Lightbringer

They obeyed at once. He and Jessamyn were alone.

“A severance?” she said quietly after a moment. “Just from being startled?”

Simon briskly rearranged the secretary’s abandoned papers. “He’s young. I’ve seen worse.”

“It isn’t fair.” Jessamyn faced Simon, her jaw square and her eyes bright. “They should not have to live like this, scrabbling from body to body. They are God’s chosen. They deserve better—”

The study doors swung open.

The Emperor stood there, leaning hard against the door. His white shirt—sleeves rolled up to his elbows, hem untucked—was soaked with blood.

He fixed his eyes on Simon. They glittered as if cut from black glass.

As ever, when Corien’s eyes fell upon him, Simon felt a sharp chill. It was the delight that came from being sought out again and again as the Emperor’s most trusted, his most beloved.

It was the creeping terror that Simon would, after everything they had worked for, continue to fail him.

“They wouldn’t shut their fucking mouths about the cruciata,” Corien spat. “I’ve kept them at bay for decades now, for centuries, and I’ll keep them at bay for decades more if I have to. But I won’t have to.”

Simon peered past Corien into the study and caught a glimpse of the carnage. Streaks of blood painted the walls and rugs. Maimed bodies in torn black uniforms scattered the floor like debris. Simon recognized the bodies as those belonging to three angelic generals. Only yesterday, the generals had been charged with relieving others currently stationed at the northern front, the Empire’s first line of defense against anything that came through the Gate.

Now, the generals’ bodies lay ruined on the floor.

And judging by the look on Corien’s face, the angels themselves had not survived the meeting either.

Simon chose his next words carefully. Not even he was immune to the Emperor’s wrath in moments such as this.

“Your Excellency,” he said, “this is the Invictus trainee, Jessamyn, who was at the battle in Festival—”

Don’t tell me things I already know, said Corien with such furious force that pain shot through Simon’s skull like a knife. It required all his strength to remain standing and to resist apologizing. Few things infuriated Corien more than apologies.

Instead, Simon bore the agony and watched Corien’s gaze shift to Jessamyn.

“Three of my generals have been insisting that our defenses against the cruciata are insufficient and that soon we will be overrun,” Corien began, his voice now eerily calm. “I got inside their craven minds and killed them, and then I hacked their chosen bodies to pieces.” He gestured grandly at himself. “Hence the mess. Tell me, Jessamyn, what do you think about this?”

For a moment, Jessamyn could only stare. Then she sank to her knees and bowed her head. Her hands trembled against the floor.

“Your Excellency, your generals were foolish to doubt you,” she said.

“But they’re not entirely wrong, are they?” Corien knelt before her. “Look up. I want to see you. That’s better. They’re not entirely wrong, my generals. More and more cruciata have been worming their way through the Gate. We manage to kill some. Others get away.”

“Yes, Your Excellency,” Jessamyn managed. “That’s true.”

Simon stepped forward. Where Corien was taking this conversation, he did not know, but he saw tiny flickers of movement on his pale face, like shadows of things that weren’t there, and the sight made him uneasy. At any moment now, the secretary could return, and the attendants. The servants could arrive with the supper meant for Corien’s private meal with Admiral Ravikant—or, worse, the admiral himself could arrive early.

They could not see Corien like this, covered in the blood of his own soldiers, madness turning like stars in his eyes. The health of the Empire depended on their ignorance.

Simon stepped forward, knowing with absolute certainty what would come next.

“Your Excellency,” he began, “perhaps before supper, we should sort out your study—”

His skull split open, admitting tongues of black fire that plunged down his throat and pulled his spine through his ribs.

The vision was extraordinary, so detailed and violent that for a moment Simon lost himself and swayed. He groped for something with which to brace himself and found the study door.

Seventeen years of living in this palace, and his master’s punishments could still surprise him.

You know better, came Corien’s voice, regretful and pitying in that way Simon had learned not to trust.

“Don’t interrupt me, Simon,” Corien said aloud. “I don’t like being interrupted.”

Simon breathed quietly through his nose, refusing to gulp down air in front of their guest. Let her think it was a mere twinge of pain he had felt.

He watched Corien take Jessamyn’s chin in his hand. “Tell me what you know of the cruciata,” he said.

“They are beasts from the Deep,” she replied, her expression fierce with determination. “They were made aware of us when the angels broke free of their prison.”

“When Rielle opened the Gate,” Corien corrected her.

Jessamyn flushed. “Yes, Your Excellency.”

“And who keeps the beasts from overrunning our world?”

“You do, your Excellency,” she whispered. “Your mind engineered the machines that shoot them down as they enter our world.”

“The vaecordia. The guns of God’s chosen.”

“Yes, Your Excellency.”

“Yes, and my mind controls those machines,” Corien said, “and my mind controls the guards in this palace, and speaks to my generals in Astavar, and speaks to my commanders on the Namurian Sea, and to the adatrox patrolling the streets of Orline. My mind scours the world for the Prophet.” He smiled. “My mind is infinite. I am beyond the understanding of anyone who still lives.”

Jessamyn’s eyes were bright with awe. “Yes, Your Excellency.”

The pain had receded enough for Simon to sense that something was wrong. He was seldom alone in his mind. Only when Corien was immersed in his deepest work, or captivated by drink or music, or shut up in his rooms, brooding on memories, did Simon feel that ancient angelic mind relax its hold on him.

But it was happening now, as Corien knelt on the floor before this wide-eyed girl. His mind seethed against Simon’s own and then vanished, as if some shining blade had cut him free. Simon saw Corien’s shoulders sag and his smile waver, and he had a sudden vision of Corien lunging forward to rip off Jessamyn’s face with his teeth.