Lightbringer (Empirium 3)

The sleeve of her tunic had slipped. Ysabet kissed her bare shoulder.

“I didn’t name her that only to get in your bed,” Ysabet mumbled against her skin.

Navi smiled, her eyes fluttering shut. “I have no bed.”

“I do, on my ship.” Ysabet lifted her face, her eyes full of stars. “It’s big. Captain’s quarters and all that.”

Then Ysabet’s face sobered. She leaned her forehead against Navi’s as they found their breath again, and tenderly brushed Navi’s silky black hair away from her cheek. Months after her abduction by Fidelia, her hair had finally reached her shoulders.

“I don’t only want to lie with you, Navi,” Ysabet whispered. “It isn’t only about that.”

Navi feathered soft kisses across Ysabet’s cheeks, her heart aching when Ysabet turned up her face, eyes closed, like a bloom seeking the sun.

“I know,” said Navi quietly. “It’s the same for me.” She shuddered as Ysabet brushed against the hem of her tunic, fingers teasing her naked waist. “Only long ago, when I was quite young, have I been touched like this by someone I wanted. I’d forgotten it could be so nice.”

Ysabet paused, then pulled back from her. Her eyes were grave. “So many stories we have yet to tell each other.”

Navi touched her face with a soft smile. “We will have much time to tell stories as we speed across the ocean in your beautiful ship.”

“Say that again.”

Navi’s smile grew. “Your beautiful ship.”

Ysabet sighed. “I love hearing you say those wonderful words.”

A shout pierced the air, followed by another. Navi locked eyes with Ysabet for an instant, and then they hurried from the tent. Outside, their crews grabbed weapons, scrambled to hide supplies. Malik drew his sword, his expression grim. Hob readied his revolver.

Navi squinted into the swamp’s gloom, Ysabet just behind her. It was evening; what light passed through the thick net of branches overhead was thin and yellow. Navi glanced at the fissure, but it looked the same as ever—a thin black eye streaked with shifting light, hovering quietly several hundred yards away.

A boat approached, far enough from the fissure that Navi thought the passengers might not even have seen it. Someone stood inside the boat, pushing the vessel forward through the murky water with a long oar.

Navi tensed. Was it only one person, one boat? Or the first of many? Human or angel?

Then the air shifted as if from a breeze. Framed by the still swamp, the disturbance caught Navi’s eye at once. Her breath hitched, for she knew that distortion, that faint smudge in the air that flitted and shifted, ever-changing.

Your Highness. Zahra’s voice brimmed with relief. At last.

Navi surged forward with a sharp cry. “Don’t shoot! Lower your weapons!”

Malik looked back at her, frowning, his sword still raised.

Navi pushed past him, laughter bursting from her throat, and waved her arms in greeting. She heard the moment when Hob recognized the oarsman—a short, trim man, pale-skinned, with shaggy copper hair. A choked cry, and then Hob joined Navi at the shore, plunged into the sludge uncaring. He grabbed the boat and dragged it the rest of the way to land.

Patrik’s grin was like the sun rising. He tossed his oar to the muddy bank, an unfamiliar scar stretching across his cheek. Navi clasped her hands at her mouth, smiling through her tears. Patrik was much changed since that day months ago when she had met him in the Red Crown hideout called Crown’s Hollow. He wore a frayed black eye patch, and he was too thin, his body marked with fresh scars. But he was whole and alive.

Hob cupped Patrik’s face in his trembling dark hands, and then, tenderly, as if afraid doing so would end the dream, gathered him close, folding him into his arms. Hob buried his face in Patrik’s wild hair, clutched the tattered folds of his shirt. Hob was a man of quiet, but his loud sobs were unfettered, cracking with incredulous laughter.

Patrik pressed his face against Hob’s shoulder, his eye closed. He was muttering something barely audible beneath the sound of Hob’s relief. His fingers stroked the back of Hob’s neck. Navi could barely see him over the great rise of Hob’s shoulder, but she managed to catch his eye.

She turned to the others, who were all watching. Malik was beaming, his sword forgotten.

“Go on,” she mouthed, gesturing for everyone to move away. “Give them a moment.”

