The Gate keeping the angels at bay is falling.
To repair it, Rielle must collect the seven hidden castings of the saints.
But fear of corruption fear of becoming another Rielle keeps Elianas power dangerous and unpredictable.
Credit: Sourcebooks
In other words,Kingsbanelooks to deliver more of what hooked fans earlier this year.
The mind is fragile, and time is pitiless.
Even powerful marques have lost themselves to the ravages of their temporal experiments.
Meditations on Timeby Basara Obororenowned Mazabatian scholar
*
When Simon awoke, he was alone.
Simons father, mind no longer his own, throwing himself off of her tower.
Youre strong, Simon.
I know you’ve got the option to do this.
They would carry both him and the child in his arms to safety.
The queen, behind him in her rooms, fighting the angel named Corien.
Her voice, distorted and godly.
Threads of time, more volatile than threads of space, and more cunning.
Simon surged upright with a gasp, choking on tears, and looked down at his arms.
He understood at once what had happened.
He understood at once the immensity of his failure.
But perhaps there was still hope.
He could move faster, get them both away to safety before Queen Rielle died.
He pushed himself to his knees, raised his skinny arms into the frigid air.
His right hand still clutched the childs blanket.
He refused to let it go.
The certainty of that tightened in his chest like a screw.
But no matter how many times he recited the familiar sentences, the threads did not come.
He opened his eyes, staring at the stretch of barren rocky land before him.
The air held nothing of magic inside it.
It was pale, tasteless.
Flat where it had once thrummed with vitality.
Something was wrong, in this place.
It felt unmade, and clouded.
Once, his marque bloodpart human, part angelhad allowed him to touch the empirium.
Now, he could feel nothing of that ancient power.
Not even an echo of it remained, not a hint of sound or light to follow.
It was as if the empirium had never existed.
He could not travel home.
He could travel nowhere his own two feet could not take him.
His mind was empty, hollowed out from his aching tears.
Instinct told him he needed to find shelter.
If he lay for much longer in the bitter cold, he would die.
But dying seemed a pleasant enough thought.
It would provide him an escape from the terrible tide of loneliness that had begun to sweep through him.
He didnt know where he was, orwhenhe was.
Wherever he was, whenever he was, he didnt care to find out.
He cared about nothing.
He was nothing, and he was nowhere.
He knew the scent would soon dissipate.
But for now, it smelled of home.
A voice woke himfaint, but clear.
Simon, you have to move.
He cracked open his eyes, which was difficult, for theyd nearly been frozen shut.
The world was thick and white; he lay half-buried in a fresh drift of snow.
He couldnt feel his finger or toes.
An age passed before he found the strength to raise his body from the ground.
On your feet, said the voice.
Simon squinted through the snow, saw a figure standing nearby, wrapped thick with furs.
He tried to speak, but his voice had disappeared.
Rise, the figure instructed.
Simon obeyed, though he didnt want to.
But he rose to his feet nevertheless, took two stumbling steps forward through snow that reached his knees.
He nearly fell, but this person, whoever it was, caught him.
Their gloved hands were strong.
They wrapped an arm around Simon, bolstering him against their side, and turned into the wind.
Its far, but youll make it.
I will.Simon agreed with their words.
They slipped into his mind, firm but gentle, and gave him the strength to move his legs.
A sharp gust of wind sliced across his face, stealing his breath.
He turned into the furs of the person beside him, seeking warmth in their body.
He wanted to live.
Suddenly, passionately, he wanted to live.
He craved warmth, and food.
He clutched the babys blanket in his trembling, half-frozen fist.
he asked, finally able to speak.
The persons arm was a firm weight around his shoulders, their gait steady even in the snow.
