Lightbringer (Empirium 3)

“Only you can bring it back,” one of the bodies whispered, and though it did not move, Eliana felt its fingers clutch at her skirts. “Only you can bring her back.”

“Save us,” another wailed. “Help us see.”

“We are ravenous.”

“We are thirsty.”

One shivered as she passed. “Touch me. Make me feel again.”

“Find her.”

Eliana clapped her hands over her ears and ran, the angels’ cries chasing after her. Heat from her palms scorched her skin, and her lips were wet with blood, but she kept her hands pressed tight against her skull.

If she was going to burn, she would do it alone.

• • •

Eliana opened her eyes.

Will you hurt me to get her back?

She stared in horror at the man huddled on the ground at her feet. He had been pummeled; black bruises drew continents across his sallow skin. He clutched his stomach with one hand and reached for Eliana with the other. Between the fingers pressed to his abdomen, the end of his life bubbled crimson.

“It was a ruse, Eliana,” Simon said, his voice ragged. “Please, help me. I did it all for you.”

Eliana stepped back from him, her eyes burning as hot as her hands. “I can’t. I won’t.” She glanced at the sky. They were on a cliff, overlooking a range of bald mountains. The sky was red with sunset. Rings of blood marked her palms, rimming her castings. They were hot; they were ready.

She denied them. Not here. She imagined plunging her hands into an icy pool, how her castings would steam and shrivel.

“Do you hear me?” She raised her voice. The air was strange, thick and close, and it swallowed her words as soon as she shouted them. “I won’t help you. I’ll die before I help you. I can do this forever.”

Simon crawled toward her. “Will you help me? Like you did for Remy. Remember?” And then Simon let out a sharp groan of pain, a tight sob. He blinked hard, shook his head. “Hurry, Eliana. I want to explain. I want to tell you everything. Please, help me.”

Eliana turned her back on him and walked away. She heard him cry out, begging for her to come back. Something was attacking him; she heard a chittering sound, like a swarm of bugs, and then the pounding of feet and fists against flesh. A bone snapped, and Simon’s scream was hoarse with pain.

“Eliana, please!”

She closed her eyes and walked until she had worn holes in her boots and the soles of her feet trailed red prints. It wasn’t real. She knew that. None of this was real.

And yet Simon’s cry of anguish followed her to the edge of the world.

• • •

Will you hurt me to get her back?

Eliana opened her eyes to see a young woman glaring down at her.

Clad in the square-shouldered black uniform worn by palace guards, the woman’s skin was a honeyed brown, her cheeks sprayed with freckles. Her long braid was a rich, bright scarlet.

Jessamyn.

The memory came quickly: the smooth warmth of Jessamyn’s skin as they kissed in that shed outside the city of Karlaine. The relief of her touch, and the peace that came after—until the attack, not an hour later, that had nearly claimed Remy’s life.

Eliana recovered quickly. “The last time I saw you,” she said, sitting up, “you were punching me. We were on the pier in Festival.”

“I remember,” said Jessamyn, every word clipped. “Get up.”

“Why are you here?”

“The Emperor has assigned me to your escort,” came the flat reply. Jessamyn gripped Eliana’s wrist, yanked her hard toward the edge of the bed. “He has commanded your attendance at tonight’s concert.”

So, this Jessamyn was just as relentless as the one Eliana had known.

Two of her adatrox attendants led her into the bathing room. They were exquisitely lovely women, both of them gray-eyed and mute, one with smooth brown skin, the other eerily pale. Their white robes fluttered at their ankles, and around their necks gleamed gilded collars.

As they combed and styled the loose curls that now fell to her shoulders, Eliana watched Jessamyn closely. Though she stood at the door to the bathing room, stationed as any guard would be, Jessamyn seemed restless, unsettled. One finger tapped against her thigh. She held her jaw tightly.

A thought came to Eliana’s tired mind. She knew little of the mechanics of time, but still she wondered: Was it possible for anything of her Jessamyn to exist inside this one? Some commonality she could find and use, if she only knew where to look?

Eliana needed to keep her talking. She glanced at the gown waiting on its hook. “So, another concert tonight, then. Orchestra? Choir? A soloist, perhaps?”

“I am not privy to the Emperor’s plans,” said Jessamyn, “and if I were, I would not share them with you.”

“Why did he assign you to my guard?”

“I do not ask the Emperor to explain his orders. I merely follow them.”

Eliana’s attendants helped her rise, then dried her with soft white towels and began strapping her into an elaborate undergarment that cinched her waist.

“Aren’t you curious?” Eliana insisted.

Jessamyn glanced at her, impassive. “No.”

Her attendants wrapped her in a plunging red velvet gown. Diamonds spangled its sheer sleeves, and its skirt sparkled with an overlay of gold organza.

“I would be, if I were you,” Eliana said. “You’re an Invictus trainee, aren’t you? You should be out in the world somewhere, carrying out missions. Tending my clothes, escorting me to concerts—you don’t find that a little insulting?”

Jessamyn shot her a thin look. “‘He has chosen me to guard His works. He has chosen me to receive His glory. I am the blade that cuts at night. I am the guardian of His story.’”

A chill seized Eliana at the reverence in Jessamyn’s voice. She cloaked it with a shrug. “If you say so.”

There was jewelry to match the gown—two heavy gold rings crowned with flat bouquets of stars. The attendants bent to slide them on and then flinched away from her hands, where the gold chains of her castings glinted. Their smooth brows furrowed slightly. One opened her mouth and let out a muted cry of fear.

“Let me,” came Jessamyn’s brusque command. She dismissed the attendants and put the rings on Eliana’s fingers herself.

