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“How fare the winds?” Corayne murmured to herself, so low he barely heard her. Her throat bobbed over the collar of her mail, the only bit of exposed skin below her face.
Slowly, she turned back to face him. “I wonder if I’ll ever see my mother again.”
“You will, Corayne.” His grip tightened. “I promise you will.”
As in Gidastern, something came over Andry Trelland. Before he knew it, her gloved hand was at his mouth, his lips brushing over her knuckles.
She did not pull away, only staring, holding his gaze. For a moment, only her eyes existed, a black sky. He wanted to fill it with blazing stars.
“Hold on to afterward,” he said to her hand. “Whatever your afterward is, hold on to it.”
With a twist, she broke his grip, only to raise both palms to his face, her gloves flat against his cheeks. Andry felt himself burn beneath her grasp and thought his heart might pound right out of his chest.
“I’ll try,” she said. “I promise I’ll try.”
Her breath ghosted over his face and he felt his helmet slip from under his arm. Andry did not care, letting it drop. Tentatively, his hands went to her waist, though he could not feel her through the armor. It did not matter. The shape of her was enough. Her eyes were enough.
And he was enough too.
The dragon’s distant roar split them apart, the pair of them flinching at the all-too-familiar sound. Andry threw out an arm, shoving Corayne behind his body. The crowd around them reacted in kind, turning toward the source of the noise.
Below them on the landing, Sorasa loosed a string of curses, each one worse than the last.
The black line of Erida’s army wove on. And above it, the dragon circled, terrible and enormous.
Andry squinted, hoping to see a burst of flame. In Gidastern, the dragon attacked with abandon, loyal to no side. It did not serve Taristan, or any other master, then.
The dragon roared again and his heart sank to his toes.
It did not attack, content to wheel over the army in lazy circles. Instead, the dragon followed the Gallish legions as a dog would its master.
Below him, Corayne raised her chin, pale with fear. But still defiant.
“With me,” she murmured.
“With me,” he answered.
38
The Gods Will Answer
Corayne
This was not like Nezri, or the forest temple, or even Gidastern. Breakneck battles all, with no time to think. They could only charge forward into whatever lay ahead, monsters and Spindles both.
Corayne wished for only monsters and Spindles now. Instead, she faced a long, tormenting tide riding out of the mountains, like a snake writhing down onto the valley floor. She did not know how many legions Erida commanded, and could not bear to ask, even now. Like the rest, she could only suffer and watch, the seconds sliding by, the great black serpent drawing closer and closer. Until the light shifted and she realized the snake was not black, but horrid steel and glistening green.
The dragon hovered over the great army, as if kept on a leash.
Her hands trembled, still burning from the feel of Andry’s face. He stood in front of her, shielding her as if one squire could defend her from all the armies of the Ward. In her heart, she knew he would certainly try.
On the steps below, Dom and Sorasa lingered. They waited like islands in the churning sea of bodies. Neither moved, watching the army and the dragon as soldiers broke around them, hurrying to their posts.
Then Dom shuddered, his great shoulders rising. The steel on hisback flashed, catching the red sun. The time had come. Corayne knew it as well as he did, as well as any of them. Dom would not remain in the castle, but march down with his own people. To face the first wave of attack, and perhaps his very last.
He barely took a step before Corayne lunged toward him, grabbing for his arm.
He did not move, letting her hold him back.
