Lightbringer (Empirium 3)

Eliana was too numb with sadness to protest when Ludivine took her hands. She wished Zahra were before her instead of this black-eyed angel with a hollow space where her stolen heart should be. She formed the thought viciously, slammed it at Ludivine’s face.

It remained unruffled, porcelain smooth.

“Five of my acolytes died twenty minutes ago while drawing the cruciata into my home,” Ludivine said quietly. “I have spent long years with all of them. I grieve their death. But I did not flinch at sending them to it, nor did they flinch at going. When Navi, Ysabet, and their crew left the Vespers, they knew they would sail to their doom. They did so gladly. They did so for you. It was their choice to fight then, and to fight today. We should now honor that choice by doing what must be done.”

Eliana held Ludivine’s black gaze, then turned away to face the empty door. Navi had stood there, and Patrik and Hob, only a moment before. Behind her, Simon and Ludivine were speaking. She ignored them, listening instead to the distant sounds of battle. Monstrous shrieks, wet guttural roars.

Swords crashing.

“I hear swords,” she said, the words foul on her tongue.

“My acolytes, before they died, managed to tempt one hundred cruciata underground,” Ludivine replied. “And Corien has sent five hundred angels ahead of him. They will move slowly, avoiding the cruciata blood our friends have spilled. This will give us some time. But their sheer numbers will eventually overwhelm the beasts. They will be the sea that clears a path for him. Before an hour has passed, he will stand in this room. But by then, you will be long gone.”

Eliana turned. Simon stood in the center of the room, his back to her. He pulled threads from the air, a weaver of light.

Ludivine put her hand on Remy’s shoulder. “Remy and I have been practicing Old Celdarian. In case something should happen to Simon, Remy will know how to speak with whomever you encounter. The common tongue was different then, and Celdarians will be more likely to trust you if you speak their language. Luckily, Remy’s vocabulary was already quite robust. He learned much in his time with Jessamyn.” She smiled fondly, tucked some of Remy’s dark hair behind his ear. “If only we had longer to spend together, Remy Ferracora. Your mind is a fascinating one. It holds so many dreams, even after months of living in darkness.”

Watching them, Eliana felt ill. She snatched Remy away from Ludivine, then walked with him to the far side of the room.

In the shadows, she steeled herself. Pressed her brow to his, held his cheeks. His eyes were her whole world. Bloodshot and blue, rimmed with dark lashes.

“I would say you can’t go with me,” she said, “but somehow I don’t think you’ll accept that.”

A tiny smile lifted the corners of his mouth. “If I stay here, I’ll definitely die. If I go with you, I might live.”

She bit her tongue. It was not the moment to talk about time, what might or might not happen, what would or would not be changed.

“There is that,” she said weakly.

Remy put his hands over hers, gently pressed her fingers. “You can do this, El.”

It felt wrong to hear the pet name in his new cracking voice. This boy before her, this wiry killer with watchful eyes. She pressed a fierce kiss to his forehead. If she didn’t look straight at him, she could pretend away the past few months and imagine her room in Orline. The lace curtains, her mother’s quilt, Remy’s voice lulling her to sleep as he read of saints and angels, godsbeasts and kings.

From the corridor came horrible sounds, the crash and tear of teeth and swords like lightning splitting open the earth. A sharp cry burst free of the chaos. Eliana thought it sounded like Navi. Her neck went cold with sweat.

Ludivine moved past them to the door. The light from Simon’s growing threads lit the walls strangely, a wan white-gold that carried with it a sharp, acrid scent like the silver charge of spitting storm clouds.

“When you step through the threads, you will find yourself in the royal gardens behind Baingarde,” Ludivine said. Her hair was liquid gold in the growing light. “It was a peaceful evening. Audric, Rielle, and I were resting under a sorrow tree at the end of a long day. Long, but good. The trials were over. We had not yet left for the tour that would introduce her to the kingdom. Her father had recently died, and Audric’s too, and there was grief in us, and fear, but when it was only us three, there was also peace.”

She glanced back over her shoulder. The threadlight gave her eyes a golden sheen. “Simon?”

