispered. “I went inside myself and saw what I am and what I will become. I looked at the stars and pulled them down and held them.”

Corien was quiet. She could feel his mind examining her every word.

“Would you like to go back?” he asked at last.

Rielle scanned the Reach, curious what had happened in her absence. Her power skimmed across the empirium, then brought images back to her: The avalanche she had caused when the empirium took her, how it had crashed down the mountain and flattened dozens of adatrox. Boulders of ice had smashed into one of the enclosures that held the doomed ice-dragons. Several of them were now free, fleeing for the mountains. At their sides limped their Kammerat companions, those odd, obsessive little Borsvallic recluses who preferred the company of dragons to that of humans.

And, Rielle noticed with a flicker of interest, they were not alone.

There was Obritsa and her guard, Artem. And Ilmaire Lysleva too, and another young man beside him. Another of the Kammerat.

At once, Rielle sensed Corien’s rising anger. Now that she was safe, he would kill them.

“Don’t hurt them,” she commanded. “Who is that man? I do not recognize him.”

“His name is Leevi,” Corien told her, his voice thin with anger. “One of the Kammerat, a former prisoner here. He escaped months ago, and now he returns with the king of Borsvall, and more Kammerat too, all come to save their kin.” Corien’s voice curled. “How heroic.”

“Let them go,” said Rielle, already losing interest in the frantic little group.

Corien’s every thought clenched into fists. “They will think they have beaten me.”

“And if they do?” Rielle touched his cheek, turned him to face her. “It won’t matter in the end. We will kill them. They will live and watch us rise. They will die at their own hands, unable to bear the agony of their failure. Whichever of these things happens, their joy will be short-lived.”

She felt Corien settle, watched the lines of tension melt from his shoulders. He pressed his thumb to her chapped bottom lip.

She smiled at him. “You see? They are nothing to us. Let them flee for their mountains like rabbits running scared. I would like to see them realize the futility of escape. I would like to watch that dawn on their faces. Wouldn’t you?”

Corien pressed his brow to hers and closed his eyes. His mind rose to meet hers gently, and when he next looked at her, he was calm.

Then a thought occurred to Rielle. “Did I kill him?” she asked, thinking of the angel she had smashed between her hands.

A pause. Corien’s fingers stroked her arm. “You did.”

“I hardly remember it,” she said, and yet the girl inside her, eyes glittering in her endless sea, could remember every speck of the angel, how it had felt to split him open with her power. Mere dust in her hands, easily swept away.

“I’m sorry,” she added, because she felt it was the thing to say.

“He meant very little to me. A child from a common family, neither strong nor clever.” Corien paused. “And anyway, you don’t mean it.”

He was right. The death of that angel had sent her to that place beneath the rushing stars, and she already longed to return to it.

But before she could do that, she would need to be stronger still, in both mind and body, so she could understand what she saw and be worthy of it.

More than that, she needed to look once more into the eyes of those who had feared her. She thought of them all, their names plucked easily from her distant memories: Audric, Ludivine, the Archon, Miren Ballastier, Queen Genoveve. Tal, dead at her hands.

She drew each of their faces to mind and felt a cold white rush of anger. They would be cursing her even now. They would still think of her as human, look at her as if she were one of them. They would perhaps still imagine themselves capable of gentling her.

Corien’s lips brushed her brow. She could sense how she baffled him, how carefully he moved around in her mind, as if stepping barefoot around broken glass.