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“The Ward’s fate is not yet written,” Corayne said harshly.
Isibel answered with a melancholy look. “It is already etched in stone.”
With a will, Corayne turned from the gallery, leaving the Elder ruler in her wake.
“Then I will break it.”
Corayne did not know who convinced Isibel to assemble their gathered council again, but she suspected Valnir and Eyda had some part in it.
They were fewer in number than before, with only Isadere and Sir Gamon joining, their chairs arranged in a semicircle before the throne and dais. It was not lost on Corayne how the Elders sat elevated above the rest, with the mortals forced to look up. She ground her teeth together as she sat, hoping Isadere or Sir Gamon did not take offense.
“I feel put on trial again,” Charlie muttered as he took the seat beside her. He at least dressed the part, clad in soft robes of gray, his brown hair freshly washed and curling over his shoulders.
Annoyed as she was, Corayne relaxed a little. “What number would this be?”
The fugitive priest gave a glancing wave, shrugging. “Oh, I’ve lost count by now.”
“Seven,” Garion muttered next to him. The Amhara still wore his leathers, but favored a long black sable fur to keep warm within the shivering halls.
It suited him as the wolf pelt suited Andry, who remained standing. His fingers drummed on the back of his chair, betraying his unease.
“What is it?” Corayne said, laying a careful hand on his wrist.
He stilled immediately.
“Let Isibel say whatever she wants,” he said, sharper than usual. “It does not matter. We’re here, we’re digging in. We’ll fight what comes, and her Ionians can fight alongside us if they so choose. In fact, they’ll have to. I doubt Taristan will differentiate one body from another.”
“Isadere said as much,” Corayne mumbled back, seeing the truth of it, depressing as it may be.
On the dais, the Elders stiffened, all of them in clear earshot. OnlyIsibel did not react, peering down on them with her cold, silver eyes.
“I’ve had word from my enclave in the Castlewood,” Valnir boomed, silencing all conversation. “They confirmed the legions are massing at Rouleine, drawn from every corner of the Gallish empire.”
Grave looks rippled through the council, and Corayne felt sick to her core. This was truly the end, if Erida was willing to leave her kingdom undefended.
All for me.
Andry cursed under his breath, then began to count on his fingers. He shook his head, despair darkening his eyes.
“How many men can the Queen of Galland muster?” she heard herself ask, her voice tight.
Next to her, Andry continued to count. Her heart sank with every finger he curled and uncurled.
“Whatever it is, it does not take into account what Taristan can do,” Lady Eyda said from the dais, her lips twitching. “And what kind of army he can command.”
The implication shattered Isibel’s indifference. Her eyes dropped, her throat working above the collar of her dress. In her hand, her knuckles went white, fingers gripping the ash branch.
“I will not watch my daughter’s corpse march upon these walls,” she hissed out, her eyes shimmering.
It felt like a knife in Corayne’s gut. She tried not to picture it, Ridha in her green armor. Or Dom with his cloak. Sorasa. Sigil. Their silhouettes familiar, their eyes strange. Their bodies rotting beneath them.
“When they come, we will target Taristan first. And destroy him. I promise you this, Isibel,” Valnir said, fervent as a prayer. His hand closed over her free one, still clawed to her throne.
To his dismay, she only pulled back. “None but Corayne can harmhim now. None but a mortal girl.”
Corayne flinched, though it was the truth. She remembered how even Dom could do nothing against Taristan, only blessed weapons in her own hand able to leave scratches on her demon uncle’s skin. The Dragonclaw gauntlets. The Jydi charms. And the Spindleblade too.
“None but Corayne,” Valnir echoed, setting his jaw. His yellow eyes found her own. “So be it.”
