“I’d hoped the recent news wouldn’t reach you for several more days. It is true, however, about Prince Audric and the Dardenne girl. I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you in person. Stay in Belbrion, guard the north. Patience, my son. All will be as it should, and soon.”
—Letter from Lord Dervin Sauvillier to his son, Merovec
May 30, Year 998 of the Second Age
The doors to King Bastien’s council hall banged open.
Rielle shot to her feet. She had been tensely waiting in a hard, uncomfortable chair for a solid hour under the equally tense eyes of her guard. During that hour she had prayed for the hasty arrival of the king, so they could get the inevitable explosion over with.
Now, however, with the king storming to his seat—the Archon, the queen, her father, every member of the Magisterial Council, and Lord Dervin Sauvillier accompanying him—Rielle passionately wished she could return to her lonely chair and sit there for the rest of the day, unbothered.
At least Audric and Ludivine had come in as well, standing at opposite ends of the table.
“Lady Rielle,” began the king, his voice tight as he stood behind the enormous Privy Council table, “I have no idea where to begin.”
“Well,” said Lord Dervin, the words bursting out of him in a razor-thin voice, “perhaps we can start by discussing Lady Rielle’s willful abuse of power during her latest trial. Or else, her flagrant disregard for the sanctity of our children’s engagement—”
“Lord Dervin,” the king snapped, “when I want you to speak, I will ask you to do so.”
The man fell silent with a curt nod.
King Bastien glared at the table for a long moment, then turned his angry gaze onto Rielle.
It’s just King Bastien. She made herself meet his eyes, reminding herself over and over that this man was not only a king. He was also Audric’s father. She had grown up running through the halls of his home, shared a bed with his son and niece when they were all too young for it to be thought ill of.
“What,” he began quietly, “were you thinking out there?”
She hesitated, reminded herself to keep her voice clear and calm. “The truth, my king?”
“Yes, Lady Rielle. Please, for the love of God, tell me the truth.”
“I wanted to show the people what I am capable of. We’ve already discussed how important that is, have we not? That they think well of me, that they see my power out in the open and also see that it is nothing to fear.”
The king’s expression remained implacable. “Continue.”
“It seemed to me that the best way to show everyone that I am not only succeeding in the trials, but actually growing stronger because of them, was to demonstrate my ability to manipulate two elements simultaneously.” She resolved to look at neither Sloane, who sat rigid and pale at the council table, nor Tal, whose urgent gaze she could feel like the quiet pull of panic.
“What you’re saying, Lady Rielle,” said Queen Genoveve, her expression caught between amusement and something darker, “is that you wanted to show off.”
Well, they’ve got you pegged, haven’t they?
Corien’s soft laughter pricked goose bumps from Rielle’s flesh.
“And to demonstrate that my control is remarkable enough that a deadly threat can hover mere inches from someone,” Rielle answered, glancing at the Archon, “and I can ensure no harm befalls them, even so.”
The queen raised her eyebrows. “Remarkable?”
“I think my power is deserving of the word, don’t you?”
Tense silence reigned. Rielle glanced at Tal; he nodded at her with a small smile.
Her heart was a drum, steady and triumphant. “As for showing off… I think any human who can still work magic in this world understands the urge to embrace that gift and let it shine for all to see.”
“I do not understand that urge.” Rafiel Duval, Grand Magister of the Firmament, brown-skinned with black braids, sat with impeccable posture beside Tal. He wore windsinger robes of sky blue and storm gray. “Power does not exist to be flaunted. It exists to be tamed.”
“We disagree, then, Magister Duval. Now that I am free to use my power as I see fit, it feels stronger and healthier than ever.”
“You mean, now that you may use your power as the king sees fit.” Ludivine turned imploring eyes to Rielle. “Don’t you, Rielle?”
Rielle flushed, realizing her mistake.
Not a mistake, Corien said quickly. You said what you really think, my dear.
“Forgive me, my queen, my king.” Rielle bowed her head. “Lady Ludivine is right. Of course I misspoke.”
The king sat heavily in his chair. “And the creature you created. The dragon. What of that?”
“I think we can all agree,” Audric began, “that Lady Rielle demonstrated incredible control—”
“Hold your tongue, Audric,” said the king. “Lady Rielle can defend herself.”
