She forced open her eyes and looked out to sea.
Lightning flashed, three new strikes every second, painting the battlefield a fevered silver. They blasted apart the crawlers still swimming to shore; icebergs erupted into flame. Roiling dark waves crashed against the Empire fleet. A savage wind whipped sails from their masts, stirred the sea into whirlpools that sucked the warships underwater and snapped them in two.
“You have to stop it,” Simon shouted over the wind.
“Am I doing this?” she murmured, then realized she wasn’t breathing, that the storm had sucked all the air from her lungs. Her gasp hurt, cleaved her chest in two.
Simon’s hands cupped her face, steadying her. “Please, Eliana, look at me, look into my eyes.”
She did, sobs she didn’t intend to release tearing out of her throat. “I killed her. I couldn’t save her!”
“I know.” He wiped the grit from her face. “And I’m sorry. But you have to stop this now, or you’ll kill us all.”
She shook her head, realizing through the frantic roar of her despair that somehow she was doing this, that the world was echoing her own rage. Zahra was right, and so was Simon. There was an impossible thing living inside her. She had always thought it a monster of her own creation, forged by the violence she had done to survive.
But the truth was this: It was a monster given to her by her mother. The Blood Queen. The Kingsbane. A traitor and a liar.
And Eliana decided, in that moment, to hate her.
“I don’t know how to stop it,” she cried. Her fingers blazed along with the storm; the feeling revolted her. She watched ships being torn apart, soldiers swimming for their lives. Black waves surged toward the shore.
“Just hold on to me,” Simon whispered, cradling her against his chest. “Hold on to me and think of Remy. Think of Navi.” He pressed his cold cheek to her forehead. “Think of home.”
Home. And what was home to her now? Orline? Or Celdaria?
With the storm raging, she could remember neither place.
Instead she listened to Simon’s wild heartbeat, imagined Remy’s voice reading her a story before sleep, and breathed.
51
Rielle
“Wind and water
Fire and shadow
Metal and earth and light above—
Hear our prayer on this day of death
Take in hand our fallen friend
To be born anew, through you
And begin again
In the eyes of the Seven, we pray”
—Traditional Celdarian funeral rite
Hours after the Archon’s blessing, near the midnight hour, Rielle brought Audric to Ludivine’s rooms.
Ludivine rose from a hearthside chair with a cautious smile. “Good, you’ve come.”
Audric pulled the door shut behind them with a snap. “Rielle told me what you are.”
Ludivine’s face fell. She glanced at Rielle. “What else did she tell you?”
“Isn’t that enough?”
Her eyes filled with tears. “Please don’t be afraid of me. I want only to help you. That’s all I’ve ever wanted.”
Audric softened. “All right. Help me, then. Help us understand.”
Ludivine’s gaze settled on Rielle, infinitely tender. “I came to protect Rielle. The moment she was born, I felt her. We all did.”
“All?”
“The other angels?” Rielle said, her chest clenching.
Ludivine nodded miserably. “Yes, the other angels. I’ve been trying to protect you as best I can for years now.”
Audric dragged both hands through his hair. “I don’t understand. You’re Ludivine. You’re my cousin. We’ve known you since you were small. I was there the day you were born, for God’s sake. You’ve always been…you.”
“Yes.” Ludivine’s smile was sad. “And no. Do you remember when I…when Ludivine had that terrible fever a few years ago?”
“You were sixteen years old,” Rielle remembered. She sank onto a bench by the fire. “We waited outside your door all night with Queen Genoveve and your father, hoping you’d get through it.”
“Yes. Well.” Ludivine drew a deep breath, squaring her shoulders. “I didn’t. That is, she didn’t. Ludivine Sauvillier died that night. And I took her place.”
Audric turned away and moved swiftly across the room. “This is some kind of trick.”
It’s not a trick, Ludivine’s voice cried out in Rielle’s mind. Tell him!
“It’s not a trick,” Rielle whispered, and she believed it, though the horrible truth of it sat like a weight on her lungs. “How could you keep the truth from us for so long? If you love us as you claim to—”
“I wanted to!” Ludivine’s eyes were bright with tears. “Every day, I wanted to. But I thought it would be best not to. I thought it would protect you. I thought…” Ludivine shook her head, gestured helplessly. “I wanted you both to be spared from all of this for as long as possible.”
“Protect us from what?” Audric asked, his voice fraying. “You’re dancing around the point. Speak clearly—and quickly.”
Ludivine breathed in and out, clenching her fists. When she spoke once more, it was with a sense of tired finality. “The Gate is falling.”
The room fell into silence.
“The further it weakens,” Ludivine said after a moment, “the more we will see the shocks. Tidal waves, terrible quakes, other disasters I cannot predict. And when the Gate falls at last, the angels will return, just as Aryava said. Imagine a door being battered constantly from one side by hands that will never tire. That is the Gate, and the hands are those of my kindred, locked beyond it.”
“Trapped in the Deep.” Audric sat unsteadily on a chair by the wall, far from them both.
“Yes. In the Deep.” A small, strange shadow moved across Ludivine’s face; an echo of it rippled inside Rielle’s mind, like a shift during sleep.
“How many of you are there?” he asked.
“Millions.”
“I meant here. In this world. If you came here, then others must have as well.”
Rielle stiffened. Without thinking, her mind reached out to him:
Corien? Are you there?
He did not answer. He had been silent since the day she burned him.
Ludivine looked quickly to Rielle. “Yes. I was not the first. And I was not the last. With every passing day, cracks widen in the Gate’s structure. Not all angels are strong enough to escape. The Gate is strong and well-made. Escaping its gravity is difficult; one crack opens, and another one repairs itself. But enough angels are managing to break through that it will soon be a problem for you. Dozens right now. Soon? Hundreds.”
“You weren’t the first.” Rielle lifted her eyes slowly to Ludivine. “Who was?”
“He is very strong,” said Ludivine quietly. “The strongest of us left alive since the Angelic Wars. It took him centuries to escape, but he did it. I slipped out in his wake, along with a few others, before the Gate resealed. I’ve watched over Rielle, in one form or another, for thirteen years, as did he. His name is Corien.”
Thirteen years. Since I was five years old, Rielle thought. A field of flames flashed before her eyes. A crumbling house. Her father, falling to his knees.
She decided she would go see him after this conversation. She would wake him up, bring him hot cocoa, keep him talking until the sun rose and she no longer felt so afraid.
Then her mind caught up with the truth: his bed would be empty.
“The day your mother died, Rielle,” Ludivine said, pity in her voice, “we felt your power erupt. Corien came for you soon after, and I did as well. Only…I am quite young. My mind is nothing compared to his. It takes nearly everything I am to protect you from even some of his thoughts.”
“And why do you?” Rielle bristled at the careful compassion in Ludivine’s voice. “Why do you want to help me or any of us? Don’t you want revenge for being trapped in the Deep for centuries?”
“No,” Ludivine said simply. “Humans and angels were at war. I don’t blame you for the actions your ancestors took to save themselves. You are innocent.”