Then, abruptly, relief.

Something cold and sharp dropped between them, severing the cords that bound them. Rielle fell to the floor, and Corien staggered back from her.

His furious gaze shot to the terrace doors.

Huddled on the floor, head pounding as if it had been pummeled for hours, Rielle shivered on the hot stone and watched a pale shape storm across the terrace.

She drew in a sharp breath.

It was Ludivine, grim and swift, her golden hair in a tight knot, her brocade gown of lilac and plum glimmering in the light of Rielle’s power. She marched toward Corien with the sword of Saint Katell in her hands.

Rielle’s throat tightened with sudden fear. She whirled, desperately searching for Eliana, but Eliana was alive and well, spinning around to fling light at Katell’s sword. It crashed into the blade and held there, roaring, and though Ludivine was no elemental, Katell’s casting now shone as if she were. She raised the sword high, tossing harsh beams of white light.

Corien, hatred vivid on his face, found Illumenor where Audric had dropped it. A double cruelty: fighting with the sword of the man whose death he craved, and using a casting that was not his to use.

Audric cried out in pain. Rielle searched through the flames, saw only licks of him between bursts of light, and then she could search no longer, for Corien rushed at Ludivine with a roar, and they met in furious battle. Jagged dervishes of shadow and light sparked between the casting of Saint Katell and the sword of the Lightbringer, the blades bewildered to be held by angels.

Ludivine’s face was strained, drawn tight and pale. She was no warrior, had never trained for it, and yet she flew at Corien, her strikes brutal.

But it was not only with swords that they fought. Rielle realized this slowly as she watched them whirl and collide. Her vision still throbbed, and her wits struggled to reassemble, but this she knew: for the first time since he had come to her so long ago, Corien was nowhere in her mind.

The strange emptiness sent her into a panic. Pushing herself up onto her elbows, she searched for him, and then for Ludivine, sent them a cautious question.

Are you there?

But no answer came. Rielle’s thoughts were entirely her own. It frightened her, the wilderness of it. She had forgotten what it felt like, and the loneliness inside her reared up so ferociously that she found it hard to breathe.

A hand gently touched her own, anchoring her. She knew him at once, though it had been months since she had felt the brush of his skin.

But she could not look at Audric. Seeing the burns on his face would unravel her. She reached for him in silence, found his fingers, slippery with blood. He helped her sit, and she leaned hard against his chest. He was steady even then, a solid warmth, even with his pulse beating wildly under her fingers and his breathing ragged. Behind them, their friends bled to protect them. Their daughter—their astonishing, impossible daughter—fought beasts with hands made of fire.

And before them, two angels were locked in furious combat. Stolen swords crashing, the air around their bodies glinting silver with power. Pale shapes formed at their backs. With each blow, each cry of anger, the shapes rose higher, blooming in the air ripe with magic, until they were twice as tall as their counterparts. One shape was Kalmaroth, the angel Corien had once been. Tall and fuming, wings blazing from his back. Even the memory of him was magnificent. His sword cracked like lightning.

And there was Ludivine, and Rielle’s throat seized to look at her. She had never known Ludivine’s angelic name, had been gently turned away from the subject whenever she dared ask, and now she wished she had pressed for it, because this memory, this echo of her true self, was exquisite. She looked to be perhaps Rielle’s age, or maybe a bit older, like Audric, and there was a luminous, unbearably beautiful quality to her face that brought tears to Rielle’s eyes, for she knew she looked upon an ancient creature that even now, after all she had seen and done, she could not truly understand. This Ludivine, pale and flaxen-haired, shining tresses twisting down her back in elaborate coils, was not as tall as Corien, but her bright eyes were ferocious and her enormous wings were as radiant as the sun.

Rielle’s burning eyes moved to Ludivine, her Ludivine. Strands of golden hair had come loose from their knot. Fear had stripped her face of all color. She looked quickly at Rielle, a sharp light in her eyes.

And as their gazes locked, the world fell away from Rielle, leaving her weightless. A cold wave of dread dropped down her arms. Audric must have sensed the change in her. He murmured an urgent question. Was it Corien? Was he hurting her again?

But Rielle could not bear to answer him, for she understood the truth of what Ludivine had done. With one look, Ludivine had told her everything. They had shared years of knowing glances across dinner tables, years of sleepy soft looks as they woke in each other’s arms, or Audric’s, or all together. And now, this.

Rielle’s blood roared, her heart howling in protest, and a hundred regrets, a thousand words of grief, lodged in her throat like knots of fire. But she would say none of them, could say none of them.

For Ludivine had engaged Corien not only with sword but with every bit of strength her mind possessed. How many times had Ludivine confessed that her strength paled in comparison to Corien’s? And yet here she was, throwing herself at him with no hope of survival, drawing him into a battle so fierce that he had abandoned Rielle’s mind to fight it.

Leaving her free, for however long Ludivine could distract him, to do what must be done. As if Ludivine were holding closed a door that Corien was clawing through from the other side, giving Rielle time to run. The path was clear, and it would crumble if Rielle did not act quickly. Corien would realize what was happening and unknot himself from Ludivine, and the moment would be lost.

Unsteadily, Rielle stood.

“Stay back,” she commanded, stepping away from Audric. Guilt was poison in her veins. Her mouth was bitter with it. With each hammering heartbeat, she thought of the black altar on that frozen mountain, the angel she had smashed between her hands like soft clay. One minute there, the next, annihilated.

I cannot, she thought wildly. Through her tears, she watched them fight. Corien and Ludivine, Ludivine and Corien. Never mind how they had hurt her, how she had hurt them. Their lies, their cruelties, how they had tugged her between them. Losing either one of them would destroy her. Losing both was a thing she could not imagine. And yet Ludivine was holding Corien back, giving Rielle a peaceful mind at last. A mind free of whispers.

A choice lies before you. Her daughter’s voice, kissing her memory. Only you can make it.

And you must. Ludivine managed a few fragile words. Inside them was a fierce, sweeping love. It’s all right. Don’t be afraid. Ludivine glanced at her once more. There was a weight to that look. A finality.

And then, like a swift jab to the throat, Ludivine was suddenly frantic, her voice breaking at last. She had done all she could. Her strength flickered, fading. Corien’s rage bloomed like black waves.