Lightbringer (Empirium 3)

“Yes,” he said flatly. “The Northern Reach. When Corien died, so too did many of the angels there, but not all. Any angels who were not connected to him at the exact moment of his death have survived. Hundreds are still held captive below the mountains in elaborate prisons. Obritsa’s army is stretched thin between rescue efforts and the escalating revolution in Genzhar.”

He held his breath, then glanced at Rielle. She was lovely in her stillness. Back straight in her chair, chin slightly lifted, the delicate bones of her face carving sharp lines from brow to jaw. Her eyes were fixed on the immaculate shining table, but Audric knew it wasn’t the table she saw.

“Before we approve anything,” he said, “we will need schematics of the site, a sense of the geography of the Northern Reach. Surely, there are places hidden underground that the Kirvayans have missed, and we need anything that might give us an advantage. Is your memory complete enough to create a map, Rielle?”

Rielle laughed softly. “Of course,” she whispered, her voice thick with secrets. “I remember everything.”

Sloane shifted in her chair. Magister Florimond looked hard at her pen. Genoveve closed her eyes, her mouth thinning.

But Miren pretended nothing. She glared at Rielle, spots of bright color on her cheeks.

Audric swallowed against the turn of his stomach. For the first time, he felt glad for Ludivine’s death. He could not have borne looking at her face and seeing the pity that came from knowing exactly what things Rielle remembered.

“Excellent.” His voice sounded hollow to his own ears. He shuffled the papers, withdrew Ilmaire’s official report and the letter folded within. “And Ilmaire has written as well. The Gate remains unchanged, but scores of dead fish and other water animals have washed up on shore along several stretches of the Northern Sea. He is concerned that the Gate may be emitting something toxic, perhaps unknown substances from the Deep, and that they are affecting our air and water in ways we have not yet examined.”

He paused, gathering himself. When he looked at Rielle, he felt numb. “What does the empirium tell you? Does it offer an explanation for this?”

He struggled to keep a bland curiosity in his voice, and yet he wanted to fall to his knees at her feet and scream at her until that distant, inward look she wore shattered. Shake her until she was free of it.

Rielle absently tapped the table’s edge. Her brow furrowed, and when she spoke, it was with a kind of irritated dismissal, as if she were concentrating on something very far away and Audric’s question was nothing but a nuisance.

“Yes,” she said quietly.

He waited for elaboration. None came. In the silence, his cheeks burned. Magister Guillory cleared her throat. What they must think of him, of Rielle, of all of this.

“What does it say, then?” Audric asked her. “Can you… I’m sorry, this may be a silly question. Can you purify the sea somehow? Prevent further devastation?”

Rielle sighed. The sound seemed to diminish her. How small she was, and how impossibly far away. She glanced at him, mustered up a smile. He hated it. She was trying to make him happy, trying to reassure him, and failing utterly.

“Of course I can,” she murmured.

And then Miren could bear no more.

She scoffed, leaning forward. The explosive force of her anger set the brass buttons of Audric’s coat blazing with heat.

“Is that all you will say?” Miren said, her voice rough with sadness, her eyes bright. “Yes and of course? You could say something else. You could look at us as if we’re all actually here in front of you. Or you could apologize. You could look me in the eye and say you’re sorry.” Her voice broke, her jaw square as she fought off tears. “Are you even sorry for what you’ve done to all of us?”

Rielle stared at her, blinking, and she looked so strange in that chair, so ill-fitting, that Audric’s throat clenched with fear. Rielle looked at Miren as if trying to understand an unfamiliar type of weed—not one she was interested in pulling, simply one she hadn’t noticed until its thorns pricked her ankle.

He wished he could leave them all, march Rielle up to their bedroom and keep her there. Feed her and love her and rub her sore back until her face found its color again and she looked human once more.

“Miren, you will hold your tongue,” Genoveve said tightly. “Rielle saved us, I’ll remind you. She destroyed Corien and took many of his soldiers out with him.”

