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.”
The high speaker paused. “With a final count of one hundred and ninety-two to eight, we hereby move that the Celdarian petition be rejected and that the crown deny their request for military aid.”
Audric sat heavily in his chair, watching numbly as the high speaker presented her packet to the queens.
“If you concur with this motion for denial, Your Majesties,” the woman continued, “your signatures will confirm the vote. If not, you may appeal the vote in a special session.”
Audric held his breath, not daring to speak, and then watched as if through the slow mire of a dream while the queens signed the document that doomed his country and would soon doom them all. He only vaguely noticed the others’ reactions: Kamayin rushing at her mothers, passionately protesting; the Grand Magister of the Baths touching her throat in solemn prayer.
Queen Bazati was watching him, her expression compassionate but resolute. Queen Fozeyah led a shouting Kamayin into one of the private studies circling the room.
And the worst thing, the most horrible thing, was that Audric understood their decision.
Why should they trust him? Why should they send thousands of their troops to fight a futile war that had begun centuries before any of them were born?
If he was going to take back his country and rally the people of Avitas to fight for their Sun Queen and their future, he would have to do it alone.
13
Rielle
“From our observations in the Deep, we have divided the cruciata into five distinct groupings based on their closest similarity to creatures known in Avitas: vipers (reptilian), raptors (avian), catamounts (feline), bulls (a strange combination of bovine and ursine characteristics), and nibblers (insectivorous and arachnid, though far larger than is typical in Avitas). Notably, while the nibblers are smaller than the others—and their grouping the least populous, perhaps indicating a lack of strength that makes it difficult for them to navigate the Deep—they are also by far the most ravenous.”
—A report written by the angel Kasdeia, surgeon of the Northern Reach, dated August 17, Year 994 of the Second Age
For days, Rielle existed in a black-gold ocean. There, in the most exquisite and fathomless depths of her body, the empirium roared and roiled.
Fleeting moments of awareness illuminated the truth: They were traveling north. She and Corien. The girl, Obritsa; her guard, Artem. They were traveling quickly. Rings of light flashed open, then closed, a faint scent of smoke with each illumination.
The castings Artem carried, now four in number, emitted a new, stronger power that hummed against Rielle’s skin like the air before a storm, ready to snap open.
And Corien was close. Rielle felt his mouth against her cheek, the nest of his arms around her. Sometimes she recognized his nearness and met his lips with