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Her voice was both light and deep, layered with great power. It made Corayne shiver.
“Isibel,” Valnir replied. His stern manner softened a little, and he put a hand to his own heart. The other still gripped the yew bow. “I grieve for your daughter, and your nephew.”
Corayne’s throat tightened, but Isibel’s serene expression did not change.
“I have no use for grief,” she said, too sharp for Corayne’s liking. Then she tipped a finger, dismissing the subject entirely.
Sadness turned to anger, itching beneath Corayne’s skin.
“It is not like you to travel with so few, Valnir,” the Monarch said, her pale eyes spearing through them. “And certainly not with the Realm’s Hope under your protection.”
Corayne straightened under Isibel’s attention. Her fist curled at her side, nails biting into the palm of her hand. The sting helped groundCorayne against the scrutiny of an Elder monarch, and the frustration roaring inside her.
The Realm’s Hope.The title smarted like salt in a wound and Corayne held back a disdainful scoff.
Slowly, with unnatural grace, Isibel unfolded herself from the throne. She stood monstrously tall and lean, the ash branch still in one hand.
“Corayne of Old Cor,” Isibel said. As with Valnir, she dipped her chin in rare deference.
This time, Corayne did not bow, or return the courtesy. Her teeth clenched, the Spindleblade hard against her back.Corayne of Old Cor.The name stung again, the pain of it too sharp to ignore this time.
“My name is Corayne an-Amarat,” she said, her voice echoing off the endless marble.
Next to her, Charlie pursed his lips and shut his eyes, as if bracing for a blow.
Isibel only took a step forward, not smiling or scowling. Unlike Domacridhan, she kept her emotions well in check, her face unreadable as a stone mask.
“I wish we could have met under different circumstances,” she said, descending to the green marble.
Valnir neatly stepped aside, allowing room for Isibel to face Corayne fully. The weight of her stare felt like being struck by lightning. Even so, Corayne would not look away.
“I wish we never had to meet at all,” she said, hot anger eating away at her fear.
Charlie visibly winced.
Behind the Monarch, Valnir’s yellow eyes flared wide. A muscle clenched in his sculpted cheek.
Corayne wanted to melt into the floor.
To the surprise of everyone, Isibel only tipped her head and extended her free arm, bending it at the elbow. She offered it as if she were a friend, and not a frustration.
“I have something to show you,” Isibel said. Up close, her eyes were luminous, like pearls or the full, haunting moon. “Walk with me, Corayne.”
21
Precious Cargo
Domacridhan
Fleethaven burned, its fires licking out along the canals, the wrecks of half-sunken warships like skeletons against the smoke.
Dom felt like a carrion bird, scanning the docks for some opportunity, his immortal eyes noting every soldier of the city watch. Most ran for the flames, their attention elsewhere. If word of the turmoil at the New Palace reached the dockside, it was certainly not a priority now.
Sorasa and Dom used the distraction to their full advantage.
They moved in unison, without discussion, their boots slapping the planks of the dockside. As the way narrowed, hemmed in by bodies, Dom allowed Sorasa to take lead. She slipped through the crowd with ease, heading for the galley with purple sails.
She turned neatly down the dock splits, avoiding the crew of another ship as they hastily loaded whatever cargo they could. There was a gangway, but Sorasa moved past it without thought, making her way to the back of the long galley. Dom glimpsed a flag hanging limp from the stern, emblazoned with a golden torch. He did not know which kingdom it marked, but he knew this ship owed no allegiance to any crown.
