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Corayne followed like an afterthought, her face pulled with confusion. She struggled to keep up with their long strides, looking between the three fearsome Elders.
“Dyrian, come,” Eyda said brusquely.
The young lord gave Andry a soft look, then did as commanded, falling in next to his mother. Andry was quick to do the same, flanking Corayne.
“Well?” he muttered, trying to match her pace without losing the pack entirely.
Corayne scowled, a fire in her black eyes. “I was hardly given room to speak, let alone explain,” she hissed. “All they do is talk back and forth. Time means nothing to these folk.”
Andry knew the Elders heard them as they walked. He wagered Corayne was counting on it.
“Taristan and Erida are coming. They won’t leave me alive, let alone with a Spindleblade,” she pressed on as they navigated the hall. “The only question now is how long do we have? And what can we do before the fullweight of Erida’s throne crashes down on us?”
More than any in Iona, Andry knew what that looked like. The legions were vast, many thousands strong, consisting of career soldiers trained for war and conquest. Cavalry, infantry, siege engines. He shook his head, trying to dispel the image of catapults firing on the walls of the Elder city.
“At least Charlie had some sense,” Corayne bit out.
Andry nodded. Lenava was a small city, but better than the cocoon that was Iona, completely cut off from the mortal world.
Ahead of them, Isibel reached the entryway. Light spilled over the marble floor, the doors to the castle ridge thrown wide open. Outside, the clouds streaked in ribbons, torn by the blustering wind.
Isibel stepped out into the sunlight first, her hair flashing like a blade. She needed no armor to look fearsome, or a sword to seem dangerous. She was both with a single cut of her eyes.
They followed her out onto the flat landing before the gate of the castle, the city laid out below, with the valley beyond. The mist remained across the hills, obscuring anything more than a few miles away.
As a pair of Ionian guards fought through the gate, too fast for mortal eyes to comprehend, a horn sounded over the city. Andry and Corayne jumped in their skin, reaching for each other without thought.
Their hands brushed and Andry jumped again, all nerves.
“My lady, the scouts,” one of the new guards said, all but collapsing to a knee before his monarch.
Isibel silenced him with a wave of her branch. She looked down the ridge, past the gray walls and towers of Iona. Then she turned her eyes south, to the long, mirror-glass lake fading into the mist. Lochlara, the Lake of the Dawn.
Her pale eyes narrowed, her fair brow drawing tight.
Neither Andry nor Corayne could see what she scrutinized, their mortal eyes useless against the mist. Instead, Andry looked to Valnir and Eyda, and even Dyrian. Stoic as they were, they were easier to read than Isibel, who remained distant and unfeeling as a star.
Eyda drew herself to her full, menacing height, one hand gripping her son’s shoulder. Below her, Dyrian’s eyes went round again, this time with fear.
It sent a shiver down Andry’s spine.
Hawklike, Valnir glared across the miles, his thin lips pressed into a grim line, and one hand went to the bow at his shoulder, touching it briefly. As a priest would an icon, or a relic.
“Is anyone going to tell us what’s going on?” Corayne snapped. “Or must we guess?”
A shadow of annoyance flickered across Isibel’s face. She glanced to Corayne as if spotting her for the first time.
“There is a mortal army marching north,” she said softly. There was no fear in her, but no courage either. She went blank as a stone. “Toward Iona.”
Whatever terror Andry felt disappeared, easily eclipsed by his anger. A fist clenched at his side, the sword and ax at his hip suddenly heavy. He was glad to have both close enough, especially now.The Elders have wasted what little time we had to prepare, and now we pay the price for it, he thought, seething.
Next to him, Corayne flushed with fury, a lip quivering.
He turned his back to Isibel and took Corayne by the arm, leaning to speak into her ear. “We will outrun them,” he said forcefully. “I’ll get you out of here, I promise.”
To his surprise, Corayne didn’t move. She held Isibel’s gaze instead. Silence strung between them, tight as coiled rope.
“How many?” Corayne finally said, sounding hoarse.
