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Instead, he watched Taristan’s steps with red-rimmed eyes, his white-blond hair dirty with soot. He also worried after the Prince of Old Cor.
In that, at least, we are alike.
“Vexing as the Elder may be, he is not our focus,” Ronin said, waving a white hand. “First, we must get the sword back. Without it—”
“Without it, you still have two Spindles, in Gidastern and at Castle Vergon,” Erida cut in sharply. She was less than eager to send Taristanagainst Domacridhan and the Amhara, vulnerable as he was now. “Does that not count for something? Is that not enough for What Waits?”
Ronin eyed her with something between annoyance and amusement.
“In time, it could be,” he said. “But Corayne an-Amarat has proven herself too dangerous. Her fate cannot be left to chance while we sit and wait for the realms to wear through.”
Erida curled a lip at the thought of Corayne, a little mouse in the middle of a storm.
“Her continued survival makes no sense to me,” Erida clipped.
Scowling, Taristan stopped in his tracks, planting himself in Erida’s path. She looked up at him, seeing the hunger in his eyes. Not for her, but the Spindleblade.
“If I cannot hunt Domacridhan, I will hunt her instead,” he said. “Give me a legion, and I’ll drag her back here myself.”
The Queen hesitated; certainly a legion would be enough to protect her consort, but she could not shake the new feeling of dread.
“Better to kill her and be done with it, my love,” she muttered, dry. “Where will she go?”
On the divan, Ronin loosed a needling laugh.
“Where do little girls go when they are afraid?” He giggled up at the vaulted ceiling. “Home, I suppose. Whatever hovel she rolled out of.”
But Taristan’s face only darkened, his brow furrowing.
“You underestimate her Ronin, even now.” A muscle flexed in his jaw. “Corayne will go where she can stand and fight.”
Beneath his anger, Erida sensed a begrudging respect, small as it was. She could not blame him for it. Corayne had survived more than they ever expected, a steel thorn in their side.
“There are many great fortresses across the Ward, and armies fearsome enough to face the Gallish legions,” Erida muttered, tapping her lip.“Ibal, Kasa, the Temurijon.”
She pictured the old map of Allward in her council chambers. It encompassed the world from Rhashir to the Jyd, and all the thousands of miles in between.
With a wince, she realized the map was probably ashes by now, like everything else in the old keep.
“No, the Long Sea is thick with pirates. She would never survive the crossing,” Erida continued with a shake of her head. She remembered ships of her own fleet falling victim to the sea devils. “Would the Temur take her in?”
Across the floor, Taristan met her eye. He went silent, thinking, then growled low in his throat.
“The Elders would,” he spit out, sneering.
Erida narrowed her eyes, unconvinced. “They refused the call to fight before. At the first sign of failure.”
“They will not now,” Taristan answered bitterly. “With the defeat on their doorstep.”
A year ago, a summons arrived in Erida’s court. Simple parchment, sealed with the emblem of a stag. It belonged to no kingdom Erida knew. But she knew it now.Iona.The immortals asked for aid, to stop a madman before he could break the realm apart.
And I married him instead, she thought, her lips curling with amusement.
“How many enclaves are there across the Ward?” she asked aloud.
“Nine or ten,” Ronin answered, speaking up when Taristan did not.
Again she remembered the map, and the endless stretches of Allward.How many Elders hid within it, she wondered.How many might we have to fight?
