Rielle
“‘When you feel a prickling on the back of your neck,’ said the good witch Tahti, ‘even when it isn’t cold; when you feel that someone is watching you, even when you’re alone; when you feel that the strange road you are walking is one you have walked before, in a dream or in a fever. These are the moments, little one. Listen closely to them. These are the moments telling you one of your deaths has been born. They are many, and some are kind, and some are cruel. They wander the world, blind, with fingers deft and clever. Someday, one of your deaths will find you. Someday, one of them will claim you in the name of an ending.’”
—Black Wood, White Sky a collection of Borsvall children’s stories
Rielle sat in a vast, treeless field dusted with snow.
Barefoot, clad only in a thin nightgown, she shivered, holding her knees to her chest. In silence she waited for the footsteps she knew would come, and when they did, crunching against the frosted grass, she smiled to herself but did not turn to face him.
“Why have you brought me here?” she asked.
Corien circled her, hands clasped behind his back. He wore a long dark coat and a fur-trimmed cloak that trailed through the snow.
She did not look at him. She would not look at him.
“Because you wanted me to,” he replied.
“I wanted to sleep.”
He laughed quietly. “You wanted me.”
She bit down on her tongue, refusing to look at him. He wasn’t wrong—since resurrecting Genoveve, she’d been desperate for his voice, his touch, his reassurance—but she refused to acknowledge this aloud.
“I haven’t been able to sleep,” she said instead. “Not since I brought her back.” The heat of tears rose up her cheeks, but her eyes remained dry. “Garver’s given me medicine to help me sleep. But it doesn’t work. Nothing works.”
He crouched before her, and still she stared past him at the wintry landscape of her mind.
“You would sleep beautifully,” he told her, “if you would stop fighting the truth.”
“And what truth is that?”
“That staying there with them, with him, will ruin you.”
She licked her dry lips. “Audric told me Genoveve isn’t sleeping either. She screams and screams. She has terrible nightmares, even worse than before. Sometimes I hear her. Sometimes I ride Atheria to the mountains so I won’t hear her.”
“You tell me this as if I don’t already know it.”
Finally Rielle glanced up at him, her breath catching at the beauty of him in the pale, cold light.
“What did I do to her?” she whispered. “Why can’t she sleep? Why can’t I sleep?”
“I’ve already answered your second question. As to your first…” He shrugged off his cloak and settled it around her shoulders. “Some minds are too weak to bear the glory of resurrection.”
“You’ve infected her. That’s what it is. You’re driving her mad.” She wrapped herself tightly in the cloak, too grateful for its warmth to discard it. It smelled of him—a sharp, spiced perfume, the tang of smoke, the bite of winter.
“I speak the truth of our suffering,” he said, watching her without blinking. “The suffering inflicted upon my people by her own. If she cannot bear to hear it, then that is her failing, and not mine.”
Rielle glared at him. “Leave her be.”
“No,” he answered simply. “She must be punished, as they all must be. She is not the first, and she won’t be the last.”
Rielle pushed herself up from the ground, discarded the cloak, her teeth chattering, and turned away from him, hurrying toward the horizon.
He walked alongside her. “You’re shivering.”
“An astute observation.”
“I’ll take us somewhere warmer. Somewhere more comfortable.”
And then the world rearranged itself. The frozen landscape disappeared, replaced by a warm, dark room. A roaring fire in an enormous black hearth. A four-poster bed, a long, elegant divan. Furs and tasseled blankets, a table laden with food and drink.
Outside a wall of broad square windows loomed an arctic tableau—snow-capped mountains, an icy valley, the distant glimmer of a frozen sea.
“I’ve been here before,” she murmured. “In a dream. You brought me here before.”
He joined her at the window, still and cold at her side. “And I will again—in reality, if you’ll allow it.”
She scanned the mountains quickly, noting the neat grid of roads carved through the snow, the half-built ships in an ice-scattered harbor. Broad doors cut out of the mountains, deep square pits carved into the earth, all of them glowing orange with firelight.
She tucked the information away into a corner of her mind, feeling clumsy and frantic as she did so, and unsteady on her feet. He would notice her spying efforts. He would know what information she would bring home to Audric.
