twisting. She had not once said Tal’s name, and yet Audric heard echo of it in every word.
“Say it, Rielle,” Miren choked out. “Tell me you’re sorry.”
Rielle examined her hands, then looked calmly at Miren. “If I tell you, will you believe me?”
The room held its breath, the silence fat with nerves.
And then Miren sagged against her chair, her expression flattening. “No,” she said at last. “I won’t.”
Rielle smiled a little, the saddest smile Audric had ever seen. “I don’t blame you. But I am sorry, truly. I wish it could be undone. I wish Tal—”
Miren surged to her feet, her ax glowing at her hip. Every piece of metal in the room vibrated, ready to fly at her command.
“Don’t say his name to me,” Miren said harshly. “Not ever. He loved you more than anything, more than me, and that wasn’t enough for you. Nothing we can give you is enough.”
Then Miren pushed back from the table and stormed out. A moment later, Genoveve squeezed Audric’s hand gently and rose to follow her.
“I suggest we retire for lunch,” Audric said into the heavy silence, “and meet again in the afternoon. Three o’clock at this same table, please.”
As the others quickly left the room, he gathered his papers. Rielle sat unmoving at his side. He could not bring himself to look at her. If he did, he would see the truth on her face, the thing he feared most of all—more than the angels still roaming the world, more than whatever lurked beyond the Gate and might someday emerge from it.
If he looked at her, he would see the truth: Miren was right.
Without meeting Rielle’s eyes, Audric offered her his hand. Wordlessly, she took it, her fingers so light against his palm that it frightened him. As they returned upstairs to their rooms, he clung to the sound of her footsteps, relished each of her labored breaths. Her belly, huge and wonderful. She cursed it, quietly, carefully, as if trying out a joke, and his laughter felt fragile on his tongue.
Lunch awaited them—fresh bread and soft cheese, figs drizzled with honey, a salad of tomatoes and cucumbers. They ate in silence, and not once did Rielle let go of his hand. Her thumb rubbed his, over and over, leaving behind soft smears of gold.
• • •
One night, Audric left Rielle sleeping fitfully in their bed and went up to the roof. The summer air was warm, and night birds called from the thick forests carpeting Mount Cibelline.
He walked the long breezeways of the fifth floor, each bordered with a railing of white stone. Leaning against one of them, he looked down at the scaffolding hugging the castle’s western face. Two towers had collapsed during the battle. Great holes torn from the walls by careening elemental magic left Baingarde looking haggard and feeble.
He rubbed the bridge of his nose, willing away the tired burn behind his eyes. With sleep came dreams. He wanted none of it.
Movement shifted at the corner of his eye, smooth and gliding. He watched Atheria fly, smiling to see her nip bats from the air. The sight was welcome—and increasingly rare. When Rielle was awake, the godsbeast stayed far from Baingarde.
Yet more grief for Rielle to carry.
The air shifted beside him like the weight of something moving through cold water.
A chill prickled his skin. He was not yet used to the feeling of wraiths, nor did he entirely trust them, though they had given him no reason not to, other than the fact of what they were. Angels without bodies—angels who had refused resurrection.
Dozens now guarded the city, hundreds patrolled the mountains, and the one drifting near him now was his favorite. His shoulders eased a little when he recognized her—the tall gray reed of her body, eyes black and serene, long thin limbs. Dark hair streamed faintly to her waist, but near Rielle, an echo of her true self shone with power for all to see—gleaming white hair, rich brown skin, and shining platinum armor, as she had worn when she’d first entered the Deep.
“Zahra,” Audric said warmly. “Is there something you need?”
The wraith inclined her head in greeting. Her voice was resonant, like the toll of heavy bells. “Nothing but company, my lord king. The night is quiet.”
“I’m relieved to hear that.” He looked at the vast dark sky. Sometimes he still saw the faint echo of wings burning there. Sometimes he felt their heat on his neck, and the memory made his mouth taste