Rielle stared at her reflection. Shadows hugged her eyes. Two weeks had passed since the fire trial, and she hadn’t slept more than three or four hours every night since. Lord Dervin’s body had been sent home to Belbrion for his son, Merovec Sauvillier, to attend to. And mere hours earlier, Rielle had watched her own father’s body burn on a mountaintop pyre. It had always been a wish of his, for his body to return to the empirium as his wife’s had.
Rielle watched Ludivine move about the room, tidying up the mess of combs, pins, and smoothing creams. It was such a familiar ritual that Rielle felt tears rise once more to her eyes.
“I thought I was done crying,” she said with a hollow laugh. “I suppose I’m not.”
Ludivine paused at the window, her slender body framed in twilight. Frozen forever at sixteen—what a strange and terrible thing.
And not a secret any of them would be able to hide forever.
“I wish I could help you,” Ludivine said, and Rielle felt the truth of it brush against her mind. “I wish so many things.”
“Just because I don’t trust you right now doesn’t mean I don’t love you. I wish I didn’t, and maybe I shouldn’t after what you’ve done, but I still do nevertheless.” Rielle turned away from the hope shining on Ludivine’s face. “There. I’ve wanted to say that for days, and now I’ve said it.”
A soft knock on the door. Evyline entered with a delicate cough. “My lady? Prince Audric is here to see you.”
Rielle’s heart jumped with nerves. Since the trial, Audric had been so occupied with meetings, funerals, and caring for his mother that she had barely seen him. And whenever she did, she faced him with a new fear: that he would sense the lies spinning in her heart and turn her away forever.
But as he entered the room, meticulous in mourning black, all of that flew out of her mind. If she looked tired, he looked far worse—his skin sallow and drawn, his eyes red from exhaustion. His grief trailed him like shadows.
She went to him at once, and without a word he opened his arms to her.
“I’ve missed you,” he whispered, his voice muffled in her hair. “Would it be awful of me if I asked you to my bed tonight?”
For a moment, she could think only of his arms around her. She smiled against his shoulder. “I was about to ask you the same thing.”
“My light and my life.” He bent low to kiss her softly.
“Is everything ready below?” Ludivine asked.
“Our escort is waiting for us.” Audric paused, then released Rielle and, hesitating, held out his hand to Ludivine. “But before we go down, I need to talk to you for a moment. To both of you.”
Rielle stiffened.
Don’t worry. Ludivine took Audric’s hand. He knows nothing. And he never will. I’ll see to it.
“It’s this…all of this. Corien. The Gate and the angels. And you, Lu.” Audric released Ludivine’s hand with a tight smile. “It’s a lot to wrap my mind around. And now, with Father gone—” His voice caught. “Mother will be the one to lead us to war, when it comes, and we’re to help her with that, Rielle—you and me. And Lu, we won’t tell anyone what you are, of course, but you will also be instrumental as we move through these next months and years. The knowledge you have about your kind will be invaluable.”
Ludivine nodded. “Of course.”
Audric considered her. “Can you really be so eager to turn against your own people?”
“They are not my people,” Ludivine said. “Not anymore. You are my people.” She looked to them both, her face open and fierce. “I am loyal to you and no one else.”
Rielle glanced at Audric. Their gazes locked, and she didn’t need Ludivine’s power to understand what he was thinking: He was still wary of Ludivine, just as Rielle was. But what choice did they have but to trust her?
“Mother will need advisers,” Audric continued after a moment, and we will be her closest ones. We must fortify our borders, reach out to the rest of the continent. Find out what they know—and what they don’t.”
“And we must travel to the Gate,” Rielle finished, “and assess the damage for ourselves.”
Audric nodded. “Tal and Sloane will accompany us. Tal insisted upon it. And where Tal goes…”
“Sloane follows.” Ludivine clasped her hands in her lap. “She wouldn’t want him to have all the fun after all.”
The forced note of cheer in her voice seemed to shake them all.
Audric’s gaze dropped to the floor. “There’s one more thing. If we are to do this, together, then we must have no more secrets. If you hear murmurings from the other angels, Ludivine, I want to know. And when Corien comes”—Audric took Rielle’s hand in his—“I need you to tell me, darling, when it happens. If he forces himself on you again, I need to know. What he says, what he does. Any clues as to where he is, who he might be with, what his plans are… Any of that could be helpful to us. When he moves against us, I want to be ready. And you are the closest link to him we have.”
Rielle nodded, unable to speak. It was unbearable, how little he suspected her of lies. He raised her hand to his lips, kissed her clenched fingers.
“I’m sorry,” he said, his voice tight with anger. “I wish I didn’t have to ask this of you.”
“Don’t be sorry.” She tried for an encouraging smile. “I’m the Sun Queen, aren’t I? This is what I do.”
“You’re only half right, my love. You protect me and my kingdom, but we also protect you.”
Below, throughout the city, the temple bells struck nine o’clock. In half an hour, the procession would begin.
“Shall we go down?” Ludivine stood a little apart from them, a careful smile on her face. “We don’t want to be late.”
“Promise me, first.” Audric held out his hand to her. “If we’re going to do this, we’ll do it together. All of us.”
Ludivine hesitated, then took his hand.
Rielle joined them, swallowing against the guilt wedged hot in her throat. “I promise,” she said and kissed his cheek. “No more secrets.”
“No more lies,” Ludivine added.
“Together, then,” Audric said and escorted them downstairs.
? ? ?
Hooded citizens lined the streets of me de la Terre, carrying candles in tiny brass cups. Hanging from every door and window, mourning lamps flickered softly.
The procession moved slowly up the city—first across the bridges over the lake, then the cramped lower streets, and at last the smooth paved roads of the temple district. The youngest acolytes from each temple led the way, scattering white petals. Seven windsingers guided King Bastien’s silk-draped stretcher slowly through the city on a gentle cloud of air. The king’s hands lay folded at his waist, his face peaceful.
Queen Genoveve followed behind them, her arm hooked through Audric’s. From behind her, at Ludivine’s side, Rielle saw how heavily the queen leaned against her son.
At the castle gates, only the royal party was allowed to proceed. Mourners crowded silently at the line of guards that barred their way. Rielle looked back once, saw the mass of bowed heads and bobbing candles winding like black rivers down the mountain to the city’s outer wall and the Flats beyond. They filled every road, lined every temple garden.
Some, Rielle noticed, looked not at the king, but at her. Did they wonder how so many had fallen, even with the mighty Sun Queen there to defend them?
Did they fear what that meant for the days ahead?
Rielle turned away from the scattered stony eyes upon her, heart clenched with worry.
What are they thinking? She clutched Ludivine’s hand. The ones staring.
They wonder many things, Ludivine replied.
They wonder why I was able to save you but not their loved ones who died at the trial. And not their king.
Ludivine was quiet for a moment, then squeezed Rielle’s fingers. Don’t think about that now. Be here, with me and with Audric. We both owe Bastien that much.
The procession entered the gardens behind Baingarde. Sorrow trees glowed pink throughout the shadowed green canopy. The seeing pools stood black and still.