Lightbringer (Empirium 3)

• • •

One night, Audric left Rielle sleeping fitfully in their bed and went up to the roof. The summer air was warm, and night birds called from the thick forests carpeting Mount Cibelline.

He walked the long breezeways of the fifth floor, each bordered with a railing of white stone. Leaning against one of them, he looked down at the scaffolding hugging the castle’s western face. Two towers had collapsed during the battle. Great holes torn from the walls by careening elemental magic left Baingarde looking haggard and feeble.

He rubbed the bridge of his nose, willing away the tired burn behind his eyes. With sleep came dreams. He wanted none of it.

Movement shifted at the corner of his eye, smooth and gliding. He watched Atheria fly, smiling to see her nip bats from the air. The sight was welcome—and increasingly rare. When Rielle was awake, the godsbeast stayed far from Baingarde.

Yet more grief for Rielle to carry.

The air shifted beside him like the weight of something moving through cold water.

A chill prickled his skin. He was not yet used to the feeling of wraiths, nor did he entirely trust them, though they had given him no reason not to, other than the fact of what they were. Angels without bodies—angels who had refused resurrection.

Dozens now guarded the city, hundreds patrolled the mountains, and the one drifting near him now was his favorite. His shoulders eased a little when he recognized her—the tall gray reed of her body, eyes black and serene, long thin limbs. Dark hair streamed faintly to her waist, but near Rielle, an echo of her true self shone with power for all to see—gleaming white hair, rich brown skin, and shining platinum armor, as she had worn when she’d first entered the Deep.

“Zahra,” Audric said warmly. “Is there something you need?”

The wraith inclined her head in greeting. Her voice was resonant, like the toll of heavy bells. “Nothing but company, my lord king. The night is quiet.”

“I’m relieved to hear that.” He looked at the vast dark sky. Sometimes he still saw the faint echo of wings burning there. Sometimes he felt their heat on his neck, and the memory made his mouth taste sick. He closed his eyes, holding himself steady.

Then Zahra huffed out a breath. Suddenly, the feeling of her was troubled. It was a helpful thing to have loved an angel. He could easily read the moods of wraiths, and now he had an army of them.

“I lied,” Zahra said miserably. “In fact, I do need something. I need to give you an answer you’ve been seeking.”

He turned to face her. Shifting and strange as it was, her dim profile held a quiet dignity that he found immensely reassuring. He had been meaning to tell her this.

“An answer to what question?” he asked.

“You’re wondering why I fought against my own people, why I have pledged loyalty to you and your family. You’ve been wondering it since the night I knelt at your feet, and the answer we gave your councils has not satisfied you.”

Stunned into silence, for a moment he could only stare at her. A rising anger helped him find his words. “You’ve been reading my thoughts. This was not part of our agreement.”

Zahra turned, eyes wide. “No, my king. I have broken no part of our agreement. The treaty between us was well written, and all of us who put our names to it did so because we believe in the potential of this new friendship.”

“Then how—”

“My lord king.” Zahra’s voice was fond, and he was reminded at once of her agelessness and his smallness in comparison. How she had lived for centuries before his birth and would drift through hundreds more after his death. “You are a man of exceptional strength, of both mind and heart. But your curiosity is swift and often defies your efforts to remain inscrutable. Your questions dart from you like birds. I cannot help but see them on your face, even the ones you decide not to ask.”

He raised his eyebrows. A bold thing for her to say, but there was a strange relief in feeling so seen. “Tell me what you have to say, then.”

She hesitated. “It is a long story. Perhaps I was wrong to approach you now. It is only that…oh, my lord king, it is such a wild tale. I have been waiting weeks to tell you.” She shimmered, brimming and eager, fiddling with the ends of her hair. “We should retire to your study, perhaps, where you can sit comfortably.”

“I am comfortable here. The fresh air is a balm. Tell me, Zahra. You said you have answers for me.”

