Lightbringer (Empirium #3) - Claire Legrand Page 0,87

then she started on her fruit. A berry popped open between her teeth.

“Where is Remy being held?” she asked. If she was going to abandon him to this place, she needed to hear the truth of his fate. “Is he hurt? Is he being fed?”

“Fed, yes,” Jessamyn said after a slight pause. “Hurt, yes, but nothing egregious. The Emperor will make certain he is safe as long as he is useful.”

As long as he is useful. Eliana smiled with faint relief. Once she was gone, they would kill him. He would want it that way. He would want her to do this. Two lives in exchange for countless others? A simple equation. If Remy knew, as she did, that it was the only way to win, he would hold the blade himself.

“I had thought of that,” she whispered, finishing her fruit. “That he would be kept alive as long as I am.”

She reached for a slice of buttered bread. She envisioned the three daggers strapped to Jessamyn’s belt but did not dare look at them. A strange peace came over her. She would have to be quick. One last kill for the Dread of Orline.

Remy, forgive me, she prayed.

Then she rose swiftly from her chair and struck Jessamyn hard in the throat.

Jessamyn staggered back and gasped soundlessly, clutching her neck. She hadn’t been expecting it. Eliana was weak. She’d gone soft; she hadn’t held a dagger in weeks. She hardly looked like a person anymore, let alone a killer.

But desperation gave her new strength. She found the shortest dagger on Jessamyn’s belt and wrenched it free of its sheath. Her mind a frenzy of white light and crackling noise, her blood afire with triumph, she thrust the blade toward her own stomach.

Before blade could meet flesh, something seized her—a firm but gentle presence in her mind like a hand around her wrist, pulling her back from the brink.

No, little one. Not yet. We have things left to do, you and I.

Whoever this person was, sending mind-speak into her thoughts as angels did, it was not Corien.

Eliana dropped the knife.

The adatrox stationed around the room remained silent and still. Jessamyn leaned against the dining table with one hand, her other hand at her collar. She did not lunge at Eliana to counterattack. None of the adatrox hurried forward to apprehend her.

Eliana stood slowly, staring. Jessamyn gasped for air. The dove at the window flew away with a soft trill.

We have a moment to speak uninterrupted, the voice told Eliana. I am deceiving the eyes of your guards, but I cannot shield us for long.

Who are you? Eliana stepped back from Jessamyn, her heart pounding in her ears. You’re an angel.

I am a friend.

Eliana spun around, searching for something to attack, but the room remained still and quiet. The only sound was Jessamyn’s ragged breathing. That does not answer my question.

Not all angels are alike, and not all worship at the Emperor’s feet. After a pause, the voice said, gentler now, Haven’t you such a friend? Your Zahra, whom you love?

Eliana sensed a kindness in this voice, and a great sadness. Her eyes filled with furious tears. Don’t you want me to stop him? This is the only way.

No. There is another. I don’t have much time before he realizes I’m here, and he can’t know I’m still alive, which is why I haven’t shown myself to you before now. Despite its sadness, the voice held an iron resolve that frightened Eliana, even kind as it was—for in this, at least, the voice matched Corien’s own. An indomitable will. Centuries of purpose.

I would have liked more time before coming to you, for your own sake, the voice continued. These months have been steadily wearing at you. You have suffered great losses, and you have so diligently worked against your power to protect us all that now you can find it only in moments of great duress, pain, or fear. That is why he hurts you so. That is why he promises happiness, only to tear it from your grasp. A pause. Then, an immense fondness. What you have endured is unforgivable. I wish I could tell you there isn’t more to come.

Eliana was mystified. Standing in a pool of still sunlight, her unseeing guards staring blankly like statues, she asked again, this time aloud, “Who are you?”

I have many names, the voice replied. But you know me as the Prophet.

18

Rielle

“There is only one known scholarly depiction of Saint Tameryn without her dagger