At the naked tenderness in his voice, an unwelcome pang shook Rielle. A door inside her unlocked and gave way, and a flood of images claimed her vision.

She saw herself in Baingarde, sleeping peacefully in her bed with Audric on her left and Ludivine on her right. Limbs sprawled across pillows. Audric snoring. Ludivine’s eyelids restless with dreams. They were young. It was a thing they often did in childhood—sneaking into each other’s rooms, reading books and playing games, eating cakes stolen from the kitchens until they fell asleep in a pile like a pack of tired puppies. It was before Ludivine died, before an angel took her place. Before the trials. Before Corien.

Rielle froze, seeing but not seeing Artem and Obritsa’s embrace—Artem smoothing Obritsa’s dirt-streaked hair, Obritsa whispering fiercely, tearfully, against his collar.

Rielle’s body was there in the wilds of Vindica, but suddenly her mind was at home in Celdaria.

Another vision came. She was playing a game of snaps at a sticky table in Odo’s tavern. There was Audric, losing cheerfully, his curls damp from the heat and his smile broad. And there was Ludivine—an angel now, though they didn’t know it—leaning in close, pressing a kiss to Rielle’s cheek.

Rielle shook herself, stepping away from Obritsa and Artem.

Ludivine had found her at last.

“Go away,” Rielle whispered. “I don’t want you here.”

In answer, another image appeared: herself in Garver Randell’s shop, listening patiently as the boy Simon taught her the names of the bottled tonics arranged on his father’s shelves.

And another: herself, barefoot, lounging on her terrace, nestled against Atheria’s belly with a book in hand.

And another: herself in Audric’s bed. Bedsheets tangled around her legs, her skin flushed pink with Audric’s kisses, her fingers buried in his curls.

“Stop!” Rielle spun around and searched the trees. “Get away from me! I don’t want you here! I left you!”

Come home, came Ludivine’s voice, distant and distorted. Rielle could feel the miles between them, how difficult it was for Ludivine to form words. Please, Rielle. Come home to us. Come home to me.

“Never,” Rielle said, the word a choked sob. She staggered away from the Ludivine who wasn’t there. She put up her hands to fend off the image of herself smiling dreamily up at Audric. Touching his face. Bringing him down for a kiss.

“I’m never coming back,” Rielle whispered. She leaned hard against a tree, glaring into the darkness of this land she did not know.

You ache for home.

“I have no home,” Rielle snapped. “I am a monster. Don’t you remember? ‘You’re the monster Aryava foretold. A traitor and a liar.’”

Audric was angry and afraid. He regrets saying those things. He doesn’t believe them. Ludivine’s thoughts were growing stronger, more frantic. Rielle, he loves you still. He wants to help you.

Rielle’s tears spilled over. Her fingers dug into the tree’s rough bark. “I need no help. I’ve made my choice. Respect that and leave me.”

A pause. I haven’t yet told him about the baby, Ludivine said quietly. It isn’t my place. I told you I wouldn’t, and I haven’t.

The baby.

A wave of shock swept over Rielle. The last of the memories Corien had hidden from her was suddenly washed clean, sparkling like a diamond in her mind.

Unbidden, her left hand went to her belly. She had always had a bit of plumpness there, but now it was more pronounced. With sickening clarity she understood the sickness that had plagued her, the uncomfortable swollen feeling of her body.

Oh, Rielle. Ludivine’s voice was gentle. Had you forgotten?

A memory came to Rielle of the girl on the mountain, months ago—the young woman who claimed to be her daughter. They had fought. She had said her name was Eliana.

Rielle turned away from the memory, shook her head to clear it. A lie, she reminded herself. Some trick of Corien’s. It meant nothing.

Then, a crack in the brush. Shuffling movements.

Rielle whirled around and whipped her arm through the air, knocking Artem and Obritsa flat. They lay stunned in the trees a dozen yards away. A short-lived attempt at escape.

I’ve forgotten nothing, Rielle snapped. She no longer had the voice to speak aloud. I remember every lie you’ve ever told me, Lu, every lie you convinced me to tell. You didn’t tell us you were an angel until it aligned with the picture you wanted to paint for the Celdarian people—a picture of me as a savior and a resurrectionist. You didn’t tell me the truth about how the saints tricked the angels into the Deep because you didn’t want me to mistrust you or to fear that you were manipulating me into aiding some kind of vengeful scheme on behalf of your people.

Rielle was dizzy with anger. She shoved every scrap of it toward the presence of Ludivine, which made her head throb, for she was assaulting her own mind. You told me to lie to Audric, and I did, and I hate you for it almost as much as I hate myself. You’re a snake and a coward. I hate you.

A beat of silence. Then Ludivine spoke. You’re lying, darling.

Rielle stormed through the trees and found Corien immobile and gasping where she had thrown him. Impatient, she swept her hand up his body. He barked out a curse as his spine snapped violently back into place.

“Stop her, please,” Rielle choked out, kneeling beside him. “She’s in my head. I don’t want her there.”

Rielle, no, wait—

But then Ludivine was gone. In her place was a welcome warm cleanliness. A locked door. A mind swept clean.

Rielle sank into Corien’s arms and fumed, shivering, letting him stroke her hair and croon angelic endearments to her. Ishkana, my beloved. Daeleya-lira, my heart, you are safe.

Even as he soothed her, the grief sat hard in her throat, as if someone had screwed it into place. Yet she was giddy with relief and a vicious gladness.

“I’m never going back,” she whispered. “I have no home.”

“Your home is here, with me,” Corien said, his mouth against her hair. “Your home is wherever we are.”

But there was an emptiness in her, one that Corien hadn’t yet been able to fill. With Ludivine’s echo fresh in her mind, memories of home clung fast—Audric’s warm laughter, Ludivine’s softness, the scents of cinnamon in the kitchen and mountain snow on Atheria’s wings. Ale and fried potatoes in Odo’s tavern. The sweet floral perfume of the whistblooms surrounding the Holdfast. Candle smoke and prayer incense, rich and heady, in Tal’s office.

“The two of us together,” Corien insisted. “Together, Rielle. That’s all that matters.”