must have sensed the change in her. He murmured an urgent question. Was it Corien? Was he hurting her again?
But Rielle could not bear to answer him, for she understood the truth of what Ludivine had done. With one look, Ludivine had told her everything. They had shared years of knowing glances across dinner tables, years of sleepy soft looks as they woke in each other’s arms, or Audric’s, or all together. And now, this.
Rielle’s blood roared, her heart howling in protest, and a hundred regrets, a thousand words of grief, lodged in her throat like knots of fire. But she would say none of them, could say none of them.
For Ludivine had engaged Corien not only with sword but with every bit of strength her mind possessed. How many times had Ludivine confessed that her strength paled in comparison to Corien’s? And yet here she was, throwing herself at him with no hope of survival, drawing him into a battle so fierce that he had abandoned Rielle’s mind to fight it.
Leaving her free, for however long Ludivine could distract him, to do what must be done. As if Ludivine were holding closed a door that Corien was clawing through from the other side, giving Rielle time to run. The path was clear, and it would crumble if Rielle did not act quickly. Corien would realize what was happening and unknot himself from Ludivine, and the moment would be lost.
Unsteadily, Rielle stood.
“Stay back,” she commanded, stepping away from Audric. Guilt was poison in her veins. Her mouth was bitter with it. With each hammering heartbeat, she thought of the black altar on that frozen mountain, the angel she had smashed between her hands like soft clay. One minute there, the next, annihilated.
I cannot, she thought wildly. Through her tears, she watched them fight. Corien and Ludivine, Ludivine and Corien. Never mind how they had hurt her, how she had hurt them. Their lies, their cruelties, how they had tugged her between them. Losing either one of them would destroy her. Losing both was a thing she could not imagine. And yet Ludivine was holding Corien back, giving Rielle a peaceful mind at last. A mind free of whispers.
A choice lies before you. Her daughter’s voice, kissing her memory. Only you can make it.
And you must. Ludivine managed a few fragile words. Inside them was a fierce, sweeping love. It’s all right. Don’t be afraid. Ludivine glanced at her once more. There was a weight to that look. A finality.
And then, like a swift jab to the throat, Ludivine was suddenly frantic, her voice breaking at last. She had done all she could. Her strength flickered, fading. Corien’s rage bloomed like black waves.
Now, Rielle, please!
Rielle knew she would hear those words for the rest of her life—Ludivine’s frayed voice, trembling with fear, begging Rielle to kill her.
She would remember everything that happened in those seconds before the end. How she reached for Corien and Ludivine, held them in her palms as if she were the god that had made them. How Corien realized too late what she intended and screamed for her to stop, his voice shattering. She would remember gathering the empirium—every speck of it, every shimmering strand within reach. How eagerly her power responded and how devastatingly fast it flew at them.
The world flared hot and brilliant—the dark mountain, the burning castle atop it. Rielle’s mind, her palms, the air whining as if ready to pop. All went white, and then there was nothing. A silent, booming darkness. The fire, gone. The lights streaming through the castle, vanished, as if they had never been made.
Rielle fell hard to her knees.
Breathed once, twice. Three times, and a fourth.
Shaking, she looked up.
Spots of color bloomed before her eyes. She blinked, the world returning to her. The mountains, the city, the stars beyond. The battlefield somewhere below. A quilt of light and fire, baffled dark shapes darting through the air.
Rielle stared, and stared, and as she looked at the charred spots where Ludivine had stood and where Corien had fought her, she felt something rising inside her. Something savage and lonesome, like the forest at night, like a sea seized by storms. There were not even ashes left behind, some ruin of them that she could touch. Her power still simmered in her palms and in the hollow of her throat, in the crooks of her elbows and the bones of her feet. It hummed quietly, satisfied.