For how much longer do you think they’ll believe these lies and omissions? Rielle looked steadily around the sanctuary, into which so many townsfolk had crowded that the air had already grown damp and hot. Our people are not stupid. We should stop treating them as if they are.

“…And, of course,” Tal continued, his already solemn voice taking on an extra weight that made Rielle tense where she stood, for she knew what came next, “we still mourn the deaths of Armand Dardenne, Lord Commander of the royal army, and our beloved late king, Bastien Courverie, a compassionate and courageous man who led our country into an era of unprecedented peace and prosperity.”

Rielle lowered her gaze to her hands, swallowing hard. She would not think about her father, or King Bastien, or Lord Dervin. She would not think about the glorious moment just before she’d stopped their hearts, when the empirium was hers to command.

She shut her eyes against the memory, but still her mind summoned it forth: the sensation of the world splitting asunder at her command. Heat crowding her palms. A detonation of unseen power blowing her hair back from her face. The empirium, raw and blinding, reflecting her own fury and fear.

Corien, crawling away from her, his ruined body glistening with burns.

Three men, lying still at her feet.

Her father, using his last breaths to sing her mother’s lullaby.

A mother, and a father. Both dead at her hands.

Rielle opened her eyes, stared at her clasped white fingers. Every time Tal’s words forced her to recall that awful, wonderful day—the day her father died, the day she transformed fire into feathers, and killed a king, and began to understand the true scope of her power—every time, she was forced to reckon with the truth she could not avoid: If given the choice, she would do it all again. She would change nothing that had happened that day, for doing so would mean giving up that brief moment of radiant understanding—touching the raw empirium, tasting its sizzling, storm-flavored power on her tongue.

Even if it meant that her father would still be alive, and Audric’s father too. Even then, she would change nothing, and her heart stewed in its own black delight—ashamed, but resolute.

Then Ludivine spoke: Four men are approaching through the crowd, with the intent to kill you.

Rielle flinched. What? Who are they?

Men who lost loved ones at the fire trial. They blame the massacre on you. They distrust you. Don’t act until I tell you. We must wait until the right moment.

Rielle’s fingers became fists. Tell me where they are, right now, and I’ll flay them where they stand.

That would certainly ease the minds of all who doubt you, said Ludivine dryly.

Do they have weapons?

Yes.

Rage dragged its eager claws up her spine. Audric is here, and Tal. You’re putting their lives at risk.

A woman is about to interrupt the ceremony. Let her speak. Be ready.

In the next moment, a dark-skinned woman in a high-collared azure gown, standing near the front of the crowd, moved forward until Tal’s acolytes barred her way.

“My daughter was killed,” she called out, interrupting Tal, her voice cracked and thin. “At the fire trial, she died. She was killed. My daughter.”

The room fell silent. Audric rose to his feet.

“She had come to watch the fire trial,” the woman continued, her eyes bright with tears. “She had come to pay homage to the Sun Queen. She was killed by a soldier from House Sauvillier.” The woman pointed at Ludivine, her hand shaking. “Her house. And yet there she stands, alive and whole.”

The crowd shifted, murmuring. Ludivine rose to her feet, the expression on her face one of eloquent pity.

Here it comes, warned Ludivine.

Rielle’s body tensed. She resisted looking around the room. Here what comes?

“You brought her back to life.” The woman locked eyes with Rielle. “And you should bring all the others back too. If you don’t, you’re worthless to us. A coward, and a fraud.”

The crowd’s voices grew into a low roar—insults thrown at the woman, a few angry cries of agreement.

Rielle took one step back from them. You shouldn’t have lied to them. We should have told them the truth.

That I’m an angel? Ludivine scoffed. Yes, they would have accepted me wholeheartedly.

They would have. I would have made them.

I need to be able to protect you, not spend my time fending off the fears of small-minded people everywhere I turn—Rielle, now! Left!

Rielle whirled, throwing up her palm. The fire from the altar’s prayer candles flew to her—a dozen flames coalescing into a single ball of fire. She caught it in her hand, then flung it toward a curtained balcony affixed to the far wall.

The knot of fire consumed the arrow zipping toward her, dissolving it to ash.

The crowd exploded with noise. Some ran for the doors. Others shoved their children to the ground and covered their bodies with their own.

Audric darted before Ludivine, unsheathing Illumenor. The moment the great blade hit the air, it flared to brilliant life, and the air around Audric snapped with sudden heat.

Evyline shouted orders, Rielle’s Sun Guard—seven women strong—dispersing in flashes of gold to form a protective perimeter. Rielle heard a sharp twang and spun around to face the opposite wall. She felt the arrow more than she saw it, the empirium directing the instinctive power in her blood faster than her mind could form commands. She summoned a gust of wind from the air over her head and used it to slam the arrow against one of the sanctuary’s high arched rafters, where it snapped in two and dropped harmlessly.

A third man was running up the altar steps, a long dagger flashing in his hands. Audric intercepted him, Illumenor blazing, and knocked the weapon to the floor. Defenseless, the man fell at once to his knees.

“Mercy, Your Highness,” the man begged, hands clasped, eyes darting back and forth between Audric and Rielle. “Mercy, I beg you!”

A cry from the crowd made Rielle turn in time to see the fourth assassin tackled to the floor by a group of young women. Three held him flat against the polished tile; one kicked a dagger out of his hand. A fifth delivered a sharp kick to his head with her brocaded boot. The crowd cheered; the woman kicked the man once more.

Show him mercy, Ludivine suggested. The ones here who love you—and there are many—will love you even more fiercely for it.

Rielle raised her hands, flames sparking at her fingertips. “Stop! Hold him, but don’t hurt him.”

The women obeyed at once, bowing their heads as Rielle approached. She doused the fire in her palms and knelt beside the man.

“I’m sorry for the loss you have suffered,” Rielle said, gentling her voice even as she itched to recall her fire and frighten more tears out of him. “I am still learning, and I hope that, one day, none in Celdaria will endure the grief of needless death. I will work tirelessly at the side of Our Majesty Queen Genoveve to achieve this.”