“Yes, my king. You wonder why we fought for you that night, why we betrayed our people to ally with their enemy. Part of the answer is simple, and we told your councils as much: We did not agree with Kalmaroth’s mission of vengeance. Not every angel who lived in the Deep was a creature of violence and anger. Forgive me, my lord king, but it is unjust to look at the many millions of us and reduce us all to one feeling, one philosophy, one desire.”

Abashed, Audric nodded. He opened his mouth to speak, but Zahra held up her hand.

“Please, if you’ll allow it, I must tell it all at once. There is much to say, and you have meetings in the morning, my lord king. At some point, you will need sleep.”

He gave her a wry smile. “I suspect I may not sleep much after you’ve told your tale.”

“Perhaps not. I called it wild. An inadequate word for this story, but I cannot think of another.” She paused, drawing in a breath. A sad, strange habit of wraiths, she had taught him—they did not have lungs, but they did still feel the instinct to breathe. “You’ll remember,” she said, “the girl Eliana. Your daughter, my king.”

The beloved word struck him. He had not expected this. “Of that night I remember many things, but her most of all.”

“We fought in the city that night before we came to you. We shielded your people from angels. We cloaked them from the beasts that hunted them.”

He did know this and started to thank her, as he had many times before, but she hurried on before he could.

“As we fought, I sensed her,” said Zahra. “Eliana. She was different from everyone living in the world, everyone but the boy at her side. The two of them were from another time. I knew it at once. All of us did, and it was this that brought us hurrying to you and that brought the angels storming through the castle to fight you. We all ached to touch her mind, to understand her strangeness, but I ordered the others to shield her and your friends, and while they dove to protect them, it was I alone who read her thoughts. My king…”

She knelt, overcome. Shadows pooled around her, as if she knelt in shallow dark water.

“I saw everything she had seen,” she whispered. “I saw the world in which she had lived. I saw the Undying Empire and all it had done. I saw the people she loved and those who had hurt her. I saw myself through her eyes. In that time yet to come, in which your daughter had lived and fought, I was her friend. I loved her, and she loved me.” ; • •

One night, Audric left Rielle sleeping fitfully in their bed and went up to the roof. The summer air was warm, and night birds called from the thick forests carpeting Mount Cibelline.

He walked the long breezeways of the fifth floor, each bordered with a railing of white stone. Leaning against one of them, he looked down at the scaffolding hugging the castle’s western face. Two towers had collapsed during the battle. Great holes torn from the walls by careening elemental magic left Baingarde looking haggard and feeble.

He rubbed the bridge of his nose, willing away the tired burn behind his eyes. With sleep came dreams. He wanted none of it.

Movement shifted at the corner of his eye, smooth and gliding. He watched Atheria fly, smiling to see her nip bats from the air. The sight was welcome—and increasingly rare. When Rielle was awake, the godsbeast stayed far from Baingarde.

Yet more grief for Rielle to carry.

The air shifted beside him like the weight of something moving through cold water.

A chill prickled his skin. He was not yet used to the feeling of wraiths, nor did he entirely trust them, though they had given him no reason not to, other than the fact of what they were. Angels without bodies—angels who had refused resurrection.

Dozens now guarded the city, hundreds patrolled the mountains, and the one drifting near him now was his favorite. His shoulders eased a little when he recognized her—the tall gray reed of her body, eyes black and serene, long thin limbs. Dark hair streamed faintly to her waist, but near Rielle, an echo of her true self shone with power for all to see—gleaming white hair, rich brown skin, and shining platinum armor, as she had worn when she’d first entered the Deep.

“Zahra,” Audric said warmly. “Is there something you need?”

The wraith inclined her head in greeting. Her voice was resonant, like the toll of heavy bells. “Nothing but company, my lord king. The night is quiet.”

“I’m relieved to hear that.” He looked at the vast dark sky. Sometimes he still saw the faint echo of wings burning there. Sometimes he felt their heat on his neck, and the memory made his mouth taste sick. He closed his eyes, holding himself steady.

