Lightbringer

“It changes nothing,” said Sloane, a bite to her voice. “We suspected Corien would be amassing armies to rise up against us.”

The Grand Magister of the Holdfast, his ruddy face pocked with scars, spoke in hushed tones. “But we did not know just how large his forces would be, and we knew nothing about these monsters he is creating.”

“I don’t even understand how such a thing is possible,” Queen Bazati muttered, her hands in fists.

“The common angelic mind, Your Majesty, is extraordinary,” said Ludivine. “Corien’s mind is far from common. Before the Wars, he was strong. Now, after centuries spent in the Deep, planning his revenge, he is beyond any of us. Even me.”

“Except for Rielle,” Audric said at once, and as soon as the words left his lips, tears sprang to his eyes. It was the first time he’d said her name aloud in weeks, and the cherished word snatched away his breath.

General Rakallo sighed sharply. “Yes, the only being more powerful than the angel bent on destroying us is the woman who left her home and loved ones to join him. Forgive me, Your Majesty, if I do not find this particularly comforting.”

Kamayin abruptly stood, hands flat on the table. “That kind of talk is neither necessary nor productive, General Rakallo.”

The Grand Magister of the Holdfast shook his head. “I disagree, Your Highness. We cannot consider Rielle an ally or an asset. She is a weapon, and right now she is in Corien’s arsenal.”

Queen Fozeyah sat with her fingers steepled at her lips. “Can she be killed?”

Now Evyline was the one surging to her feet, her eyes bright with indignation.

Audric reached for her. “Evyline, please sit down.”

Queen Fozeyah held up her hands, the shining dark coils of her hair falling back over her tawny brown shoulders, left bare by the wide neck of her gown. “Queen Rielle is loved by many in this room. But we must ask ourselves these questions and be prepared for any eventuality if we want to survive this.”

“Anything can be killed,” came Ludivine’s haunted voice. “But could we get close enough to do it?” Her desolate gaze moved to Audric. “That I do not know.”

“Killing her may not be necessary,” Audric said quietly, and he hated how glad he was to see Ludivine’s small, approving smile in response.

General Rakallo’s mouth was thin with exasperation. “Your Majesties, can we truly trust this man to be part of our strategizing? He is blinded by love. He has been deceived by Queen Rielle before, and he can be deceived again.”

“Yes, I love her,” Audric said, and he had never meant the words so passionately. As if it were a crime to love her, this fearsome, inexplicable woman with her temper and her bravery and her surprising, glittering mind.

“And yes,” he went on, “she deceived me, and when I discovered the depth of her lies, I let my anger and fear overcome me. I told her she was the thing she had feared becoming—a monster. I rejected her humanity; I dismissed everything that is good in her.” His voice broke. “And there is so much good in her. Courage and resilience, and such a capacity for love that anyone lucky enough to earn her trust could live off the power of her adoration alone.” He looked around at the gathered council, silently pleading with each of them to understand. “I pushed her away. And now she is with our greatest enemy. Were it not for my error in judgment, my weakness, she might still be with us.”

He took a slow breath, fighting for calm. “She has been burdened from birth with a great and terrible power. For months she has been judged, tortured, worshipped, and reviled. And despite all of that, she stayed with us—until I made the mistake of condemning her. We cannot win her back without love. And without her, we cannot win.”

The room was silent as the council members watched him with varying degrees of pity, embarrassment, sadness. Anger.

“Queen Bazati,” he said, his voice steady but his stomach in knots, “Queen Fozeyah, you cannot allow this news from the north to affect today’s vote. I beseech you, speak with the assembly before the vote is called. Let me speak to them. Celdaria will be the first front of this war—that I can promise you. Corien will want the poetry of beginning his conquest at the seat of my power, and with Merovec on the throne, the city will fall swiftly. He is utterly unprepared to face such an army. He is paranoid and fearful, as the letters from Red Crown attest. I’ve shown them to you. You’ve read them and have heard reports through your own underground. He does not understand angels. I do. He does not know Rielle.” He smiled softly, his heart in tatters. “I do. And if we want her to come back to us, she must have a home to return to.”

Then he looked around at all of them, willing them to understand. “To prepare for the true war ahead of us, we must amass as strong a force as possible in the place where Corien no doubt intends to strike first: Âme de la Terre. And before we can do that, I must reclaim my throne. I can do neither of these things without your army. Together, we can be our world’s first line of defense against Corien when he comes. Unless you would prefer that he face whatever ragged army Merovec patches together.”

Queen Bazati’s expression was implacable. “I understand your argument, Audric. I supported your petition to the Senate, as did my wife.” She sighed, staring at the table, and then straightened to address the entire council. “But I cannot speak to the Senate before the vote. Because they have already voted.”

Shock rippled through the room.

Kamayin gaped at her mothers, shaking her head slowly.

“What?” Audric whispered. He felt numb with horror. “When? And why?”

“Late last night, we spoke to Jazan with the speakers of all ten Senate chambers,” explained Queen Fozeyah. “We wanted the chance to hear his report before you did and assess the situation privately.”

“You made that man relive what happened to him twice in the span of twelve hours?” Audric said angrily. “I hadn’t thought either of you that cruel.”

“It isn’t cruelty, Audric.” Queen Bazati’s gaze was full of pity. “It is survival.”

Into the tense silence came a sharp rap at the door. Queen Fozeyah rose and opened it, admitting the high speaker of the Mazabatian Senate—a plump, stern-faced woman with rich brown skin and a cap of tight gray curls. She surveyed the room, her sharp gaze lingering on Audric.

“You have news for us,” said Queen Bazati quietly.

The high speaker nodded, then opened a leather packet and began to read.

“On the matter of the petition of King Audric Courverie of the nation of Celdaria,” said the high speaker, her voice sharp and clear, “who has requested military aid to invade that country’s capital and oust the usurper, Merovec Sauvillier, with the far-reaching objective of establishing a base of defense against potential angelic invaders, the Senate has deliberated and voted. We have taken into consideration the counsel of our queens, the holy magisters, and the Mazabatian people, whose voices have bestowed upon us our power. Our nation has been battered by unprecedented disasters in recent months, and we simply do not have the resources or the bodies to send abroad while we are struggling to clear our beaches, rebuild our farmlands, and gather our dead.”