“Yes,” she said, her voice thin. “Breakfast. Garver told me I should eat. For the child, at least.”

Audric recognized the slight edge to her words for what it was. He kissed her shoulder, bare where the nightgown had fallen. Then he lifted her hair and kissed her neck. His hand grazed the curve of her hip, and she sighed a little, relieved, and pressed her hot mouth to his hands. This, she knew. This, while she did it, silenced everything else.

He moved gently, his arms crossed tightly across her chest, his lips soft against her ear, and she clung to him, her fingers digging into his biceps. When she began her rise, her body arching against him and a soft cry falling from her mouth, she brought him soaring with her. Even in her grief, she hungered, insistent, and in those slow, sparkling moments just after, the air between them was at peace.

Sleepily, she kissed his arm, then twined her fingers with his and brought them to rest against her belly. Their child kicked against his palms. He thought of the girl who had fought for them on the terrace. Her flashing dark eyes, the wild whip of her brilliant hands. He held her name in his mouth. The syllables had become precious to him. Eliana.

Morning painted the windows white. Rielle drifted in and out of sleep, and Audric stayed awake, watchful. There was an ache in his chest that he had given up trying to soothe. If he unfolded his arms from around her, she might come unmoored. If he fell asleep, he might wake to find her gone.

A soft knock at the door alerted him to the time. Weariness dropped heavily onto his shoulders.

“My king,” announced Evyline, her voice muffled, “the councils are assembling.”

If Audric closed his eyes and held his mind very still, he could almost pretend that nothing about the past few long months had happened. That it was two summers ago, and Rielle was beside him, sleeping peacefully. That Corien was far away and Ludivine slept in her rooms downstairs.

But if he kept the councils waiting for too long, they would spend the rest of the day scowling and make an already difficult thing all the more difficult.

Tearing himself away from the soft haven of their bed was a torment. Audric dressed in silence, and as he fastened the buttons of his jacket, he came around to her side of the bed. The location of the mirror was a good excuse. He fussed with his curls, inspected the healing burns on his cheeks and jaw.

Rielle was watching him, her nightgown rumpled, her gaze soft.

“I love you,” she said quietly, and he knew this—he saw it in her eyes and felt it in her touch. He bent to kiss her, and she stretched up hungrily for him, her grip desperate in his hair.

“My light and my life,” he murmured against her scorching brow. “I love you, I have loved you always, and I will never stop.”

It had become a refrain, a song passed between them over the past few days until the words felt like worn grooves. Her eyes fluttered closed at his touch, and as he pulled away at last, he glimpsed a faint golden light shifting across her face. A sly wink, it illuminated her cheekbones, the curve of her lips, and was gone.

A cold stone dropped between Audric’s ribs. He smoothed his thumbs across her face as if he could wipe away whatever it was, this luminescence that sometimes rippled to life under her skin. She gazed up at him dreamily, her sleepy green eyes suddenly swirling with golden currents. Beneath them, shadows stretched long and dark.

“Is it happening again?” Rielle whispered.

He nodded, unable to speak. It had been happening for weeks.

She took his hand, kissed his knuckles. He helped her to the bathing room, then saw her back to bed and sent a page downstairs for food. Her feet dangling above the floor, she watched him gather his papers, his dress cloak, his favorite pen. When he kissed her goodbye, she held his healing face tenderly in her hands, and all the way downstairs, the sweetness of her touch lingered. Yet Audric could not shake the rope of dread winding slowly around his heart.

Yes, Rielle loved him. He knew this, and yet he feared that someday, for her, it would not be enough.

• • •

The days passed too quickly, each one packed with activity that left him aching with exhaustion by nightfall.

He met with the royal councils, saw to the repair of the watchtowers and the wall, helped the surviving city guard as they slowly cleared the ruined streets. Foul odors drew them to bodies buried in the rubble, both human and not. A disemboweled beast with a stomach full of flies. A child stuck through the heart with a rafter rent from the roof of her bedroom.

Over each body, he knelt and prayed. Sometimes those nearby joined him. Sometimes they stood and stared resentfully. So many had died, and yet he had lived.

He made himself look at their pain without flinching. Sometimes he woke from dreams drenched with sweat, his bones aching from some primal fear, and he knew with biting certainty that he should have died that night. And yet there he was, shaking at the edge of his bed with his head in his hands, alive and whole with only a few scars and one nasty bandaged gash on his leg.

Then Rielle would reach for him, softly call his name, and in her arms he would find a kind of solace until the next nightmare claimed him.

• • •

Often, Rielle joined him when he met with his advisers. The larger meetings, with dozens of people gathered in the Hall of the Saints, were one thing—Rielle sat quietly on her throne at Audric’s side and offered insight when needed. What was the condition of the Gate? What would be required to close it, and when would she be strong enough to try it? Could it be resealed completely, even stronger than it had been before?

How many angels still remained in the Deep?

And what other creatures might someday escape it?

But the more intimate meetings in the small council chambers surrounding the Hall of the Saints—these Rielle avoided until the day came when her expertise was required.

They sat around a large square table of polished oak. Rielle to Audric’s right, and to his left, Genoveve, pale and silent, her auburn hair pinned up in neat coils. Beside her was Sloane, shadows under her bleary eyes. Ardeline Guillory of the House of Light sat on Rielle’s other side, followed by Rafiel Duval of the Firmament, his thick black braids tied at his nape. The Archon’s chair sat empty, gleaming with polish, and then came Brydia Florimond in her earthshaker robes of umber and soft green, her ruddy skin patched with bandages.

Then there was Miren, rigid and stone-faced. Between her and Sloane, Tal’s chair sat empty.

“We have received reports from Queen Obritsa,” Audric said, drawing out the papers. “She is requesting aid. Supplies, healers, soldiers. Corien’s fortress—”

“Yes,” Rielle murmured, her gaze distant. “The Northern Reach.”

A pause, silence stretching taut across the table. Magister Duval looked at his hands, his mouth thin.

Audric imagined his mind as a flat, clean plain, free of divots or dust. It was the only way he could move past what Rielle had told him about her time there in the icy far north and focus instead on the papers in front of him.