Lightbringer (Empirium #3) - Claire Legrand Page 0,139

toes. “Can you say nothing else?” she teased.

Ysabet touched Navi’s face, looking up at her as if gazing upon all the world’s marvels. “Kiss me,” she said, a tiny plea in her voice, an incredulous little bend, as if she could not quite believe what she held.

Navi smiled, ran her fingers once more through Ysabet’s soft white hair, and bent to obey.

28

Eliana

“I cannot tell my father or my brothers, not yet, for I don’t want to raise their hopes prematurely. But I have been visited in secret by one of the Emperor’s lieutenants, and he says I am beautiful enough to earn a place in the Emperor’s palace as a favored guest! He may summon me today, in fact, and I know just what dress to wear, red like—”

—The last journal entry of Demetra Vassos, human citizen of Elysium, dated April 3, Year 1018 of the Third Age

In Eliana’s shapeless, quiet dream, a single word: Run.

Her eyes flew open. Someone was dragging her across her bed, upending her pillows. She tried to wrench free and couldn’t. The hand around her ankle was firm and cold.

She saw Corien’s face, how giddy it was, the manic edge of his smile. Her bedsheets tangled around her legs. He yanked her hard over the edge of her bed and stalked away, letting her fall.

“Get up. And do something with that tangled hair of yours. You look feral.” He was rifling through her enormous wardrobe, shoving past gown after gown. “I have a gift for you, but you must be properly outfitted to receive it.”

Eliana scrambled to her feet, looked quickly around her rooms. Her adatrox attendants stood blank-eyed in their white robes. Jessamyn was not there, no doubt sleeping at the Lyceum. Ostia’s light painted the windows, casting long shadows across the floor. She had buried her pride deep and felt nothing when she glanced out the window at the enormous dark stain of angry light fixed in the night sky.

A shadow flickered at the corner of her eye. She turned to find the open door to her rooms—and a familiar silhouette.

She had not seen Simon in too many days to count. She was not prepared for it. Her chest flared white-hot, and she flew at him, her anger clean and sharp, her fist raised to strike. She would not unwittingly summon her power, not this night. Her fury burned within an unbreakable cage. He could not get to her, but she would get to him.

Simon blocked her with his forearm, and then something grabbed her own, wrenched her away from him, and flung her to the floor.

She fell hard, head knocking against the tile, then looked up at the tilting world to see Corien’s ferocious expression. The white knives of his cheekbones, his black eyes reflecting none of Ostia’s light. He had not dressed to his usual standards. His thin white shirt hung loose around his pale torso. His hair was rumpled, and his lips wore a burgundy stain.

“Get dressed,” he snapped.

A gown awaited her on the bed, glittering like a discarded skin of jewels. She had seen it hanging in her wardrobe but had never touched it. A high-collared bodice in red, dark as a pool of blood and heavy with beadwork. A thick sash of black silk around the waist, fastened with a clasp of golden feathers. Black lace trimmed a narrow, plunging neckline, and the skirt was a layered sea of crimson silk.

It was a gown fit for the Blood Queen.

She hesitated, irrationally afraid of it.

Quick footsteps crossed the room, and then Corien shoved her against the bed, tore at the sleeve of her nightgown. She wrenched herself away from him and then, unthinking, whirled around and slapped him.

He grinned, the thin red line where her casting had cut his cheek fading quickly, then grabbed and turned her, shoving her face down into the gown’s glittering fabric.

“I’m waiting,” he hissed against her ear, his breath hot and foul. He had been drinking, perhaps feasting in one of his dining halls with whatever lucky citizens had been selected to attend that night’s entertainment.

Then he yanked her up and pushed her hard toward the center of the room, the gown clutched in her hands. In Ostia’s light, she dressed without shame. She found Simon’s silhouette, the faint gleam of his eyes. She locked on to him, held his gaze as she fumbled with the hooks of her bodice. Let them both look at her. Let them see her every scar, her every