To distract him, she touched his hand, and he flinched a little, and then drew her fingers through his own.
Their palms met, hers scorching and his icy cold, and suddenly an image flashed through her mind—herself and Corien, arms entwined, his lips pressed against her neck, her hands tangled in his hair.
She tried to control the image, shove it away even as her body responded, her skin prickling, but it was too late.
The world shifted once more, and they were no longer standing beside the window.
They were in his bed, that massive bed in the corner of the room, draped with silk and furs, and he was pressing her into the pillows, his hips pinning her in place, his mouth sucking hungrily at her neck. And it was as if they had been kissing for hours. Her body hummed, supple and slick. Her legs had hooked around his, though she hadn’t moved them herself. Her nightgown had ridden up to expose her belly; his hands gripped her naked thighs.
“No,” she gasped against his mouth.
“This is what you want,” he murmured, his face pressed against her throat. “I know it is. Rielle, I saw it in your mind.”
“It was a thought, not an invitation,” she hissed, and then shoved him away so hard that he flew across the room, his head cracking against the wall. She forced herself to regard him dispassionately, though her head still spun from his kisses, and her body ached at the loss of him.
“You don’t know what I want,” she said, her voice rough. “And if you force yourself on me again, I will destroy you.”
Then, as he stared at her, dazed, a dark trickle of blood sliding down his temple, the door to his rooms flew open.
Ludivine entered—pale eyes blazing, hair loose and golden, sparking as if made of flame. She wore a square-shouldered gray gown, its brocaded fabric resembling armor, and she carried a gleaming sword.
“Rielle, get behind me,” she instructed, her voice tight and hard. “Don’t look at him. Don’t speak to him.”
Corien, slumped against the wall, began to laugh—a rough, gurgling sound that soon cleared. The blood on his face vanished. He stood, drawing a sword that had appeared suddenly at his side.
“How charming,” he said. “Is this how you see yourself, rat? Some vengeful savior?”
Ludivine did not answer, glaring at him. “Rielle, behind me.”
Rielle, shaking, rose from the bed.
Corien’s eyes cut to her, pale and furious. “Really? You’re going to obey her? She beckons and you run to her, like a dog to its master.”
“You’ve a funny way of trying to win my heart,” Rielle said, catching her breath against one of the bedposts. “You force yourself on me. You call me a dog.”
“I’m trying to save you from them.” His voice cut thin as a blade. “Why can’t you see that? She could, if she wanted to, wake you from this dream. She’s closer to you than I am. She’s at your bedside, in fact. She could do it, if she tried. But she wants you to see her like this. She wants to impress you.”
“Don’t listen to him,” Ludivine ordered. “He’s trying to poison you against me.”
Corien gestured impatiently with his sword. “And she wants what I want, the very same thing, only she cloaks her desires in kindness and lies.”
Rielle put her hands to her temples. Her mind was too full of their warring words. “Stop,” she whispered. “You’re hurting me.”
“Ask her what really happened to us.” Corien approached, pale eyes flashing. “Ask her what your beloved saints did. How they deceived us.”
“Shut your mouth, snake,” Ludivine spat out.
Rielle squeezed her eyes shut, turning away from them. Her head was a symphony of drums. “Please. I beg you.”
“Me, the snake?” Corien laughed bitterly. “I do what I do to save our people. Yes, that’s right. Our people. You’re an angel, too, or have you forgotten? And what you do, you do it for yourself. You think of no one. You’ve forgotten us all. You care only to save your own stolen skin.”
“Stop!” Rielle screamed, sinking to her knees. Their desires battled within her, tearing her thoughts in two. She curled into herself, pressing the heels of her hands against her temples.
Then, hands on her shoulders and lips against her brow.
She looked up, tears streaming down her face, and saw Audric kneeling before her. He was saying something, but his voice was coming to her from distant shores. She glanced wildly about the room. She was home, she was home—in Audric’s rooms, beside his bed of rumpled plum-colored sheets. The fire still crackled in the hearth. Behind him stood Evyline and two other of her Sun Guard—Jeannette, Fara.
