“I believe us to be lost. How can we fight creatures whose lives stretch before them like infinite roads, who can sift through minds as easily as a child crafts castles on the shore? We have made a mistake, engaging the angels. All our power pales in comparison to that of their ageless minds.”
—Surviving journals of Saint Grimvald of Borsvall
September 25, Year 1547 of the First Age
Two nights after the metal trial, Rielle lay in bed, pretending to be asleep for the sake of Evyline, who stood placidly at the door to her rooms.
But her mind raced, and her blood thrummed hot with nerves.
Well? She swallowed hard. She could not delay this moment any longer. Are you there, Corien? It’s time for us to talk.
Of course I’m here, Rielle, came his voice at once. I always am.
She frowned into her pillow. I don’t find that particularly comforting.
You should. Unlike your other friends, I have no desire to see you killed.
So, we’re friends then, you and I?
His response came like a sigh across her skin: I very much hope so.
She drew her blanket tighter around her body. How can I be friends with someone I’ve never met? Someone I’m not even sure is real?
A delicate sensation slid down her spine, like the brush of a gentle finger, then faded near the dip of her lower back.
Don’t I feel real? came the response.
Rielle shivered. Are you a spirit? A ghost?
No.
Then why is it that I can feel you and hear you, but I cannot see you?
It is my own special way of talking to you from afar, my dear. There was a shifting in Rielle’s mind, of both sound and sensation, as though Corien were settling himself comfortably beside her. I can send you my thoughts, and you can send me yours. I can send you how I feel, and I can sense your feelings in return. He paused. Then, with a tiny smile curling his voice, almost shyly: I can send you the feeling of how I would like to touch you. And you can do the same back to me if you wish.
A war was taking place inside Rielle’s body, between cold fear and the desire to say at once: Touch me, then.
And if I don’t wish for you to touch me? she managed to think.
Then I won’t. I have been too forward. Forgive me.
Just don’t do it again. She paused, her cheeks flaming. Unless I ask you to.
Of course. He sounded quietly pleased. So, you wanted to talk to me. You have questions, I think.
Many.
That is understandable. Another shift. She had the sense of him sitting on the edge of a divan, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees.
But his face was a blur.
First, she began, what do you look like?
I can show you if you’d like. You’re already partway there.
Rielle’s heart beat faster. You are sitting on a divan, then? I can see the faint shape of you.
Indeed. Concentrate on the lines of my body. Try to make them sharper, as if tracing me with a pen.
She obeyed. Slowly, the blurred figure came into focus—a slender, tall, pale man, with fine black hair in shining waves that curled softly at his ears. Fine cheekbones, as if chiseled from white marble. Large eyes of a bright, pale blue. Full lips that stretched into a fond smile when her eyes met his.
“Hello, Rielle,” he said, and his voice was no longer simply in her mind. He was there; he was speaking to her.
She gasped, blinked, and her concentration broke. Corien disappeared. She was suddenly, terribly alone in her bed, in the dark quiet of her rooms. She struggled to catch her breath, her mouth dry.
I’m still here, he replied.
I lost you, I— She swallowed. Her skin felt cold and clammy, now that she no longer stood near him.
It’s difficult right now for us to communicate as completely as we could. In time, we’ll manage it. It requires practice, and—here his voice darkened slightly—you have so very many things demanding your attention right now.
The trials.
Yes, among others. There was a tense silence, and then he whispered, Rielle, may I touch you?
She drew in a tight breath.
Nothing untoward. I swear it.
Rielle watched the star-spotted night sky beyond her windows. First, tell me: What are you?
What am I? He sounded playfully put out. Dearest, you insult me. I am altogether a person, you know, with an identity and a name.
But you aren’t human. Humans can’t talk like this, using only their minds. The night before the metal trial, you showed me a memory. One of my own memories, one I’d forgotten.
Yes, I did.
Corien…that’s extraordinary.
I suppose it is, to you.
Humans can’t do such things.
That is true.
She waited for him to say more, and when he didn’t, she realized he was waiting for her to say what she already knew, what she’d known with increasing certainty for weeks now.
You’re an angel.
His response, when it came at last, was toneless: I am.
Rielle climbed out of bed, tossing the linens aside. Only when standing did she realize that her nightgown clung to her body, damp with sweat.
“My lady?” inquired Evyline from the door. “Is everything all right?”