“Not before thousands had died. Not before our city was in ruins. Homes destroyed and families shattered.” Miren lay her palms flat on the table, her mouth twisting. She had not once said Tal’s name, and yet Audric heard echo of it in every word.

“Say it, Rielle,” Miren choked out. “Tell me you’re sorry.”

Rielle examined her hands, then looked calmly at Miren. “If I tell you, will you believe me?”

The room held its breath, the silence fat with nerves.

And then Miren sagged against her chair, her expression flattening. “No,” she said at last. “I won’t.”

Rielle smiled a little, the saddest smile Audric had ever seen. “I don’t blame you. But I am sorry, truly. I wish it could be undone. I wish Tal—”

Miren surged to her feet, her ax glowing at her hip. Every piece of metal in the room vibrated, ready to fly at her command.

“Don’t say his name to me,” Miren said harshly. “Not ever. He loved you more than anything, more than me, and that wasn’t enough for you. Nothing we can give you is enough.”

Then Miren pushed back from the table and stormed out. A moment later, Genoveve squeezed Audric’s hand gently and rose to follow her.

“I suggest we retire for lunch,” Audric said into the heavy silence, “and meet again in the afternoon. Three o’clock at this same table, please.”

As the others quickly left the room, he gathered his papers. Rielle sat unmoving at his side. He could not bring himself to look at her. If he did, he would see the truth on her face, the thing he feared most of all—more than the angels still roaming the world, more than whatever lurked beyond the Gate and might someday emerge from it.

If he looked at her, he would see the truth: Miren was right.

Without meeting Rielle’s eyes, Audric offered her his hand. Wordlessly, she took it, her fingers so light against his palm that it frightened him. As they returned upstairs to their rooms, he clung to the sound of her footsteps, relished each of her labored breaths. Her belly, huge and wonderful. She cursed it, quietly, carefully, as if trying out a joke, and his laughter felt fragile on his tongue.

Lunch awaited them—fresh bread and soft cheese, figs drizzled with honey, a salad of tomatoes and cucumbers. They ate in silence, and not once did Rielle let go of his hand. Her thumb rubbed his, over and over, leaving behind soft smears of gold. o;Yes,” he said flatly. “The Northern Reach. When Corien died, so too did many of the angels there, but not all. Any angels who were not connected to him at the exact moment of his death have survived. Hundreds are still held captive below the mountains in elaborate prisons. Obritsa’s army is stretched thin between rescue efforts and the escalating revolution in Genzhar.”

He held his breath, then glanced at Rielle. She was lovely in her stillness. Back straight in her chair, chin slightly lifted, the delicate bones of her face carving sharp lines from brow to jaw. Her eyes were fixed on the immaculate shining table, but Audric knew it wasn’t the table she saw.

“Before we approve anything,” he said, “we will need schematics of the site, a sense of the geography of the Northern Reach. Surely, there are places hidden underground that the Kirvayans have missed, and we need anything that might give us an advantage. Is your memory complete enough to create a map, Rielle?”

Rielle laughed softly. “Of course,” she whispered, her voice thick with secrets. “I remember everything.”

Sloane shifted in her chair. Magister Florimond looked hard at her pen. Genoveve closed her eyes, her mouth thinning.

But Miren pretended nothing. She glared at Rielle, spots of bright color on her cheeks.

Audric swallowed against the turn of his stomach. For the first time, he felt glad for Ludivine’s death. He could not have borne looking at her face and seeing the pity that came from knowing exactly what things Rielle remembered.

“Excellent.” His voice sounded hollow to his own ears. He shuffled the papers, withdrew Ilmaire’s official report and the letter folded within. “And Ilmaire has written as well. The Gate remains unchanged, but scores of dead fish and other water animals have washed up on shore along several stretches of the Northern Sea. He is concerned that the Gate may be emitting something toxic, perhaps unknown substances from the Deep, and that they are affecting our air and water in ways we have not yet examined.”

He paused, gathering himself. When he looked at Rielle, he felt numb. “What does the empirium tell you? Does it offer an explanation for this?”

He struggled to keep a bland curiosity in his voice, and yet he wanted to fall to his knees at her feet and scream at her until that distant, inward look she wore shattered. Shake her until she was free of it.