“Audric.” Rielle gasped and leaned into him, pressing her face against his bare chest. “Oh, God. Help me. They wouldn’t stop. I felt them inside me, and they wouldn’t stop.”
A soft rustling of fabric, a familiar lavender scent. “Rielle,” came Ludivine’s voice. “I’m so sorry. I was only trying to help you.”
“Lu, get away from her, or I will banish you from this city,” said Audric, his voice more furious than Rielle had ever heard it.
Rielle shook her head against his chest. “Only you,” she whispered, curling her fingers in his hair. “Please, darling. Only you.” Her heart beat wildly. She felt Ludivine’s presence, very near, but blessedly gone from her mind, and refused to look at her. Her head still throbbed; she could still see the two of them, circling her. Corien and Ludivine, swords raised.
“Evyline,” said Audric, “will you please give us a few minutes alone?”
“What is this?” came a new, sharp voice.
Rielle looked up, bleary-eyed and nauseated, to see Merovec enter the room.
“Oh, please don’t worry,” said Ludivine, hurrying to him with a smile. She kissed his cheek. “Rielle’s just had a nightmare is all.”
“I’ve had nightmares, and it’s never caused this much of a fuss.” Merovec locked eyes with Rielle, his expression flat and cold. “What did you dream of, Lady Rielle? Are your nightmares the same as those you gave my aunt?”
“Rielle did not give my mother nightmares,” said Audric firmly. “She grieves the loss of my father.”
“And yet, again, I don’t wake screaming and half-mad from dreams of my own dead father.” Merovec approached, crouching to meet Rielle’s eyes. “What are you, exactly?”
“Merovec, that’s quite enough,” Ludivine snapped.
He ignored her, staring hard at Rielle. “How long until you bring death and madness upon the rest of us?”
“Say one more word to her,” Audric said, his voice vibrating with anger, “and I will see to it that you never set foot in this castle again.”
Merovec smiled. “Fine, then. I’ll say it to you: you share a bed with a monster, my lord prince. And it is of great concern to me that my kingdom’s heir continues to exercise such dangerously flawed judgment.”
“Merovec, you will leave this room at once,” said Ludivine. “You will go to yours and wait for me there.”
Merovec raised his eyebrows, glancing back at her. “She’s entrapped you too, little sister. She’s not your friend. She’s a thief and a whore, and she will be our doom.”
Evyline strode forward, putting herself between Rielle and Merovec. Jeannette and Fara glowered beside her.
“Lord Sauvillier,” Evyline growled, “if you do not obey my prince, my guard will be forced to remove you.”
“It’s astonishing how many people you’ve tricked into loving you,” said Merovec. “But, Lady Rielle, I see what you are. I see it plainly.”
Then, a familiar voice near the door.
“Audric,” said Tal, Sloane at his side—her face pale, her mouth thin and hard. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but we have a problem.”
Ludivine drew a sharp breath. “They’re at the gates.”
Merovec looked swiftly at her. “Who is?”
“How many?” Ludivine asked, ignoring him.
“Thousands,” answered Sloane quietly.
“How did you know what he was going to say?” Merovec asked Ludivine, his voice brimming with impatience.
Rielle looked over Audric’s shoulder to meet Tal’s eyes. The lines of his body snapped with tension. He held his hands in fists, as if he wanted desperately to reach for her.
“Who is at the gates, Tal?” she asked.
He drew a slow breath. “Everyone.”
• • •
They swarmed the streets outside Baingarde, lining every road and courtyard of the temple districts. They leaned out of windows and gathered on rooftops. They threw rotten food over the castle walls, handfuls of mud and waste. The broad cobbled yards were littered with it. They banged their fists against the iron gates; they climbed the stone walls and were pulled down by the royal guard, hit on the head and bound by their wrists.
But they kept coming, undeterred by the lines of soldiers barricading them from the castle doors, and soon the lower yards were full of them. Lines of soldiers kept them back from the castle itself, but they climbed the fountains of the saints, waving torches and staffs and knives. They pissed in the water. Fights broke out—punches thrown in Rielle’s honor, vicious kicks dealt to ribs and skulls by those wearing ragged Sun Queen sigils splattered with red dye.
