“What is it you want, Rielle?”

“I want everyone to see the wonder of our great work and fall to their knees,” she said. “I want to walk the black sea and climb the lights to see what lies beyond them.”

She looked up, her vision painting Corien in shades of gold. He sucked in a breath, and gleefully she wondered what she looked like to him now that she had held a world in her palms. When they returned to the fortress, she would go to her mirror before she ate a single scrap of food.

“I want to look once more into the eyes of those who fear me and show them what I have become,” she said, her voice trembling as she thought of it. “I will show them they were right to fear me and that I will never again hide from the true reach of my power.”

Then Rielle looked past Corien to the dull gray sky and comforted herself by imagining it remade—vast and roaring and incandescent with stars.

30

   Ludivine

“When the world was young, bright with fire and black with storms, the empirium touched the white sands of Patria’s northern shore, and drew up from the dust a creature of such beauty that for a moment all the beasts of the world held their breaths. Into this creature, the empirium breathed the gift of long life, and sent her soaring into the clouds on newborn wings of light and shadow that trailed to her ankles, and named her angel.”

—The Girl in the Moon and Other Tales, a collection of angelic folklore and mythology

In her boat, her cloak damp with seawater, Ludivine watched the Mazabatian warships out on the waves. Her stolen human eyes watered from the wind.

There were fifteen ships, their curved wooden hulls and empty decks polished to a gleam. A banner of cyan and emerald fluttered proudly from each mast, and the ships plunged across the sea at full sail—but they were unmanned, propelled forward by waterworkers and windsingers packed into the boats surrounding Ludivine’s.

Somewhere above them, silent and unseen in the thick night, Atheria kept watch, ready to dive down and extract Audric if necessary.

“You’re doing wonderfully, Lu,” came Audric’s low voice. He touched her shoulder, for which she was grateful. Even through her cloak and gown, the warmth of his sun-soaked skin was a familiar balm, one that left her chest aching.

It had been so long since he had touched her. She had to look at the thought sideways. Head-on, it would shatter her.

Audric resumed his position at their boat’s prow. He was not a sailor, and yet he looked at ease standing there, his cloak fluttering behind him.

Ludivine surveyed the soldiers rowing their boats, the elementals working to push the empty warships across the ocean. When they faltered with fatigue, they looked to Audric, this king who was not their own. Queen Fozeyah remained in Quelbani, overseeing the city’s defenses in case of swift retaliation from the Celdarian navy, or the arrival of another storm. Queen Bazati and one thousand Mazabatian soldiers were traveling the land route to Celdaria. In two more days, they would reach the capital.

Princess Kamayin sat behind Ludivine, working as hard as the other waterworkers she commanded, and they were grateful for her. Their thoughts, when they drifted to Kamayin, were bright with love.

But it was Audric, too, whom they loved. They found him in the dark, his curls windblown, his brown skin gleaming with moonlight from without and sunlight from within. Engraved in their minds was the moment when he had plunged into the hurricane’s eye and destroyed it from within, his sword ablaze in his bloody palms, the sky blooming gold.

Since that day, his skin had held a new glow. Golden threads of light gilded his curls. He had always been beautiful to Ludivine—those warm brown eyes, that full mouth, his firm, square jaw.

Now, he was something out of saintly lore. The Lightbringer, descendant of Saint Katell, reborn in the belly of a storm.

Her hands trembled. The mental shield she had fashioned to cloak their boats did not waver. But the dark thoughts that had been brewing in her mind for months stirred and swelled, threatening to spill over.

To keep them at bay, she thought through their plan again.

The Sea of Silarra was a blunt spear of water between the southern coast of Celdaria and the northern coast of Mazabat. They had been traveling across it for a week. Ludivine could see the dark line of the Celdarian coast on the horizon.

They had sent ahead a message: The usurper will fall. The sun will rise. And now fifteen warships sailed fast for Celdaria. Hundreds of Merovec Sauvillier’s soldiers had ridden south from the capital to mount a defense. Ludivine sensed them even now—scores of minds waiting at the shore, others gliding out to meet them on warships of their own.

With the capital emptied of so many of its fighters, Merovec would be utterly unprepared for the arrival of Queen Bazati and the first wave of her army. Ludivine pushed her mind east, toward the road the queen’s army traveled, and was pleased to find them on course. They had left Mazabat days before Audric’s armada and would arrive in the capital in less than two days, long before the soldiers Merovec had sent to the shore could hurry back to the capital and defend it.

All was as it should be. And yet this was no comfort; Ludivine’s thoughts remained a tangled knot of dread and shame.

She licked her upper lip, tasting the salt of her sweat, and marveled. Years in this body, and she had still not grown used to its oddities—the icy drip of anxiety, the hot flush of desire, the sharp pinch of hunger. As an angel, centuries ago, she had of course felt such things. But as a human, each sensation was so much more immediate, the hunger more pressing, the desire more insatiable.

She closed her eyes, fighting the pull of memory. Herself sprawled across Audric’s bed in Baingarde, Rielle tucked between them. Audric reading by candlelight, Ludivine absently toying with Rielle’s hair. Rielle snoring, her cheek pressed against Ludivine’s arm.

Tears turned Ludivine’s throat tight and hot. She knew such a moment would never come again.

What is it? Audric scanned the Celdarian shore. You’re troubled.

It is nothing, Ludivine told him, and she was relieved when she felt the lie pass through him unnoticed.

Rielle would have felt it at once.

Your shield is holding. His thoughts were steady, a firm hand guiding her through a dark maze. I hope you are proud of your work. It’s remarkable.

Ludivine nearly laughed. What would have been remarkable is if I had been stronger. If I had managed to fight past Corien’s hold on Rielle and get her away from him. If I had persuaded her away from his side and back to ours before she opened the Gate.

As they plunged across the sea, Ludivine remembered that day in Quelbani when the sky had dimmed and the world had grown still. She had reached for Rielle and seen dim echoes of what she had done—the Gate wrenched open, hundreds of thousands of angels freed. Ludivine felt the memory echo in Audric’s mind too, darkening his thoughts. She wished she could hold his hand.