“Nearly there,” he said, his voice tightly coiled.

Eliana went to him and stood at his side. She felt Remy join her, caught a glimpse of how soft with wonder his face had become as he watched Simon work. The expression made him more familiar.

“Is there anything I can do?” Eliana asked.

Simon tightly shook his head. “No.”

“You’re doing wonderfully.”

His mouth quirked. His temples gleamed with sweat. “How would you know?”

The truth was, she didn’t. But it was beautiful, as it had been before, to watch his long, deft fingers draw light from the air. The serious furrow of his brow, the set lines of his jaw.

She placed her hand on his arm. His body relaxed, and the swirling threads of light gathering at his fingertips solidified, brightening.

Despite the fear turning coldly in her chest, Eliana smiled.

“Thank you,” Simon whispered, his voice thin beneath the growing hum of his threads, and though he could not remove his hands from the air, she felt him shift toward her. Their legs touched. Remy hooked his arm through hers, pressed his cheek to her shoulder. He muttered a sentence in Old Celdarian over and over. At the corner of Eliana’s eye, one of the candles flickered.

Then, an explosion of sound from the hallway, a titanic cascading clatter of metal against stone. Past the door flew a slain cruciata, flung by something out of sight. The raptor’s sleek black-green feathers painted bright blue streaks across the floor.

“He’s coming, and faster than I thought,” Ludivine announced. Her voice betrayed nothing, but Eliana felt the slightest of tremors in her mind.

“You’ll send us through and then come right after us,” Eliana said firmly to Simon. “Close the thread behind you. Don’t look back.”

Simon nodded. A slight shudder passed through his body. His threads—dozens of them, maybe hundreds—were gathering into a solid ring of spinning light. And as Eliana watched, darker threads joined the lighter ones, consuming them. They snapped like whips, lashing a spitting blackness through the air. The ring of light flickered, dimmed, then brightened. Dark threads twined with threads of light. Shapes manifested beyond the ring—tall green shadows like enormous soldiers marching in clean lines. Trees? a was too numb with sadness to protest when Ludivine took her hands. She wished Zahra were before her instead of this black-eyed angel with a hollow space where her stolen heart should be. She formed the thought viciously, slammed it at Ludivine’s face.

It remained unruffled, porcelain smooth.

“Five of my acolytes died twenty minutes ago while drawing the cruciata into my home,” Ludivine said quietly. “I have spent long years with all of them. I grieve their death. But I did not flinch at sending them to it, nor did they flinch at going. When Navi, Ysabet, and their crew left the Vespers, they knew they would sail to their doom. They did so gladly. They did so for you. It was their choice to fight then, and to fight today. We should now honor that choice by doing what must be done.”

Eliana held Ludivine’s black gaze, then turned away to face the empty door. Navi had stood there, and Patrik and Hob, only a moment before. Behind her, Simon and Ludivine were speaking. She ignored them, listening instead to the distant sounds of battle. Monstrous shrieks, wet guttural roars.

Swords crashing.

“I hear swords,” she said, the words foul on her tongue.

“My acolytes, before they died, managed to tempt one hundred cruciata underground,” Ludivine replied. “And Corien has sent five hundred angels ahead of him. They will move slowly, avoiding the cruciata blood our friends have spilled. This will give us some time. But their sheer numbers will eventually overwhelm the beasts. They will be the sea that clears a path for him. Before an hour has passed, he will stand in this room. But by then, you will be long gone.”

Eliana turned. Simon stood in the center of the room, his back to her. He pulled threads from the air, a weaver of light.

Ludivine put her hand on Remy’s shoulder. “Remy and I have been practicing Old Celdarian. In case something should happen to Simon, Remy will know how to speak with whomever you encounter. The common tongue was different then, and Celdarians will be more likely to trust you if you speak their language. Luckily, Remy’s vocabulary was already quite robust. He learned much in his time with Jessamyn.” She smiled fondly, tucked some of Remy’s dark hair behind his ear. “If only we had longer to spend together, Remy Ferracora. Your mind is a fascinating one. It holds so many dreams, even after months of living in darkness.”

