fifty firebrands combined—and after, she had not collapsed. She had been tired, yes, but she had stood strong and tall, and her eyes had glittered, and she had moved toward him with a supple, languid grace as the people of Styrdalleen cried out in adulation.
Audric tried to push these thoughts of Rielle aside and failed. She would forever be a refrain cycling under the surface of his every thought, his every word. He could see her so clearly—smell her, feel her—that for a moment he could not move, the colossal weight of his anguish pulling at him like a dark tide.
Atheria shifted, whickering softly.
Audric forced himself to dismount and held up his hands. Hundreds of eyes followed him; raised bows and nocked arrows and brandished castings tracked his every movement. The air shimmered with contained elemental power, as if the beach were a heat mirage.
“Will your firebrands be well?” Audric called out.
A nearby soldier, her lapel decorated with an array of jewel-colored medals, her dark curly hair clipped short and neat, stepped out of the ranks. Audric guessed she was a commander.
“Drop your casting, Lightbringer,” she ordered. “And please be reminded that you are vastly outnumbered here and that the rules of extradition do not apply to deposed kings. It is only due to the generosity of Queen Bazati and Queen Fozeyah that you have been allowed entry to our country.”
He obeyed, lowering Illumenor to the ground. “I understand. And I must express my deepest sadness about the damage these recent months have brought to your beautiful city.”
The commander said nothing. Her proud eyes cut to Ludivine. “Lady Sauvillier. It is your brother who now sits on the Celdarian throne.”
“As surely as no elemental power runs in my veins,” Ludivine replied, stepping forward with her palms raised, “so does my loyalty lie only with my true king, Audric Courverie.”
“That will do,” said a deep, rich voice, and then the wall of soldiers parted to reveal a brown-skinned woman in a gown of vivid azure. Her long black hair cascaded down her back in coarse ringlets. Sweeps of amber and cerulean highlighted her grave brown eyes, and around her neck she wore a heavy triangular pendant on a golden chain.
“Queen Bazati.” Audric knelt in the sand. “I thank you for allowing Lady Ludivine and myself to land on your shores, and I would like to make a formal request for asylum. Though I know the news from Celdaria is alarming, I hope you will remember the centuries of friendship our two nations have enjoyed—”
“Oh, get up.” Queen Bazati of the royal house of Asdalla helped him rise, then drew him into a fierce embrace. “You ate at my family’s table when you were hardly higher than my knee. Once, if you’ll recall, you threw up on my temple gown right in the middle of prayers after you stole a whole sack of sweets from my kitchen.”
He managed a small smile as she pulled away from him. “Then I suppose my request for asylum is granted? I promise not to get sick on any of your gowns.”
The queen did not return his smile. Instead, she searched his face for a long moment, then shook her head. “What happened, Audric?”
The compassion in her voice opened a chasm between his ribs, and for the first time since he had awoken alone in the gardens—Rielle gone, and the captain of his guard bearing down on him with disgust and hatred flaring bright in his eyes—Audric felt the hot press of tears.
“I don’t know,” he answered honestly. “Nothing good, Your Majesty.”
She nodded and hooked her arm through his. Her gaze flickered once to Ludivine, and Audric thought he read displeasure in her expression, as if she wished he had arrived in Mazabat alone.
A sentiment to which he could certainly relate.
“I’ll have rooms in the royal wing made up for you,” she said to him as they walked up the beach toward the shredded tree line and the white stone roads of Quelbani beyond. Citizens sorted through piles of rubble, and crews of builders worked on high scaffolding to repair stripped stone facades, but still the city shone as if no wind could hope to dull its light. As a boy, Audric had relished his family’s trips to the Mazabatian capital, for its reputation as a place of scholars, research, and the medicinal arts was unrivaled, its libraries the grandest in the world since the angelic libraries on the southern continent of Patria had been destroyed during