“But, darling, don’t you remember?” Queen Genoveve’s cold gaze did not match the sweetness of her voice. “Our son has a hard time keeping his tongue to himself when Lady Rielle is near.”
A burning flush climbed up Rielle’s body. The Archon turned a delicate cough into his sleeve.
Audric was the first to speak, his voice low and furious. “Mother, do you really want to have that conversation right now?”
“Well, I certainly don’t,” the king answered with a sharp look at his wife. Then he glanced past her. “My apologies, Ludivine.”
Ludivine gave him a warm smile. “It is nothing, Uncle. A mistake made during fraught times.” Then she came to Rielle and gently took her hand before turning back to the council table. “I bear no grudge against Lady Rielle.” She extended her other hand to Audric, who approached after a moment’s hesitation. “Nor do I bear a grudge against my cousin, the prince.”
Lord Dervin’s mouth twisted as he took in the sight of the three of them standing united before the king.
“Were you going to kill me?”
Rielle startled to hear the Archon’s mild voice. “I…I beg your pardon, Your Holiness?”
His unblinking smile crept inside her like a nightmare. “I could feel it, you know. I could feel the empirium moving inside that dragon as it licked my face. It was angry at me.” He cocked his head, considering her. “You were angry at me. For those children, I know.”
Was this a challenge? Rielle’s hackles rose. “Yes, I was angry. I wanted to frighten you.”
Lord Dervin threw up his hands. “My king, is this the talk of someone we can trust to stand beside our children, much less parade about recklessly in front of thousands of people?”
“Frighten me you did,” the Archon continued, ignoring the outburst and leaning forward across the table. A new light glinted in his eyes. “I didn’t think you would kill me. Not yet. But I wondered how far you’d go.”
Not yet. A thrill skipped down Rielle’s body. She could not look away from the Archon’s narrow, bright gaze. Those eyes seemed to see everything inside her—the power even now leaping high in her blood, the presence of Corien sitting pensive in her mind, and the truth.
That truth was this: a dark kernel of regret stewed inside her, and if she could go back and live the trial over again, that hard black knot might just be enough to change her mind. To not stay the dragon’s claws and instead let it feed.
The Archon’s smile grew, as if he could see Rielle’s thoughts plainly on her face.
A sharp knock on the great hall doors disrupted the agitated silence, and when a page entered, Rielle relaxed slightly, glad for the distraction. Audric stood near, arms tense at his sides. She wanted to turn in to him, to hide her face in the warmth of his chest. She didn’t want to hide there forever, just for a while. Was it so wrong to wish for that?
“Father?” Audric’s voice carried a new note of worry. “What is it?”
Rielle glanced up at the king. He held a small, curled slip of paper—a message from the royal aviary—and on his face was a stark absence of expression. He had retreated somewhere; he did not want to be reading this note in front of an audience.
“Three attacks,” he said flatly, “along the border. Castle d’Avitaine. The Castle of the Three Towers. Castle Barberac.” He paused, his mouth in a hard line. “Seventy-three Celdarian soldiers have been killed. Six—two from each post—survived and fled south to the nearest villages.”
“My God.” Queen Genoveve’s hand went to her throat. “Did their reports include what attacked them? Or who?”
“‘It came during the night,’” read the king. “‘It came without sound and without warning.’”
An eerie silence bled through the room.
King Bastien stopped reading. Audric snatched the note from his hands.
“Audric—” snapped the king.
“‘I’d turn in the dark,’” Audric continued reading, “‘and another would fall. White as bone their faces were, and still, like they’d been caught in the middle of a scream.’”
The king stormed around the table, ripped the note from Audric’s hands, and crumpled it in his fist. “These northern posts are bitter and cold. A pale face is no strange thing.”
Audric watched him gravely. “Two survivors from each post can be no coincidence.”
“Can’t it? Don’t start raving at me about your mad theories, Audric.”
“The signs have been clear for some time now.” Audric ignored his father and addressed the entire table. “The longer we wait to face them head on, the deadlier the consequences will become.”
“Signs!” Bastien laughed harshly. “Storms and revolutions in distant lands, soldiers being killed on a border between unfriendly nations. Yes, indeed.” His voice took an unfamiliar, sarcastic turn. “I’ve never heard of such things happening. Truly, we are at the brink of some magical undoing.”
“And what about Lady Rielle? You cannot look at her performance in the trials and call it anything but extraordinary.”
