“Ah,” Eliana murmured. “A telling silence.”
“All I will say,” said Navi, “is that you have done the best you could with what was given to you.”
“How disappointing. I’d hoped you wouldn’t lie to me.” Eliana stared bleakly out into the night. Her cheeks were on fire. She pressed them into the cool mud. “He recognized me, you know.”
Navi leaned closer. “What? Say that again.”
“He recognized me. The Emperor.”
Just before Eliana’s eyes drifted shut, she saw Simon’s own eyes open to watch her.
“He saw my face, and he asked me where I was,” she mumbled.
“Eliana?” came Simon’s voice, near now, and gentler than she’d ever heard it. Almost asleep, she turned to face it, like turning her face up to the sun.
“Simon.” She smiled, fuzzy-headed. “There you are.”
“Eliana, say that again. What you told Navi.”
“I saw the Emperor. He reached for me. He asked where I was.”
“And did you tell him?” One of Simon’s hands cupped her cheek, the other, gingerly, the bandaged back of her head. “Eliana, listen to me, this is very important: Did you tell him?”
“No.” Her eyes fluttered shut. “I told him nothing.”
“Good.” Simon helped her settle with her head in his lap. His thumb caressed her forehead. “That’s very good. You’re all right now. You’re all right. Sleep.”
? ? ?
Eliana dreamed of death, as she so often did.
She dreamed of everyone’s death but her own.
She reigned, a corona of light blazing around her head, over a world of scorched earth.
25
Rielle
“I believe us to be lost. How can we fight creatures whose lives stretch before them like infinite roads, who can sift through minds as easily as a child crafts castles on the shore? We have made a mistake, engaging the angels. All our power pales in comparison to that of their ageless minds.”
—Surviving journals of Saint Grimvald of Borsvall
September 25, Year 1547 of the First Age
Two nights after the metal trial, Rielle lay in bed, pretending to be asleep for the sake of Evyline, who stood placidly at the door to her rooms.
But her mind raced, and her blood thrummed hot with nerves.
Well? She swallowed hard. She could not delay this moment any longer. Are you there, Corien? It’s time for us to talk.
Of course I’m here, Rielle, came his voice at once. I always am.
She frowned into her pillow. I don’t find that particularly comforting.
You should. Unlike your other friends, I have no desire to see you killed.
So, we’re friends then, you and I?
His response came like a sigh across her skin: I very much hope so.
She drew her blanket tighter around her body. How can I be friends with someone I’ve never met? Someone I’m not even sure is real?
A delicate sensation slid down her spine, like the brush of a gentle finger, then faded near the dip of her lower back.
Don’t I feel real? came the response.
Rielle shivered. Are you a spirit? A ghost?
No.
Then why is it that I can feel you and hear you, but I cannot see you?
It is my own special way of talking to you from afar, my dear. There was a shifting in Rielle’s mind, of both sound and sensation, as though Corien were settling himself comfortably beside her. I can send you my thoughts, and you can send me yours. I can send you how I feel, and I can sense your feelings in return. He paused. Then, with a tiny smile curling his voice, almost shyly: I can send you the feeling of how I would like to touch you. And you can do the same back to me if you wish.
A war was taking place inside Rielle’s body, between cold fear and the desire to say at once: Touch me, then.
And if I don’t wish for you to touch me? she managed to think.
Then I won’t. I have been too forward. Forgive me.
Just don’t do it again. She paused, her cheeks flaming. Unless I ask you to.
Of course. He sounded quietly pleased. So, you wanted to talk to me. You have questions, I think.
Many.
That is understandable. Another shift. She had the sense of him sitting on the edge of a divan, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees.
But his face was a blur.
First, she began, what do you look like?
I can show you if you’d like. You’re already partway there.
Rielle’s heart beat faster. You are sitting on a divan, then? I can see the faint shape of you.
Indeed. Concentrate on the lines of my body. Try to make them sharper, as if tracing me with a pen.