They jeered and screamed, the people of Âme de la Terre. They shouted names—Rielle, Audric, Genoveve. They called for Merovec. They demanded to hear from the Archon.
Rielle stood at the main doors of Baingarde, held back both by the thick lines of guards standing between her and the city, and by the immense wall of sound that battered against her.
“Blood Queen!” they cried. “Sun Queen! Rielle!”
Their cries became a clamor, an indecipherable din.
And soon, a chant arose above the rest: “Give us the queen! Give us the queen!”
“Are they talking about me?” Rielle asked Tal. “Or Genoveve?”
“I’m not sure it matters,” he replied. “I wish you would have stayed upstairs.”
“They need to see my face. They need to see I’m not afraid.”
Audric was speaking furiously with the commander of the royal army, who had been the second-in-command to Rielle’s father—Rosalin Moreau, a pale, stern-faced woman with eyes of slate and white hair cropped close to her head.
“You cannot possibly expect me to believe that hundreds of armed, trained soldiers can be overwhelmed by an unruly mob.” Audric gestured sharply at the yard. “Drive them out of here. Get them past the castle walls. Sweet saints, Rosalin, they’re nearly at the doors!”
“Do I have your permission, then, my lord prince, to use whatever force is necessary against them?” Commander Moreau asked flatly.
“I urge you not to,” Ludivine murmured at Audric’s elbow. “That will only give them more ammunition against you.”
“What would you have me do, then?”
I could slip inside their minds, Ludivine answered. I could calm them, direct enough of them away that the rest will lose their fire.
Rielle startled, for she felt not only Ludivine in her mind, but Audric as well—faint, and kept behind layers of her own thoughts and Ludivine’s. But he was there, solid and steady, his mind taut and thrumming with worry.
Are you talking to both of us at once? Rielle asked.
It seemed efficient, Ludivine replied.
Rielle shook herself. Her mind was still raw and tender in the aftermath of her dream. She wished desperately for quiet, that Ludivine would leave and take Audric with her.
I think she should do it, Audric, she said instead. Let her take control of them.
Is that what we’ll do now? He looked away from her, his thoughts in her mind terribly unhappy. We’ll use Ludivine to rob our own people of their freedom of choice when we must?
Ludivine’s presence turned impatient. Can you think of a better idea?
And then Audric’s thoughts sharpened. He turned toward Rielle, and she stepped back from him, for the expression he wore was terrible, so shocked and angry that it transformed him into someone unfamiliar. Still himself, but as if seen through a dark cloud.
He spoke quietly, so only she could hear. “You saw him tonight.”
Her stomach dropped. For a wild moment she considered lying.
He saw, Ludivine said, her panic arriving swiftly. Oh, darling, I’m sorry. I didn’t think before I connected us all.
Rielle swallowed her anger, trying to settle her spinning thoughts. “I did see him, yes. In a dream.”
“You kissed him.” Audric’s jaw worked. “Just now, I saw it in my mind.”
“Yes.”
“You were in his bed. He was touching you.”
Rielle’s breath left her. “Yes. But I didn’t want to. He forced me into his bed. He took control of my thoughts and made them real, against my wishes.”
He turned away from her, running his hand roughly through his curls.
She followed him, her throat clenching to see his eyes bright with tears. “Audric, please, you must believe me,” she choked out.
“I do believe you,” he said, but he avoided her gaze.
“My lord prince?” Commander Moreau insisted. “Your orders?”
Merovec stepped forward. “Let me speak to them. They want to be heard, and I’ll hear them. Seeing any of you will only provoke them.”
And then a sharp cry arose from out in the yard, followed by several more. The crowd scattered, their angry screams turning to cries of panic.
Rielle hurried to the door, shoving past Evyline to look outside.
Resurrectionists from the House of the Second Sun—dozens of them, clad in white and gold—stood throughout the crowd, holding blades to their own throats. Some had already fallen, blood gushing from the slits across their necks. One by one, the others followed, too quickly for anything to be done, until only one remained. A man, standing closest to Baingarde’s doors, his eyes wild. He held a golden scepter in his right hand—its polished shaft glinting in the torchlight, a gleaming, sun-shaped medallion capping the top.