Rielle absently tapped the table’s edge. Her brow furrowed, and when she spoke, it was with a kind of irritated dismissal, as if she were concentrating on something very far away and Audric’s question was nothing but a nuisance.

“Yes,” she said quietly.

He waited for elaboration. None came. In the silence, his cheeks burned. Magister Guillory cleared her throat. What they must think of him, of Rielle, of all of this.

“What does it say, then?” Audric asked her. “Can you… I’m sorry, this may be a silly question. Can you purify the sea somehow? Prevent further devastation?”

Rielle sighed. The sound seemed to diminish her. How small she was, and how impossibly far away. She glanced at him, mustered up a smile. He hated it. She was trying to make him happy, trying to reassure him, and failing utterly.

“Of course I can,” she murmured.

And then Miren could bear no more.

She scoffed, leaning forward. The explosive force of her anger set the brass buttons of Audric’s coat blazing with heat.

“Is that all you will say?” Miren said, her voice rough with sadness, her eyes bright. “Yes and of course? You could say something else. You could look at us as if we’re all actually here in front of you. Or you could apologize. You could look me in the eye and say you’re sorry.” Her voice broke, her jaw square as she fought off tears. “Are you even sorry for what you’ve done to all of us?”

Rielle stared at her, blinking, and she looked so strange in that chair, so ill-fitting, that Audric’s throat clenched with fear. Rielle looked at Miren as if trying to understand an unfamiliar type of weed—not one she was interested in pulling, simply one she hadn’t noticed until its thorns pricked her ankle.

He wished he could leave them all, march Rielle up to their bedroom and keep her there. Feed her and love her and rub her sore back until her face found its color again and she looked human once more.

“Miren, you will hold your tongue,” Genoveve said tightly. “Rielle saved us, I’ll remind you. She destroyed Corien and took many of his soldiers out with him.”

“Not before thousands had died. Not before our city was in ruins. Homes destroyed and families shattered.” Miren lay her palms flat on the table, her mouth twisting. She had not once said Tal’s name, and yet Audric heard echo of it in every word.

“Say it, Rielle,” Miren choked out. “Tell me you’re sorry.”

Rielle examined her hands, then looked calmly at Miren. “If I tell you, will you believe me?”

The room held its breath, the silence fat with nerves.

And then Miren sagged against her chair, her expression flattening. “No,” she said at last. “I won’t.”

Rielle smiled a little, the saddest smile Audric had ever seen. “I don’t blame you. But I am sorry, truly. I wish it could be undone. I wish Tal—”

Miren surged to her feet, her ax glowing at her hip. Every piece of metal in the room vibrated, ready to fly at her command.

“Don’t say his name to me,” Miren said harshly. “Not ever. He loved you more than anything, more than me, and that wasn’t enough for you. Nothing we can give you is enough.”

Then Miren pushed back from the table and stormed out. A moment later, Genoveve squeezed Audric’s hand gently and rose to follow her.

“I suggest we retire for lunch,” Audric said into the heavy silence, “and meet again in the afternoon. Three o’clock at this same table, please.”

As the others quickly left the room, he gathered his papers. Rielle sat unmoving at his side. He could not bring himself to look at her. If he did, he would see the truth on her face, the thing he feared most of all—more than the angels still roaming the world, more than whatever lurked beyond the Gate and might someday emerge from it.

If he looked at her, he would see the truth: Miren was right.

Without meeting Rielle’s eyes, Audric offered her his hand. Wordlessly, she took it, her fingers so light against his palm that it frightened him. As they returned upstairs to their rooms, he clung to the sound of her footsteps, relished each of her labored breaths. Her belly, huge and wonderful. She cursed it, quietly, carefully, as if trying out a joke, and his laughter felt fragile on his tongue.

Lunch awaited them—fresh bread and soft cheese, figs drizzled with honey, a salad of tomatoes and cucumbers. They ate in silence, and not once did Rielle let go of his hand. Her thumb rubbed his, over and over, leaving behind soft smears of gold.