“Of course.” Rielle could hardly hear herself over the thrum of fear in her veins. “I only need a glass of water.”
Somehow, she made it into her bathing room and shut the door behind her. She stumbled to the washbasin, splashed water on her face, then poured herself a glass and let it sit untouched.
She leaned heavily against her vanity’s marble countertop, struggling to steady herself. She felt light-headed, detached from her limbs.
Rielle, please sit down. Corien’s voice was gentle. You’ll fall and hit your head.
I wish to stand, she snapped.
Very well. Is there anything I can do to help?
You’re lying to me, she managed at last.
You know I’m not.
All the angels are gone. They’re in the Deep. The saints banished them there, locked them beyond the Gate.
No gate stands forever, Corien interrupted.
Rielle stalked across the room to stand before the enormous gilded mirror that stood propped up against the far wall. She looked rumpled and terrified, her green eyes bright and wide, her dark hair falling loose from her braid, her nightgown dwarfing her in the grand, tiled room.
Just think what sort of rooms they’ll give you once they’ve made you their beloved Sun Queen, Corien remarked, his voice edged. A staggering thought, isn’t it?
Stop talking to me.
You don’t mean that.
Rielle began to pace. I think I know my own mind.
And I know your mind too. Such a spectacular thing it is.
Get out. She stopped midstride, fists clenched at her sides. Right this moment. Get out of my head, and leave me be.
They will use you, Rielle, he said at last, urgently now. They will lift you higher and higher, dress you in jewels and crowns, and when they realize who you really are, what lives inside you, they will spurn you, and you will be left alone—
“Get out!” she screamed, and when he obeyed, she felt his departure like a thread being tugged out of an infinite canvas until finally snapping free.
The sensation left her feeling unmade. She sat down hard on the edge of her bathing tub.
Evyline barged into the room, sword raised. “My lady! Are you hurt?”
“No.” Rielle wiped her eyes with a shaking hand. “Evyline, I think I’ve had a terrible nightmare. I don’t feel quite myself.”
Evyline sheathed her sword and hurried forward. “Here, my lady. I’ll help you back to bed and send for some tea. And a cinnamon cake, perhaps?”
Rielle leaned heavily into Evyline’s broad body. “Perhaps three cakes would do the trick.”
“Three cakes are, generally speaking, much more effective than one, my lady.”
Rielle’s smile was faint and brought prickling tears to her eyes. “Bless you, Evyline. I’ve taught you well.”
Evyline helped Rielle settle back into bed. “I’ll return shortly, my lady. I’ll send in Dashiell to watch over you.”
Rielle nodded and wrapped herself back into her blankets.
The angels are all gone, Rielle told herself, shivering in her bed and staring at the ceiling. If she thought it enough times, perhaps she could make it a real truth, just as she had remade the world of the metal cage into one she could control.
She squeezed her eyes shut and tried not to think about the sweet, lonely ache that lingered against her skin where Corien’s touch had once been.
The angels are all gone.
The angels are all gone.
• • •
But the prayer did not help.
Rielle couldn’t sleep the rest of the night, which left her unfocused and sloppy the next day as her father drove her ruthlessly through her conditioning exercises. And even when she settled into bed the night after, her muscles aching, sleep eluded her.
Corien, apparently, had taken her request quite seriously. She could neither hear nor sense him. Her mind felt hollow as a cave.
Part of her was glad.
But the part of her that lay restlessly in her too-large bed, unsettled and on edge, yearned for company.
And when she thought of his final words to her—They will spurn you, and you will be left alone—the hollow of her mind expanded into her heart until all she could feel was a desperate, endless sadness.
“I don’t want to be alone,” she whispered against her pillow.
She held her breath, waiting. Would Corien answer her? Send her some sort of reassurance?
Five breaths. Ten.
He said nothing.
She flung aside her linens, yanked the heavy plum-and-gold dressing gown from her bedside chair, and marched toward the door to her rooms.
Evyline snapped to attention. “Are we going somewhere, my lady?”
“Indeed we are, Evyline. I need some fresh air.”
She considered going straight to Tal and confessing everything to him: Corien, the angels, the frustration blazing hot paths through her body.
But instead Rielle slipped into the darkened castle—seeking solace, craving company.
And recklessly, secretly hoping at each turn of Baingarde’s moon-painted corridors, that she would see Corien standing there, with an apology on his lips and a sly kiss for her own.