Immediately, her little army of strays obeyed, returning to their tasks with Ysabet’s crew—except for Ysabet herself, who was glaring sharply up at the trees.

“Something’s here,” she muttered, hand resting on her sword hilt. “Something angelic.”

Navi touched her arm. “Yes, but she’s a friend. A wraith named Zahra. She saved me once, and Eliana more times than that.”

Then Navi turned to face Zahra—a soft blur in the air, faceless and formless. Unlike Eliana, Navi could not see the echo of Zahra’s true form. But inside her mind, Zahra was clear as the cloudless sky.

“Before I tell you how happy I am to see you at last,” Zahra said, not in mind-speak but aloud, her deep, smooth voice rich with joy, “and before I tell you where we have been and what we have seen, I must share news with you, Your Highness.”

Ysabet let out a low curse. Wide-eyed, she stepped back from where Zahra drifted, though her gaze did not quite land on her.

“I don’t understand,” Ysabet muttered. “I’ve never heard an angel speak without a body.”

“The mind can accomplish much, if you have the will for it,” Zahra said primly. “What you are hearing is an approximation and projection of the voice I once possessed, amplified and unscrambled by your own mind. While not all wraiths can recreate such things, my mind, happily, is strong enough for it.”

Ysabet blinked at her, then looked at Navi with an expression so flummoxed that Navi had to stifle a laugh.

“We’ll talk more about that later,” Navi assured her, gently touching her arm.

“Now. My news.” The shape of Zahra in the air, vague as it was, seemed to straighten. “I bring word from the Prophet. Eliana still lives. She fights the Emperor. With the Prophet’s guidance, she is learning to use her power covertly. She is working to open a massive fissure between Avitas and the Deep and will soon unleash hordes of cruciata upon Elysium.”

A ripple of excitement swept through those who had gathered to listen.

Navi felt wild with happiness. She put her hand to her throat, tears rising fast. “Oh, Zahra. Thank God. Eliana lives. She lives, oh, sweet saints. What else did the Prophet say? And who is the Prophet? Do you know?” leeve of her tunic had slipped. Ysabet kissed her bare shoulder.

“I didn’t name her that only to get in your bed,” Ysabet mumbled against her skin.

Navi smiled, her eyes fluttering shut. “I have no bed.”

“I do, on my ship.” Ysabet lifted her face, her eyes full of stars. “It’s big. Captain’s quarters and all that.”

Then Ysabet’s face sobered. She leaned her forehead against Navi’s as they found their breath again, and tenderly brushed Navi’s silky black hair away from her cheek. Months after her abduction by Fidelia, her hair had finally reached her shoulders.

“I don’t only want to lie with you, Navi,” Ysabet whispered. “It isn’t only about that.”

Navi feathered soft kisses across Ysabet’s cheeks, her heart aching when Ysabet turned up her face, eyes closed, like a bloom seeking the sun.

“I know,” said Navi quietly. “It’s the same for me.” She shuddered as Ysabet brushed against the hem of her tunic, fingers teasing her naked waist. “Only long ago, when I was quite young, have I been touched like this by someone I wanted. I’d forgotten it could be so nice.”

Ysabet paused, then pulled back from her. Her eyes were grave. “So many stories we have yet to tell each other.”

Navi touched her face with a soft smile. “We will have much time to tell stories as we speed across the ocean in your beautiful ship.”

“Say that again.”

Navi’s smile grew. “Your beautiful ship.”

Ysabet sighed. “I love hearing you say those wonderful words.”

A shout pierced the air, followed by another. Navi locked eyes with Ysabet for an instant, and then they hurried from the tent. Outside, their crews grabbed weapons, scrambled to hide supplies. Malik drew his sword, his expression grim. Hob readied his revolver.

Navi squinted into the swamp’s gloom, Ysabet just behind her. It was evening; what light passed through the thick net of branches overhead was thin and yellow. Navi glanced at the fissure, but it looked the same as ever—a thin black eye streaked with shifting light, hovering quietly several hundred yards away.

