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“I did not believe him then, when he told me what my father was. Corblood. Spindleborn. A child of crossing, as you are all. Nor did I believe that made me Corblood too, an heir to the old empire. And another wielder of the Spindleblade. I thought—” Her voice wavered, overcome with memory. “I saw it as a chance to leave my mother’s cage. To see the world.”
Valnir raised a single scarlet eyebrow. “And?”
She swallowed a scoff. “I’ve seen too much of the world since then.”
And worlds beyond this one too.
Corayne kept on, keeping her momentum as best she could. When she finished, her mouth felt dry and her heart rammed in her chest, living the pain of her journey all over again.
A look of pity flashed in Valnir’s eyes, his brow furrowed in concern.
“You have accomplished many great deeds, Corayne an-Amarat. Too many, most would say.” He ran a white hand over his face before touching the scar again. “We will say prayers for Domacridhan and Ridha tonight, and the rest of your fallen. The men of Trec? Your Companions?”
“The Jydi too,” she answered hoarsely. Her voice began to fail her. “And the Elders of Kovalinn.”
Valnir did not rise, but his body recoiled against the throne. His face went tight and both hands gripped the tree branch in his lap, fingers wrapping around the fragile aspen.
“Kovalinn?” he hissed.
“They met us on the shore outside Gidastern, sailing to our aid,” she explained. “Just in time.”
Just in time to be massacred with the rest of us.
“And who led them?” Valnir demanded, his voice rising to shake thestones. “Certainly not Dyrian. He is barely more than a child.”
Corayne shook her head. “The Monarch’s mother led his people. Eyda, they called her.”
Valnir stood too quickly, his yellow eyes filling with hot, angry tears. His fists still clutched the branch, holding it out like a shield.
Sunlight gleamed in his red and silver hair, the streaks like blood. Corayne realized she had seen hair like that before, on the shores of the Watchful Sea. Lady Eyda had similar coloring. Different eyes, but the same red hair and milk-pale skin.She looks just like him, actually,Corayne realized, the pieces of the puzzle slotting together in her mind.
“Eyda of Kovalinn. Eyda of the Exiled, banished from Glorian with the rest of us.” The Monarch heaved ragged breaths, his chest rising and falling beneath the brocade. He half snarled again. “Did she live?”
“I do not know, Your Majesty—”
Her words caught as the aspen branch snapped in two, the sound like the crack of thunder. Its golden leaves scattered across the stone floor and a harsh wind blew through the enclave, stirring the world.
Corayne flinched as Castrin leapt forward, hands outstretched.
“My lord—” he shouted, but Valnir cut him off with a slice of one hand.
“I lay down the branch,” the Monarch of Sirandel said, the force of his voice shaking the air.
Corayne felt some simmering magic ripple with his words, like the beat of a bird’s wing. It reverberated through the room and the Elders kneeled, as if leveled by their lord’s power.
Then Valnir stretched out a now empty hand, long fingers crooked.
“I take up the bow,” he said.
It sounded like the end of a spell, or a prayer.
From the shadows, another guard appeared, clad in more armor and mail than the rest. She bore a great yew bow across her hands, the curve of the wood perfect and smooth. Corayne expected more jewels and artistry, but the black wood was unadorned. Only the bowstring gleamed, oiled to deadly perfection.
Without a word, the Elder guard knelt at Valnir’s side, extending the bow toward him.
The Monarch eyed the weapon for a long, shuddering moment. Corayne’s throat tightened, her heart thudding so loudly she knew the immortals could all hear it.
“I wish the road ahead of you was easier. I regret the path you must walk,” Valnir said, meeting her eyes. His fingers closed on the grip of the bow and lifted it high.