“He has a point,” said Tal quietly. “I’ve worked with Rielle for years, and the prophecy—”
“Magister Belounnon,” King Bastien snapped, “until I have asked for your opinion, you will take care to remain silent in my presence.”
Tal met the king’s gaze with only a little flare of defiance, but it was enough to make Rielle’s heart swell with love for him.
“Yes, my king,” Tal replied.
“The prophecy,” King Bastien continued, looking around at all of them, “cannot even be dependably interpreted. How many official translations of Aryava’s words exist? Twenty? Twenty-five?”
“Thirty-four,” replied the Archon at once, “though the differences between some are minimal.”
“But even a single word can mean the difference between a prophecy”—the king shot a dark look at Audric—“and an entertaining story that no learned man takes seriously.”
Magister Duval’s eyebrows shot up. “Your Majesty, this is rather bold of you to say, in front of the entire council and the Archon himself.”
“All of whom answer to me, I’ll remind you.” Bastien stalked away to stand before the windows and look out at the setting sun. When at last he turned back around, he looked weary but resolute. “I apologize for my outburst, Your Holiness. I do not think the prophecy a mere story, nor do I think the intelligence of you and your magisters to be anything less than exceptional.”
The Archon inclined his head. “You are most gracious, my king.”
“I’ll speak no more of this tonight. Armand?”
Rielle’s father rose from his chair and joined his king. At the doors, he glanced back once at Rielle, and she saw a flicker of concern in his gray eyes.
The look frightened her.
Ever since the trials had begun, with Rielle’s life imperiled every week, her father had kept himself closed off from her, even more than usual. She saw him only during their mornings at the obstacle course, and sometimes in the halls of Baingarde. Encircled by her guards, she would greet him politely, and he would return the sentiment with a mere nod.
And so even the smallest change in expression on that hard face was of note.
Something about the message from the north, and the king’s reaction, had pricked at the inconquerable Lord Commander Dardenne.
As the council rose with rustlings and murmurs, Audric turned to Rielle, then glanced at Ludivine. “We must speak in private,” he said quietly. “Now.”
“Audric, my love?” Queen Genoveve extended her hand toward him. Her brocaded gray gown caught the red light of the setting sun and cast strange, harsh lines across her face. “Come with me. Your uncle and I thought we could all enjoy some tea together.”
“So you can scold me again and speak ill of Lady Rielle?” Audric said it loudly enough for everyone still in the room to hear. “I have far better things to do.”
Then he threw his mother a swift, angry look and left the hall.
Rielle nearly burst out laughing at the affronted expression on Queen Genoveve’s face, but before she could, Ludivine took her firmly by the elbow and rushed her out of the hall.
Only once in the familiar quiet of Audric’s rooms did Rielle’s nervous laughter finally escape. She collapsed on her favorite chaise by the window, a shabby old thing so comfortable that she forbade Audric from ordering another.
Ludivine sank into her own favorite chair by the fire. “I don’t see what’s so funny, Rielle.”
“What isn’t funny? The fact that Audric insulted his mother in front of the entire council? Or that your father looked like he was trying to make me drop dead using only the force of his stare?”
Or that even as the king scolded me, she thought a little wildly, I was talking to an angel in my head?
“Please don’t make light of my father’s anger,” Ludivine said. “It won’t serve any of us well.”
“And then,” Rielle continued, “there’s the fact that Audric and I nearly… Well.” She flushed, losing her nerve. “And yet here we all are, acting as if nothing has happened!”
Audric tensed. “Rielle, can we please not talk about that right now? I know you and Ludivine have discussed it, but there are political ramifications of any changes made to the agreement between our families.”
“No.” Rielle set her jaw. “I insist we talk about it, this very night. It’s unfair to all of us until we do.”
Into the silence that followed, Ludivine spoke gently. “She’s right, Audric.”
Audric leaned heavily against his desk.
“If I could give up my crown and my duty,” he said, “and leave this place behind, with only you at my side…” He glanced at Rielle. The quiet anguish on his face seized her heart. “I would do it in an instant, with Lu’s blessing.”
“Abandon your birthright? Leave your country without an heir?” Rielle scoffed, tears standing hot in her eyes. “You’d never dare.”