“I knew you once,” Eliana said, watching Jessamyn’s face for any sign of the woman she had known. “You were kind to me then. You kiss as well as you fight.” o;Only you can bring it back,” one of the bodies whispered, and though it did not move, Eliana felt its fingers clutch at her skirts. “Only you can bring her back.”

“Save us,” another wailed. “Help us see.”

“We are ravenous.”

“We are thirsty.”

One shivered as she passed. “Touch me. Make me feel again.”

“Find her.”

Eliana clapped her hands over her ears and ran, the angels’ cries chasing after her. Heat from her palms scorched her skin, and her lips were wet with blood, but she kept her hands pressed tight against her skull.

If she was going to burn, she would do it alone.

• • •

Eliana opened her eyes.

Will you hurt me to get her back?

She stared in horror at the man huddled on the ground at her feet. He had been pummeled; black bruises drew continents across his sallow skin. He clutched his stomach with one hand and reached for Eliana with the other. Between the fingers pressed to his abdomen, the end of his life bubbled crimson.

“It was a ruse, Eliana,” Simon said, his voice ragged. “Please, help me. I did it all for you.”

Eliana stepped back from him, her eyes burning as hot as her hands. “I can’t. I won’t.” She glanced at the sky. They were on a cliff, overlooking a range of bald mountains. The sky was red with sunset. Rings of blood marked her palms, rimming her castings. They were hot; they were ready.

She denied them. Not here. She imagined plunging her hands into an icy pool, how her castings would steam and shrivel.

“Do you hear me?” She raised her voice. The air was strange, thick and close, and it swallowed her words as soon as she shouted them. “I won’t help you. I’ll die before I help you. I can do this forever.”

Simon crawled toward her. “Will you help me? Like you did for Remy. Remember?” And then Simon let out a sharp groan of pain, a tight sob. He blinked hard, shook his head. “Hurry, Eliana. I want to explain. I want to tell you everything. Please, help me.”

Eliana turned her back on him and walked away. She heard him cry out, begging for her to come back. Something was attacking him; she heard a chittering sound, like a swarm of bugs, and then the pounding of feet and fists against flesh. A bone snapped, and Simon’s scream was hoarse with pain.

“Eliana, please!”

She closed her eyes and walked until she had worn holes in her boots and the soles of her feet trailed red prints. It wasn’t real. She knew that. None of this was real.

And yet Simon’s cry of anguish followed her to the edge of the world.

• • •

Will you hurt me to get her back?

Eliana opened her eyes to see a young woman glaring down at her.

Clad in the square-shouldered black uniform worn by palace guards, the woman’s skin was a honeyed brown, her cheeks sprayed with freckles. Her long braid was a rich, bright scarlet.

Jessamyn.

The memory came quickly: the smooth warmth of Jessamyn’s skin as they kissed in that shed outside the city of Karlaine. The relief of her touch, and the peace that came after—until the attack, not an hour later, that had nearly claimed Remy’s life.

Eliana recovered quickly. “The last time I saw you,” she said, sitting up, “you were punching me. We were on the pier in Festival.”

“I remember,” said Jessamyn, every word clipped. “Get up.”

“Why are you here?”

“The Emperor has assigned me to your escort,” came the flat reply. Jessamyn gripped Eliana’s wrist, yanked her hard toward the edge of the bed. “He has commanded your attendance at tonight’s concert.”

So, this Jessamyn was just as relentless as the one Eliana had known.

Two of her adatrox attendants led her into the bathing room. They were exquisitely lovely women, both of them gray-eyed and mute, one with smooth brown skin, the other eerily pale. Their white robes fluttered at their ankles, and around their necks gleamed gilded collars.

As they combed and styled the loose curls that now fell to her shoulders, Eliana watched Jessamyn closely. Though she stood at the door to the bathing room, stationed as any guard would be, Jessamyn seemed restless, unsettled. One finger tapped against her thigh. She held her jaw tightly.

A thought came to Eliana’s tired mind. She knew little of the mechanics of time, but still she wondered: Was it possible for anything of her Jessamyn to exist inside this one? Some commonality she could find and use, if she only knew where to look?

Eliana needed to keep her talking. She glanced at the gown waiting on its hook. “So, another concert tonight, then. Orchestra? Choir? A soloist, perhaps?”

“I am not privy to the Emperor’s plans,” said Jessamyn, “and if I were, I would not share them with you.”

“Why did he assign you to my guard?”

“I do not ask the Emperor to explain his orders. I merely follow them.”

Eliana’s attendants helped her rise, then dried her with soft white towels and began strapping her into an elaborate undergarment that cinched her waist.

“Aren’t you curious?” Eliana insisted.

Jessamyn glanced at her, impassive. “No.”

Her attendants wrapped her in a plunging red velvet gown. Diamonds spangled its sheer sleeves, and its skirt sparkled with an overlay of gold organza.

“I would be, if I were you,” Eliana said. “You’re an Invictus trainee, aren’t you? You should be out in the world somewhere, carrying out missions. Tending my clothes, escorting me to concerts—you don’t find that a little insulting?”

Jessamyn shot her a thin look. “‘He has chosen me to guard His works. He has chosen me to receive His glory. I am the blade that cuts at night. I am the guardian of His story.’”

A chill seized Eliana at the reverence in Jessamyn’s voice. She cloaked it with a shrug. “If you say so.”

There was jewelry to match the gown—two heavy gold rings crowned with flat bouquets of stars. The attendants bent to slide them on and then flinched away from her hands, where the gold chains of her castings glinted. Their smooth brows furrowed slightly. One opened her mouth and let out a muted cry of fear.

“Let me,” came Jessamyn’s brusque command. She dismissed the attendants and put the rings on Eliana’s fingers herself.

“I knew you once,” Eliana said, watching Jessamyn’s face for any sign of the woman she had known. “You were kind to me then. You kiss as well as you fight.”