“I’ve awoken your power, haven’t I?” she said, because if she didn’t speak, she would touch him, and she didn’t think she was ready to touch him, and really, she was too tired to touch him, too uncomfortable and too frayed. “That thread. That’s why it appeared.”

It was the first time either of them had spoken of the thread, and with those words, Eliana felt something between them both give way and forge itself anew. The night around their bodies stretched and hummed.

“If that is what’s happened,” Simon said quietly, “then things will change very soon.”

She nodded. She had thought of that, though she wasn’t yet sure what it meant—how many things would change, and how they would change, and what would be expected of her, and if she would agree to it—and she certainly wasn’t ready to begin that conversation.

Before Simon could do it for her, she asked, “Can I try to sleep here for a while?”

He frowned at her. “We’ll leave in an hour. I want to get a few miles behind us before dawn.”

“I know, but until then.”

“Why here?”

“Because you calm me,” she said simply, her exhaustion too complete to find a clever response.

His eyes searched her face, and then he nodded. He straightened his legs, and then crossed them, then straightened them again, and moved his revolver and sword away from his body, and then looked over at her, frowning once more.

“Should I sit just here?” He began assembling a pile of pine needles, a makeshift pillow. “I’m afraid you won’t be comfortable.”

“Stop fussing.” She shrugged off her coat and balled it up, propped it against his leg, and lay down beside him, resting her cheek on her coat.

Silence fell once more, this one new and fragile. Eliana kept her body stiff, and so did Simon, beneath her cheek, as if both of them were afraid to move, as if moving would shatter the world. When she breathed, she caught the scent of Remy’s blood. Her coat reeked with it, and she squeezed her eyes shut against the memory of him, so pale and small in her arms.

“Thank you for not saying anything to Harkan, about what he did,” she whispered after a time. “I know you’re furious, and I don’t care. He wronged me, not you. I’ve taken him to task for it, and with everything that’s happened, I think that’s enough. If you attempt to punish him further, you’ll regret it.”

He was quiet for a long time. “Very well,” he said at last. “I’ll say nothing, and I’ll do nothing.”

She let out a slow breath, hoping that would be the end of it. Then, a deep, dull throb, as her cramps surged. She winced, gritting her teeth.

“Are you in pain?” he asked.

“I never experienced the pain that comes with monthly bleeding,” she replied. “Not until after my storm, when everything began. Now I can burn and ache and cramp like all the other women of the world. How fortunate for me.”

“It’s unfair that you should have to bear so much.”

“Me? Or women?”

He laughed, a low rumble that made warmth rush sweetly down her body.

“Both,” he replied.

“And haven’t you had to bear unfair cruelties?”

She held her breath, waiting for his response.

It came quietly. “Yes, that’s true. But even so, I would take yours from you, if I could.”

Then she felt his hand in her hair—gentle, cautious, as if he feared she would bat him away. She closed her eyes as his fingers traced faint lines from her temple into her knotted braid, matted with dirt and blood. But he touched her as if she were pristine, as if her hair were silk. She allowed him this for as long as she could bear, her throat aching, and then she caught his hand and drew his arm down around her, pressing his palm first against her lips and then her heart. She wondered if he could feel its wild drum. If she looked up at him, would she see him looking down at her? And then what? With the stars and the pines above them, and the silvered grasses whispering at their feet, then what?

She could not find the courage for that, and instead allowed him to gently pry apart her fingers to lace them with his own. His warm, callused palm settled against hers, pulse to pulse. With his thumb, he drew circles across the back of her hand, and Eliana followed his caresses down, down, tenderly, gratefully, into a soft and dreamless sleep.

33

   Rielle

“Much has happened since my last letter. I’ll soon be leaving for Belbrion with Lord Merovec’s party. Yes, Belbrion. The seat of House Sauvillier. During Merovec’s visit, one of the soldiers who had survived a recent attack went mad and killed his compatriot. Then his own neck snapped, and another survivor started shouting in Lissar. I believe these soldiers were possessed by angels. And here is where I confess that I stole a blightblade from the Sunderlands Obex. Along with my castings, I keep this blightblade always on my person. And when I brandished it, the possessed soldier shrieked and collapsed. Merovec witnessed everything, and I believe I impressed him. I will stay in Belbrion for some weeks to browse the Sauvillier archives, which include many arcane texts from the Angelic Wars. So much of what is happening is unclear to me, and knowledge is the surest way to understanding. In addition… Audric, I do not trust Merovec. Your broken engagement with Ludivine is an open wound. I want to stay close to him—for your sake, Audric, my dear friend. Do not worry, but do keep your eyes open.”

—A letter written by King Ilmaire Lysleva to Prince Audric Courverie, dated March 15, Year 999 of the Second Age

Rielle awoke to the rap of an urgent knock on her door.

Beside her, Audric groaned and turned away from the sound, tightening his hold on her. “It isn’t fair that I should ever have to be anywhere but in this bed with you.”

She wriggled in delight against him and called out, “Evyline, you told me I could sleep in this morning.”

The door swung open, admitting not Evyline, but Tal.

Rielle scrambled to cover herself, tugging the blanket over her and Audric’s bodies. “Tal, what in God’s name are you doing here?”

Evyline rushed in after him, looking most aggrieved. “I’m sorry, my lady, but Lord Belounnon insisted.”

Tal strode toward the windows, cutting a quick glance at Rielle as he did so. “I’m sorry to interrupt,” he said, sounding not very sorry at all, “but you need to see this.”

He pulled open the heavy drapes, letting in a wash of morning sunlight, and then turned.

“Eyes front, Tal,” snapped Audric, tugging on his trousers. He joined Tal at the windows, and his shoulders tensed.