Kingsbane (Empirium 2)

“Lady Rielle,” the Obex speaker continued, “we are aware of Jodoc Indarien’s directive. You are to search for the castings of the saints on your own, without aid. We are aware of his reasons for declaring this. We are also aware that you saved this city from destruction when you could have abandoned us to it. We are aware that the Gate is falling, that darkness is rising. In the east, in the north, in Celdaria, in our own streets and mountains. It is our belief—that is, the belief of the Obex who live here in Borsvall and have devoted our lives to protecting the casting of Saint Grimvald—that there is simply no time left to any of us. Not for games or puzzles, not for anything but swift action.”

The three Obex stepped forward once more and knelt before Rielle, offering up Saint Grimvald’s hammer on the altar of their hands. “This is a gift, Lady Rielle, and a powerful one,” the Obex continued. “We trust you will use it wisely and in good service.”

Rielle gazed at the hammer, her head spinning. So close to the worn metal, her palms prickled as though she were holding her hands too close to a fire. And yet she hesitated to take the hammer for her own. Everything was happening so quickly. She glanced at the gathered magisters, at Ilmaire’s astonished face. Was he really to allow the Obex to gift her with Grimvald’s hammer without ceremony, behind closed doors, with his citizens kept ignorant?

Do you care? Corien asked.

Rielle bit down on a small smile. It was a fair point.

Take it, my love. He urged her gently, his words as cool and soft as a kiss of breeze. They’re offering it with no conditions. Take it. It belongs to you more than them. It belongs to you more than anyone.

More than it belongs to you? she could not resist asking.

I care nothing for human trifles, he replied. Then, softer, the sensation of his mouth against her neck so near that she could almost pretend he was there beside her: I want only you.

“Take this, Lady Rielle, and hurry home,” said the Obex, shaking Corien’s voice from Rielle’s thoughts. “There are six more castings for you to find, and other factions of our order will not feel as charitably toward you as we do. Hurry home and hunt swiftly. The angels will not wait. Even now, they are coming.”

Rielle hesitated, glanced back at Audric, then grasped the hammer in both hands and lifted it, with some effort. The air around her pulsed with an invisible resonance she could feel in her veins, like the heady bite of adrenaline, and she knew with a sudden ferocious certainty that even if the council, or the Obex, or Ilmaire himself, suddenly decided to take the hammer from her, they would fail.

The casting of Saint Grimvald was hers now, the property of the Sun Queen, to wield or not as she saw fit.

And God help anyone who tried to wrest it from her grasp.

Eliana

“When performing elemental magic, it is crucial not to think of the act as forcing the empirium to obey your will. It is a union, not a conquest. Think of this: How can I slip inside the rhythm of the song the empirium is already singing? How can I match its gait?”

—The Path to the Empirium: A Meditation on Elemental Practice by Velia Arrosara, Grand Magister of the Firmament in Orline, capital of Ventera, Years 313–331 of the Second Age

Eliana waited for Harkan to respond for as long as she could bear the silence. Zahra floated nearby, her great black eyes fixed on his face.

He sat on the edge of the divan in Eliana’s bedroom, brow drawn in an expression she didn’t like.

She had no time for his worry, or his doubt.

“If you won’t come with us and help me,” she said when he still hadn’t spoken, “will you at least keep Simon and Remy from finding out? Will you not say a word about any of this?”

“Magic, thievery, and a secret mission to a black market run by wraiths?” Harkan gave her a tired smile. “I can’t let you have all the fun alone.”

Zahra cleared her throat. “May I remind you that, even without your company, she wouldn’t be alone?”

Harkan’s expression tightened. “Of course not. My apologies, Zahra.”

His uneasiness—with Zahra, with the entire situation—was palpable, and sat uncomfortably around Eliana like a layer of dirt she couldn’t scrub from her skin. Briefly she wondered if she should insist he remain behind to help cover her tracks. The sight of her using her castings could forever change things between them.

But that change had already occurred. She knew this, even if she wasn’t ready to accept it. There was no path left to them but the one leading forward.

She took Harkan’s hands in hers, trying to ignore the ache of regret in her heart and smile at him as she had always done. “Thank you. I could do this without you, but I don’t want to.”

He kissed her fingers, avoiding her castings. A flicker of darkness moved across his face, as if the sight of the discs and their chains was distasteful, something he longed to wish away. Eliana considered admonishing him for that, but decided against it. After all, she wasn’t yet comfortable with the chains binding her wrists. Why should she expect Harkan to be?

“When do we begin?” he asked.

“First I must practice using these,” Eliana replied, raising her hands—and not meeting Harkan’s eyes. “And when Zahra says I’m ready, we’ll leave.”

• • •

The next night, as the castle slept, Eliana sat on the cold, damp stone of the belvedere in Saint Tameryn’s cavern. With Harkan sitting beside her, she lifted her arms into the air, palms rigid, and began to pray.

The Wind Rite seemed appropriate for her first practice. She would pray to the wind and call upon her power just as she had done at the beach.

She could see it clearly in her mind. The air would open for her as easily as a door. She would gather it in her palms, and miniature storms would bloom in the cradle of her fingers. She would send them flying, like messenger birds, and then call them back to her. Their arrival would blow the hair back from Harkan’s face, cool her own hot cheeks. Zahra would approve and take her to the Nest. Eliana would return triumphant to the palace, and Navi would live, and Remy would love Eliana again, if only because she had saved the friend he so adored.

After a few seconds of expectant silence, Harkan asked quietly, “Is something supposed to be happening?”

Eliana cracked open one eye.

The cavern remained still and silent. The air did not so much as quiver against her skin.

She dropped her arms. “I feel absurd doing this.”

“You have tried for only forty-seven seconds, my queen,” Zahra pointed out.

“Is there something I should be doing to help?” Harkan asked. “Shall I pray as well?” o;Lady Rielle,” the Obex speaker continued, “we are aware of Jodoc Indarien’s directive. You are to search for the castings of the saints on your own, without aid. We are aware of his reasons for declaring this. We are also aware that you saved this city from destruction when you could have abandoned us to it. We are aware that the Gate is falling, that darkness is rising. In the east, in the north, in Celdaria, in our own streets and mountains. It is our belief—that is, the belief of the Obex who live here in Borsvall and have devoted our lives to protecting the casting of Saint Grimvald—that there is simply no time left to any of us. Not for games or puzzles, not for anything but swift action.”