A boat approached, far enough from the fissure that Navi thought the passengers might not even have seen it. Someone stood inside the boat, pushing the vessel forward through the murky water with a long oar.

Navi tensed. Was it only one person, one boat? Or the first of many? Human or angel?

Then the air shifted as if from a breeze. Framed by the still swamp, the disturbance caught Navi’s eye at once. Her breath hitched, for she knew that distortion, that faint smudge in the air that flitted and shifted, ever-changing.

Your Highness. Zahra’s voice brimmed with relief. At last.

Navi surged forward with a sharp cry. “Don’t shoot! Lower your weapons!”

Malik looked back at her, frowning, his sword still raised.

Navi pushed past him, laughter bursting from her throat, and waved her arms in greeting. She heard the moment when Hob recognized the oarsman—a short, trim man, pale-skinned, with shaggy copper hair. A choked cry, and then Hob joined Navi at the shore, plunged into the sludge uncaring. He grabbed the boat and dragged it the rest of the way to land.

Patrik’s grin was like the sun rising. He tossed his oar to the muddy bank, an unfamiliar scar stretching across his cheek. Navi clasped her hands at her mouth, smiling through her tears. Patrik was much changed since that day months ago when she had met him in the Red Crown hideout called Crown’s Hollow. He wore a frayed black eye patch, and he was too thin, his body marked with fresh scars. But he was whole and alive.

Hob cupped Patrik’s face in his trembling dark hands, and then, tenderly, as if afraid doing so would end the dream, gathered him close, folding him into his arms. Hob buried his face in Patrik’s wild hair, clutched the tattered folds of his shirt. Hob was a man of quiet, but his loud sobs were unfettered, cracking with incredulous laughter.

Patrik pressed his face against Hob’s shoulder, his eye closed. He was muttering something barely audible beneath the sound of Hob’s relief. His fingers stroked the back of Hob’s neck. Navi could barely see him over the great rise of Hob’s shoulder, but she managed to catch his eye.

She turned to the others, who were all watching. Malik was beaming, his sword forgotten.

“Go on,” she mouthed, gesturing for everyone to move away. “Give them a moment.”

Immediately, her little army of strays obeyed, returning to their tasks with Ysabet’s crew—except for Ysabet herself, who was glaring sharply up at the trees.

“Something’s here,” she muttered, hand resting on her sword hilt. “Something angelic.”

Navi touched her arm. “Yes, but she’s a friend. A wraith named Zahra. She saved me once, and Eliana more times than that.”

Then Navi turned to face Zahra—a soft blur in the air, faceless and formless. Unlike Eliana, Navi could not see the echo of Zahra’s true form. But inside her mind, Zahra was clear as the cloudless sky.

“Before I tell you how happy I am to see you at last,” Zahra said, not in mind-speak but aloud, her deep, smooth voice rich with joy, “and before I tell you where we have been and what we have seen, I must share news with you, Your Highness.”

Ysabet let out a low curse. Wide-eyed, she stepped back from where Zahra drifted, though her gaze did not quite land on her.

“I don’t understand,” Ysabet muttered. “I’ve never heard an angel speak without a body.”

“The mind can accomplish much, if you have the will for it,” Zahra said primly. “What you are hearing is an approximation and projection of the voice I once possessed, amplified and unscrambled by your own mind. While not all wraiths can recreate such things, my mind, happily, is strong enough for it.”

Ysabet blinked at her, then looked at Navi with an expression so flummoxed that Navi had to stifle a laugh.

“We’ll talk more about that later,” Navi assured her, gently touching her arm.

“Now. My news.” The shape of Zahra in the air, vague as it was, seemed to straighten. “I bring word from the Prophet. Eliana still lives. She fights the Emperor. With the Prophet’s guidance, she is learning to use her power covertly. She is working to open a massive fissure between Avitas and the Deep and will soon unleash hordes of cruciata upon Elysium.”

A ripple of excitement swept through those who had gathered to listen.

Navi felt wild with happiness. She put her hand to her throat, tears rising fast. “Oh, Zahra. Thank God. Eliana lives. She lives, oh, sweet saints. What else did the Prophet say? And who is the Prophet? Do you know?”