“You can’t help me. Just leave me be. Please.”

For a time, Navi was blessedly quiet. But even in the silence, broken only by the whisper of wind and Hob’s occasional steady tread, Eliana could not find her way back to sleep.

She opened her eyes, knowing that she must say something, or this dead, black feeling in her chest would rise up and engulf her. “Navi?”

“Yes?”

“I don’t know, I…I can’t sleep.”

“Shall I tell you a story?” There was a smile in Navi’s voice.

“You saw things in Lord Arkelion’s palace. Didn’t you?”

A new stillness fell over them. Navi’s voice was careful. “What kind of things?”

Impossible things.

Men with slit throats, somehow walking again.

Men with black eyes, speaking from across a vast ocean.

“Did you ever see…odd behavior from Lord Arkelion?” Eliana asked. “Or from visiting generals?”

“I’m not sure I know what you mean by odd behavior.”

But the slightly stilted quality of Navi’s voice told Eliana that in fact she did know. “Lord Morbrae. I slit his throat, yet there he was, minutes later, walking once more. His neck was whole. No wound.”

“Here,” Navi offered. “Water.”

Eliana allowed Navi to help her take a few greedy sips from Simon’s canteen, then lay back down with a moan.

“And before that,” she added. “I was in his lap. I was prepared to pleasure him in exchange for amnesty. I bent to kiss him, and then…”

Eliana’s voice had grown so quiet Navi had to bend low to hear.

“And then?” she prompted.

“I saw…a vision,” Eliana said. “His eyes locked with mine, and I was taken elsewhere. I was both at the outpost and also across the ocean. I was in Celdaria, in a beautiful city, larger than any I’ve seen. In Elysium.”

Navi’s eyes were wide with astonishment. “The Emperor’s city?”

“He spoke to me.”

“Not the Emperor?”

Eliana nodded once. The pain firing up her legs, back, and skull was so violent it nearly made her sick over Navi’s boots.

“Those prisoners,” Eliana whispered, squeezing her eyes shut. She was losing her grip on the conversation. Her questions scattered and faded. “At the outpost. They were kept in cages. The fire… They couldn’t get out. I heard them screaming.”

“Hush now.” Navi’s hand pressed hers gently. “Think of Crown’s Hollow. You saved many lives there.”

“I’m a murderer, Navi. Tell me I’m not.”

Navi did not reply.

“Ah,” Eliana murmured. “A telling silence.”

“All I will say,” said Navi, “is that you have done the best you could with what was given to you.”

“How disappointing. I’d hoped you wouldn’t lie to me.” Eliana stared bleakly out into the night. Her cheeks were on fire. She pressed them into the cool mud. “He recognized me, you know.”

Navi leaned closer. “What? Say that again.”

“He recognized me. The Emperor.”

Just before Eliana’s eyes drifted shut, she saw Simon’s own eyes open to watch her.

“He saw my face, and he asked me where I was,” she mumbled.

“Eliana?” came Simon’s voice, near now, and gentler than she’d ever heard it. Almost asleep, she turned to face it, like turning her face up to the sun.

“Simon.” She smiled, fuzzy-headed. “There you are.”

“Eliana, say that again. What you told Navi.”

“I saw the Emperor. He reached for me. He asked where I was.”

“And did you tell him?” One of Simon’s hands cupped her cheek, the other, gingerly, the bandaged back of her head. “Eliana, listen to me, this is very important: Did you tell him?”

“No.” Her eyes fluttered shut. “I told him nothing.”

“Good.” Simon helped her settle with her head in his lap. His thumb caressed her forehead. “That’s very good. You’re all right now. You’re all right. Sleep.”

• • •

Eliana dreamed of death, as she so often did.

She dreamed of everyone’s death but her own.

She reigned, a corona of light blazing around her head, over a world of scorched earth.

25

   Rielle

“I believe us to be lost. How can we fight creatures whose lives stretch before them like infinite roads, who can sift through minds as easily as a child crafts castles on the shore? We have made a mistake, engaging the angels. All our power pales in comparison to that of their ageless minds.”

—Surviving journals of Saint Grimvald of Borsvall

September 25, Year 1547 of the First Age

Two nights after the metal trial, Rielle lay in bed, pretending to be asleep for the sake of Evyline, who stood placidly at the door to her rooms.

But her mind raced, and her blood thrummed hot with nerves.

Well? She swallowed hard. She could not delay this moment any longer. Are you there, Corien? It’s time for us to talk.

Of course I’m here, Rielle, came his voice at once. I always am.

She frowned into her pillow. I don’t find that particularly comforting.

You should. Unlike your other friends, I have no desire to see you killed.

So, we’re friends then, you and I?

His response came like a sigh across her skin: I very much hope so.

She drew her blanket tighter around her body. How can I be friends with someone I’ve never met? Someone I’m not even sure is real?

A delicate sensation slid down her spine, like the brush of a gentle finger, then faded near the dip of her lower back.

Don’t I feel real? came the response.

Rielle shivered. Are you a spirit? A ghost?

No.

Then why is it that I can feel you and hear you, but I cannot see you?

It is my own special way of talking to you from afar, my dear. There was a shifting in Rielle’s mind, of both sound and sensation, as though Corien were settling himself comfortably beside her. I can send you my thoughts, and you can send me yours. I can send you how I feel, and I can sense your feelings in return. He paused. Then, with a tiny smile curling his voice, almost shyly: I can send you the feeling of how I would like to touch you. And you can do the same back to me if you wish.