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And her reign had only just begun.
Her grip tightened on the rail, keeping herself still. It took all her restraint not to jump into the water and swim all the way back to her palace, her throne, and Taristan most of all.
Slowly, she pulled away from Harrsing’s hand. The old woman let her go, unable to stop a ruling queen from doing anything. She narrowed her eyes to Erida, but the Queen did not explain, her mind elsewhere. Without a word, she turned, putting her back to Lady Harrsing and the city.
Let me stay, darling.
She was used to the voice by now. When it came, she did not flinchor startle. Only her eyes flickered, jumping up to the red sky overhead. It was barely noon, though it looked like sunset in every direction.
Let me in.
As always, she answered in the same way, almost teasing him.
Who are you?
What Waits spoke with His usual velvet, His voice coiling around her mind.
You already know. Let me stay. Let me in.
His touch lingered, ebbing slowly, until only echoes remained.
5
Lay Down the Branch
Corayne
Corayne fell into a warrior’s stance with the sword pointed in the direction of the voice. Sorasa Sarn had taught her well.
Many silhouettes gathered on the bank above her. The sun blazed at their backs, fading their edges, and Corayne had to squint against the light to see them clearly.
“We wish you no harm,” one of them said again, taking a slow step forward. He did not fear the sword in her hand, lethal as it was.
Corayne doubted any Elder would.
Immortals, all of them. She knew it instantly. They had the same look as Domacridhan, their eyes deep and distant, their faces grave. The one closest moved with unearthly grace, his motions fluid as the stream beneath her boots.
He shared Dom’s milk-white skin too, but nothing more. The Elder had deep red hair and golden eyes, yellow as a hawk’s. Where Dom was broad and imposing, a scowling mountain, this one had the look of a willow tree, with long, lean limbs. The Elders behind him shared the same coloring, all six of them.
They wore mail and leathers beneath their cloaks, in varying shades of purple and gold, like fallen leaves. They were forest people, their garb used for camouflage in the trees. But they stuck out oddly in the empty hills.
“You are of the Castlewood,” she said, her voice high and cold.
The immortal dipped his brow and swept back a graceful arm. “Of Sirandel, Lady Corayne.”
Corayne racked her memory for any scrap she knew about his enclave. She came back with little, only that Elders of Sirandel died with her father. They fought Taristan once, and lost.
Will they fight again?
She raised her chin. “How do you know my name?”
The Elder’s hawk eyes softened as he looked her over. His pity made Corayne’s skin crawl.
“By now, your name is known in every enclave of the Ward,” he murmured.
Corayne took it in stride. “Andyouare?”
The Elder bowed his head again, then sank to a knee. In another life, another Elder kneeled before Corayne. In the shadow of her old cottage, not a ditch at the end of the world.