The man caught Rielle’s eyes and then, grinning, called out to her, “As you have done for our queen, so we beg you to now do for us. As you promised us, Sun Queen. As you promised, our beloved God and savior!”
Rielle rushed forward, but Evyline caught her firmly around her waist.
“Lu, stop him!” she cried over her shoulder.
But he had already drawn his own little blade across his throat. He fell first to his knees and then forward, the scepter clattering across the stone. And the sight of him lying there, choking on his own death, blood pooling beneath his body, shattered what calm Rielle had managed to gather.
She flung herself against the vise of Evyline’s arms, screaming and sobbing—for the man’s death, for the bodies staining the yard red and the thousands of others trampling each other to get away, back out the gates, back to the streets. And she sobbed for herself, furious and exhausted. She beat on Evyline’s arms, and when she would not let her go, she dug deep into her gut, into her palms and the hot turns of her feet, and shoved them all away—Evyline, her Sun Guard, Merovec, the dozens of guards streaming in and out of the doors.
Audric had expected it. He caught Ludivine, and they steadied each other, only stumbling while the others fell.
“And this is allowed?” Merovec pushed himself back to his feet. He flung an arm out at Rielle. “This temper? This unpredictability? You’re all fools.” He pointed at Audric. “You’re the worst of them all. Can you not see what’s happening? She has poisoned you first, and soon it will spread to the rest of us.”
Ludivine caught his arm, talking too softly for Rielle to hear, but soon Merovec had subsided, his expression slightly bewildered, like that of a child waking from sleep. Together they hurried away. Merovec’s guards followed, frowning in obvious confusion.
Audric stared after them. Then he glanced at Commander Moreau. “I want that yard empty and clean within the hour. I want the streets of this city restored to order within two.”
The commander nodded. “And those who refuse to leave?”
“I think you’ll find that they’ll be easily convinced,” said Audric darkly. Then he found Rielle; their eyes locked across the room. He moved past her, away from the doors.
“Come with me, please,” he said quietly, and then to his guards, “See that Lady Rielle and I are not disturbed.”
She hesitated only for a moment. Her instinct was to reach out to Ludivine or Corien, but she refrained, her stomach roiling from the memory of them fighting in her mind.
She followed Audric across the entrance hall, the crowd’s cries diminishing behind her and the clanking golden footsteps of her Sun Guard close on her heels.
• • •
He led her to the Hall of the Saints, and once their guards had stationed themselves outside and closed the doors behind them, silence fell across the vast room.
Rielle shivered. The cold inside the hall was different from that of her dream. This cold was sterile, marble-eyed. She glanced up at the statues of the saints, the weight of their hard gazes and massive bronze weapons pressing upon her shoulders.
Audric stood at the center of the room, facing the dais upon which his father’s throne stood. “I’ll need to be crowned king, and soon,” he said, his hollow voice echoing softly against the cold floor, the cold walls. “I’ve delayed it for as long as I could, but that’s finished now. Mother’s condition is too debilitating, and I don’t have hope that she’ll ever recover. The queen she was is dead.”
Rielle approached him slowly, watching his body sag under the weight of his own words.
“The people need to know the crown is strong,” he said quietly.
“Why have we come here?” she asked.
“Because the last time we were both in this room,” he replied, “our fathers were newly dead, and you were blessed by the Archon as the Sun Queen.” He turned to her, his expression unreadable. And this was the most troubling thing that had yet happened that night, for ordinarily his gaze was warm and open, his face soft with love for her.
“And you want to remind me of my duty, is that it?” She straightened, hardening herself against him. “As if it is ever far from me, even for a moment.”
“You know that I wish it could be otherwise for you.”
“And yet you bring me here to shame me.”
“Not to shame you. To understand you.” He clenched and unclenched his fists. “You said Corien forced you into his bed.”
As she remembered that dark room in the mountains, she felt cut in two between a wash of dread and a shiver of delight.
“He did,” she replied.
“You said he took hold of your thoughts and made them real, against your wishes.”
Suddenly Rielle understood the heart of this conversation. An ill sweep of cold rushed down her body.
Audric watched her, waiting, but she could not find her voice, so he said it for her. “He made your thoughts real. You were imagining the two of you together, in his bed, and he saw that and gave it to you, because he thought it was what you desired.”