Then Zahra huffed out a breath. Suddenly, the feeling of her was troubled. It was a helpful thing to have loved an angel. He could easily read the moods of wraiths, and now he had an army of them.

“I lied,” Zahra said miserably. “In fact, I do need something. I need to give you an answer you’ve been seeking.”

He turned to face her. Shifting and strange as it was, her dim profile held a quiet dignity that he found immensely reassuring. He had been meaning to tell her this.

“An answer to what question?” he asked.

“You’re wondering why I fought against my own people, why I have pledged loyalty to you and your family. You’ve been wondering it since the night I knelt at your feet, and the answer we gave your councils has not satisfied you.”

Stunned into silence, for a moment he could only stare at her. A rising anger helped him find his words. “You’ve been reading my thoughts. This was not part of our agreement.”

Zahra turned, eyes wide. “No, my king. I have broken no part of our agreement. The treaty between us was well written, and all of us who put our names to it did so because we believe in the potential of this new friendship.”

“Then how—”

“My lord king.” Zahra’s voice was fond, and he was reminded at once of her agelessness and his smallness in comparison. How she had lived for centuries before his birth and would drift through hundreds more after his death. “You are a man of exceptional strength, of both mind and heart. But your curiosity is swift and often defies your efforts to remain inscrutable. Your questions dart from you like birds. I cannot help but see them on your face, even the ones you decide not to ask.”

He raised his eyebrows. A bold thing for her to say, but there was a strange relief in feeling so seen. “Tell me what you have to say, then.”

She hesitated. “It is a long story. Perhaps I was wrong to approach you now. It is only that…oh, my lord king, it is such a wild tale. I have been waiting weeks to tell you.” She shimmered, brimming and eager, fiddling with the ends of her hair. “We should retire to your study, perhaps, where you can sit comfortably.”

“I am comfortable here. The fresh air is a balm. Tell me, Zahra. You said you have answers for me.”

“Yes, my king. You wonder why we fought for you that night, why we betrayed our people to ally with their enemy. Part of the answer is simple, and we told your councils as much: We did not agree with Kalmaroth’s mission of vengeance. Not every angel who lived in the Deep was a creature of violence and anger. Forgive me, my lord king, but it is unjust to look at the many millions of us and reduce us all to one feeling, one philosophy, one desire.”

Abashed, Audric nodded. He opened his mouth to speak, but Zahra held up her hand.

“Please, if you’ll allow it, I must tell it all at once. There is much to say, and you have meetings in the morning, my lord king. At some point, you will need sleep.”

He gave her a wry smile. “I suspect I may not sleep much after you’ve told your tale.”

“Perhaps not. I called it wild. An inadequate word for this story, but I cannot think of another.” She paused, drawing in a breath. A sad, strange habit of wraiths, she had taught him—they did not have lungs, but they did still feel the instinct to breathe. “You’ll remember,” she said, “the girl Eliana. Your daughter, my king.”

The beloved word struck him. He had not expected this. “Of that night I remember many things, but her most of all.”

“We fought in the city that night before we came to you. We shielded your people from angels. We cloaked them from the beasts that hunted them.”

He did know this and started to thank her, as he had many times before, but she hurried on before he could.

“As we fought, I sensed her,” said Zahra. “Eliana. She was different from everyone living in the world, everyone but the boy at her side. The two of them were from another time. I knew it at once. All of us did, and it was this that brought us hurrying to you and that brought the angels storming through the castle to fight you. We all ached to touch her mind, to understand her strangeness, but I ordered the others to shield her and your friends, and while they dove to protect them, it was I alone who read her thoughts. My king…”

She knelt, overcome. Shadows pooled around her, as if she knelt in shallow dark water.

“I saw everything she had seen,” she whispered. “I saw the world in which she had lived. I saw the Undying Empire and all it had done. I saw the people she loved and those who had hurt her. I saw myself through her eyes. In that time yet to come, in which your daughter had lived and fought, I was her friend. I loved her, and she loved me.”