Watching them, Eliana felt ill. She snatched Remy away from Ludivine, then walked with him to the far side of the room.

In the shadows, she steeled herself. Pressed her brow to his, held his cheeks. His eyes were her whole world. Bloodshot and blue, rimmed with dark lashes.

“I would say you can’t go with me,” she said, “but somehow I don’t think you’ll accept that.”

A tiny smile lifted the corners of his mouth. “If I stay here, I’ll definitely die. If I go with you, I might live.”

She bit her tongue. It was not the moment to talk about time, what might or might not happen, what would or would not be changed.

“There is that,” she said weakly.

Remy put his hands over hers, gently pressed her fingers. “You can do this, El.”

It felt wrong to hear the pet name in his new cracking voice. This boy before her, this wiry killer with watchful eyes. She pressed a fierce kiss to his forehead. If she didn’t look straight at him, she could pretend away the past few months and imagine her room in Orline. The lace curtains, her mother’s quilt, Remy’s voice lulling her to sleep as he read of saints and angels, godsbeasts and kings.

From the corridor came horrible sounds, the crash and tear of teeth and swords like lightning splitting open the earth. A sharp cry burst free of the chaos. Eliana thought it sounded like Navi. Her neck went cold with sweat.

Ludivine moved past them to the door. The light from Simon’s growing threads lit the walls strangely, a wan white-gold that carried with it a sharp, acrid scent like the silver charge of spitting storm clouds.

“When you step through the threads, you will find yourself in the royal gardens behind Baingarde,” Ludivine said. Her hair was liquid gold in the growing light. “It was a peaceful evening. Audric, Rielle, and I were resting under a sorrow tree at the end of a long day. Long, but good. The trials were over. We had not yet left for the tour that would introduce her to the kingdom. Her father had recently died, and Audric’s too, and there was grief in us, and fear, but when it was only us three, there was also peace.”

She glanced back over her shoulder. The threadlight gave her eyes a golden sheen. “Simon?”

“Nearly there,” he said, his voice tightly coiled.

Eliana went to him and stood at his side. She felt Remy join her, caught a glimpse of how soft with wonder his face had become as he watched Simon work. The expression made him more familiar.

“Is there anything I can do?” Eliana asked.

Simon tightly shook his head. “No.”

“You’re doing wonderfully.”

His mouth quirked. His temples gleamed with sweat. “How would you know?”

The truth was, she didn’t. But it was beautiful, as it had been before, to watch his long, deft fingers draw light from the air. The serious furrow of his brow, the set lines of his jaw.

She placed her hand on his arm. His body relaxed, and the swirling threads of light gathering at his fingertips solidified, brightening.

Despite the fear turning coldly in her chest, Eliana smiled.

“Thank you,” Simon whispered, his voice thin beneath the growing hum of his threads, and though he could not remove his hands from the air, she felt him shift toward her. Their legs touched. Remy hooked his arm through hers, pressed his cheek to her shoulder. He muttered a sentence in Old Celdarian over and over. At the corner of Eliana’s eye, one of the candles flickered.

Then, an explosion of sound from the hallway, a titanic cascading clatter of metal against stone. Past the door flew a slain cruciata, flung by something out of sight. The raptor’s sleek black-green feathers painted bright blue streaks across the floor.

“He’s coming, and faster than I thought,” Ludivine announced. Her voice betrayed nothing, but Eliana felt the slightest of tremors in her mind.

“You’ll send us through and then come right after us,” Eliana said firmly to Simon. “Close the thread behind you. Don’t look back.”

Simon nodded. A slight shudder passed through his body. His threads—dozens of them, maybe hundreds—were gathering into a solid ring of spinning light. And as Eliana watched, darker threads joined the lighter ones, consuming them. They snapped like whips, lashing a spitting blackness through the air. The ring of light flickered, dimmed, then brightened. Dark threads twined with threads of light. Shapes manifested beyond the ring—tall green shadows like enormous soldiers marching in clean lines. Trees?