“You’re wrong!” He stormed away from them to face the starlit windows, his shoulders high and tense. “I’d do it for you. Sometimes I think I’d betray everything I hold dear for the chance to—”
His voice broke; he fell silent. Rielle turned away, arms tightly crossed over her front. Audric’s servants had prepared his fire for the night. The crackling flames and popping wood were the only sounds in the room for several long minutes.
Then Ludivine cleared her throat. “There’s no need to give up anything, you know. Not the crown, and not each other. You would just need to be…discreet.” She smoothed her skirts. “I could help you, as needed.”
Rielle stared at her. Ludivine had taken her to Garver Randell for a contraceptive tonic, yes, but to hear her suggest such a thing so plainly, as if they were all merely discussing the weather, left Rielle without words.
Audric laughed in astonishment. “Lu, are you suggesting what I think you’re suggesting?”
“That you be together?” Ludivine raised an eyebrow. “Yes. In secret, of course, but soon. And as often as possible, so I’m spared the agony of your tortured pining.” She leaned back in her chair, closed her eyes. “It’s exhausting to witness. I’ve reached my limit.”
Heart racing, not daring to look at Audric, Rielle breathed, “I can’t believe you’re actually saying this.”
“Why not? I’ve told you both how I feel about the situation.” Ludivine smiled, eyes still closed. “Or do you doubt my word?”
“No, it’s not that, it’s just—” The images crowding Rielle’s mind made a delighted heat climb up her cheeks. “Wouldn’t you be embarrassed?”
“That my dearest friends could be happier than they’ve ever been? Why would that embarrass me?”
“Maybe ‘embarrass’ isn’t the right word.” Rielle did look at Audric, then. Half in shadow, he frowned at the floor.
“If we’re discovered,” he said at last, “even if we explained that you knew and approved, it could be humiliating for all of us, but especially for you.”
“Oh, is that what could happen?” said Ludivine blandly. “I hadn’t realized.”
Rielle let out a rush of nervous laughter. “We would just have to…not be discovered.”
Audric scrubbed a hand over his face. “It’s not as simple as that.”
“Of course it is.” Ludivine watched him fondly. “We’ll be careful, and you’ll… Well, Audric, you’ll have to get good at lying somehow.”
“And your family? What about them? If my mother finds out? Or your father? He’ll be studying us closely now.”
“I can handle my family.”
For a long time, Audric stared at the crackling flames.
“We can’t,” he said at last, his voice heavy. “Something is happening in Borsvall. The attacks on the border, that report I read… House Sauvillier is our strongest defense against whatever might come south. While we sort out what’s happening, we need your father and his soldiers to remain loyal to the crown. And they surely will not if they discover that Rielle and I are having an affair.”
Rielle struggled to speak past a rising despair. “But, Audric—”
“What did you tell my father, weeks ago? Enough lies have been told, enough secrets kept?” He glanced at her. “This is not how I want us to begin.”
“And I don’t care how we begin,” she protested, stepping toward him, “as long as we do.”
In the blazing silence, Audric’s gaze dropped to her lips and then away.
“Perhaps,” Ludivine said after a moment, “you can simply wait a while. Until the danger at the border has passed and my father’s temper has cooled.”
Rielle threw up her hands. “And then what? He’ll suddenly be happy when we tell him what will happen next? Sorry, Lord Dervin, but your daughter won’t be queen after all?”
“No, he won’t be happy,” replied Ludivine evenly, “but he won’t be as angry.”
“And the kingdom will hopefully be stable, then, and safe,” finished Audric. “Whatever attacked our border will have been found out and vanquished.” He took a deep breath, dragged a hand through his curls.
Rielle moved to stand before him. She refused to touch him, though her body ached to.
“Is this really what you want?” she whispered.
“What I want?” He smiled sadly, moved as if to touch her, then drew back. “Of course not. But it’s what we must do, Rielle.”
He has the eyes of a cow, Corien sneered. Soft and unthinking.
Rielle’s wrath rose swift and hot. And you have the tongue of a serpent. Cruel and repellent.
Corien retreated, a sulky bend to his presence.
“Rielle, I’m sorry,” Ludivine murmured, rising from her chair. “But I think Audric’s right. This is the wisest—”
“Lu, I’m thankful for your selflessness and for your friendship,” Rielle said tightly, a terrible pain lodged in her throat, “but I think I need to be alone.”
Then she tore herself away from Audric and left the room.
