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Though she never knew him, Corayne wished for her father, Cortael of Old Cor. If only so she could pass the burden back to him, and give up all hopes of saving the world herself.
Why me, Corayne thought, as she had so many times.Why must I be the one to save the realm?
Corayne dared not touch the sword, not even to check the steel. Andry Trelland taught her how to tend a blade, but she could barely look at it, let alone clean it. The Spindleblade took her father’s life. Took too many lives to count.
As they walked, her fingers trailed over her leather jerkin and beaten ring mail, then her pair of fine vambraces on her forearms. Despite the grime of battle, the pattern of scales, outlined in gold, still gleamed.
Dirynsima. Dragonclaws, Sibrez had called them. A gift of Ibal, from Isadere and their Blessed Dragons.Another lifetime ago.
She tipped her arm, examining one vambrace in the starlight. Steel spikes lined the edge of her forearm, sharp as a blade. A few were dark red, crusted with blood.
Taristan’s blood.
“You’re indestructible to most things,” Corayne said aloud, repeating what she told her uncle hours ago. “But not all.”
The Dragonclaws were twice blessed, both by Isadere—and Valtik. Perhaps whatever they did, Jydi bone magic or Ibalet faith, was enough to harm Taristan. The thought gave her some comfort, small as it was. But not enough to sleep. No matter how tired she was, Corayne could not make herself stop walking.
I’m too close to the open Spindle, she knew.Too close to What Waits. And He waits for me in my dreams.
Even awake, she could almost feel His presence, like a red fog at the corners of her eyes. She remembered when she fell through the Spindle at the old temple. Barren, cursed, a dead world corrupted and conquered. The Ashlands were a broken realm, cracked with Asunder, the hellish realm of What Waits. He found her there, His presence a shadow without a man to cast it.
The King of Asunder waited for her now at the edge of her mind, a hand extended. Ready to pull her down.
She remembered every word He told her.
How I despise that flame inside you, that restless heart of yours, He whispered then.
She felt her heart now, still stubbornly beating.
You cannot fathom the realms I’ve seen, He said, his shadow rippling with power.The endless ages, the limitless bounds of greed and fear. Put down the Spindleblade. And I will make you queen of any kingdom you wish.
She bit her lip, the sharp pain enough to bring her back. The voice faded in her memory.
Despite her hatred, Corayne found herself staring at the blade again,watching it as she would a dangerous creature. Like the sword itself might spring from its sheath and stab her too.
Quickly, before she could think herself out of it, she drew the blade in a single, singing motion.
The naked steel reflected her own face.
Shadows pooled beneath her eyes. Her black braid was a tangle, her sun-bronzed skin gone pale in the northern winter. Her lips were cracked by the cold, her eyes rimmed red by smoke and sorrow. But she was still herself, beneath the weight of the realm’s fate. Still Corayne an-Amarat, with her father’s grim look and her mother’s dogged resolve.
“Is that enough?” she asked the silence. “Am I enough?”
To this, she received no answer. No direction. No heading or path to follow.
For once in her life, Corayne had no idea which way to go.
Then the horse startled, raising its head and pricking its ears in a way that made Corayne tremble.
“What is it?”
The horse, being a horse, did not answer.
But Corayne did not need one. Its fear was answer enough.
She whirled to face the horizon, looking back toward Gidastern. Something like a candle burned in the darkness. At least, it looked like a candle. Until the cold wind blew, carrying with it the smell of blood and smoke.
Corayne wasted no time leaping into the saddle. Behind her, the light grew and loosed a haunting roar.