Rielle shook her head, fresh tears blinding her. She hurried toward him and reached for his hands.
“Audric, please,” she said, “you don’t understand.”
“I think I understand quite well,” he said, his voice cracking, the unfeeling mask he wore slipping to reveal a terrible, naked sadness.
And then he seized her arms, drawing her roughly to him. He bent low over her, his breath hot against her face.
“Is this what you want?” He tightened his grip around her wrists. He nipped her bottom lip, a little too hard, and though Rielle hated the look on his face—as if he despised himself, as if he could hardly bear to touch her—she felt herself rising to meet his passion. Her body responded, her blood thrumming with need.
“Yes, this is what I want,” she whispered, trying to touch his face, but he wouldn’t let her. He kissed her, hard, and wrenched her arms down to her sides, locking her in place. She cried out into his mouth, squirming against him.
“Come here,” he said thickly, and then they were stumbling toward one of the broad, polished tables lining the side of the room, in the shadow of Saint Marzana’s shield. He yanked the dressing gown from her body, but when she tried to unbutton his own shirt, he jerked away from her.
He shoved her against the nearest table, turning her away from him. He fisted one of his hands in her hair; with the other, he reached around to tease her, and let out a harsh groan against her neck when he found her hot and ready for him.
“This is what you want, then,” he said, stroking hard between her legs. “To be handled like this. To be used as if you’re nothing, as if you can’t be hurt.”
She tried to twist back and look at him, but he choked out, “No, Rielle,” and pushed her down, pinning her against the table with his hand hard around her neck.
And, though she hated herself for it, though she knew it was just what he expected her to do, she came apart with a sharp cry, her thighs clamping shut around his hand. And he didn’t wait for her to recover before driving inside her.
“Tell me I’m wrong,” he said as his hips slammed against hers. “Please, Rielle. Tell me you don’t want him.”
“I…” She shook her head, her body buzzing with pleasure even as her heart shattered. “I can’t.”
“I know you can’t.” He sobbed a little, somewhere above her. His hands gripped her hips hard enough that she knew she would wear the marks of his fingers for days—and yet his viciousness was what she wanted. She wanted to forget this horrible night. The black fortress in the mountains. Corien’s weight flattening her against his bed. If Audric took her hard enough, she would be scorched clean of all shadows, all confusion.
“He’ll use you,” Audric said. “I know what he offers you, and I understand why you want it. But he doesn’t love you, Rielle. He loves what you can do. He loves how you could help him achieve what he wants. That’s it. Nothing more.”
And he was wrong. Rielle knew it even as she listened to his voice break. Her connection with Corien was more than what Audric claimed. She knew Corien desired her power, and yet his hand had flinched around hers in that cold dreamscape, as if he could hardly believe his luck that she would deign to touch him. And yet he did not ever look at her with fear, even though he knew intimately every deep, dark corner of her mind.
Audric’s lips came down upon her neck, sweet and soft, and it was such a familiar touch, so like their usual lovemaking, that all thoughts of Corien flew from Rielle’s mind. She began to cry with relief and reached back to hold him, her arm bending awkwardly. She found his hand and squeezed it. She gasped out his name.
He lowered himself upon her, wrapping her in his arms. His cheek was wet against hers. He turned his face into her hair.
“Tell me you love me,” he whispered desperately. “Please, Rielle. Tell me, and I’ll believe it.”
“I love you,” she said over and over, and it was true, it would always be true. If Corien disappeared tomorrow, if he lived in her mind for the rest of her days, it would still be true. Even if Audric grew so afraid of her that he turned away from her forever. Even then, she would love him.
He finished inside her, pulling her down once more along with him, and after the deep roar of her blood had quieted, and his sharp breaths against her neck had slowed, she turned around to face him. Gently, avoiding her eyes, he helped her sit on the table. Then he wrapped her in his arms and buried his face in her damp hair.
She welcomed him, curling her shaking legs around his. “It’s all right,” she whispered, holding him as he wept. She wiped her cheeks on his sleeve, stared blearily past him at Saint Katell’s stern visage. “It’s going to be all right.”