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“The Ward will fall if you do not save her.”
The edge in his voice was not unfamiliar. Corayne heard it in Lemarta all the time. Failed merchants bargaining over their meager goods. A destitute drunk pleading for another ale at the tavern. A would-be sailor begging for room on a ship, to find his fortunes on another horizon. This was not want, but need. Hunger driven by fear.
“The Ward falls,” she murmured, her hand still on the latch, “because of a man with a magic sword and the villain from a children’s story? ‘What Waits’?” Corayne shook her head, barking a laugh. “You should head back to Lemarta and find yourself a fool who believes in that kind of thing.”
From the road, the assassin laughed. “For what it’s worth, I don’t believe him either.”
His teeth bared, Dom threw a scowl over his shoulder. “I do not expect mortals to believe what we Vedera know to be true, the ancient dangers of a history too long for you to perceive. The Torn King will consume this realm if given the chance. What Waits is waiting no longer.” He put a broad, white hand over his breast, clasping it to his heart. A fine silver ring winked on his finger. “I swear on Iona, my lady,”
Corayne’s grip tightened on the latch, but she did not open it again. Something else tugged at her, a deeper pull keeping her rooted. “I’m not a lady,” she spat.
To her dismay, Dom’s eyes filled with emerald sorrow. The Elder looked on her with pity, with regret. Corayne wanted to slap both from his face.
“I do not know what your mother has told you, young one,” he began, hesitant. Her blood flared at the mention of her mother. “But you are. Your father was—”
A haze of red crossed Corayne’s vision and the smooth metal of the door latch fell from her grasp. Instead her hand rose, finger pointed, until she found herself jabbing the Elder in the chest, tapping harshly against the stone firmness of his flesh. His eyes widened, bewildered as a new kitten.
“I know exactly who my father was,” she snapped, all concern for herself or her temper lost. “He was Cortael, a son of Old Cor, one of the ancient line. His ancestors were Spindleborn, children of a lost realm. There was Spindleblood in his veins, Corblood—as there is in mine.”
Spindleblood, Spindleborn.She had never said those words aloud, only heard them from her mother, only known them in her bones and heart and the distant longing that lived inside her. Saying them now, his name, his birthright, what he was and what that made her—it felt wrong. A betrayal of herself, and especially of her mother. The only parent she knew, the only parent with any say in who she would become.But it is in me, whether I want it or not.Her breath hitched and heat rose in her cheeks, a stark contrast to the cool air.
“Noneof that makes me his daughter,” she seethed. “Let alone a lady.”
Or a princess or a fairy queen or any other hero in a story for children and fools.
“I did not realize you knew so much of him.” The sadness in Dom’s eyes was matched only by his growing frustration. Again, Corayne wished to tear both emotions away. She wanted neither from this stranger on her doorstep.
I’ve known since I had the sense to know. At least Mother was good enough not to lie about him,she thought, and she meant it.
“I have no use for illusions and false hopes. Your friend was both,” she said. And it was the truth, a bitter one she had lived with all her days. “Well, go on. Hand over the gold and be gone from my door.”
Dom furrowed his brow. “Gold?” Again he looked to Sorasa, this time in confusion. “You mortals are always asking for coin.”
The woman scoffed low in her throat. “We mortals live in the real world.” She did not move from her place on the path, keeping long yards between them. “Clearly the man sent money for his bastard,” Sorasa explained slowly.
The Elder flushed and scowled in equal measure. “I have nothing of his to give you, my lady.”
Corayne only shrugged.
But the assassin gave her pause. She shivered as the woman narrowed her eyes, already dark with a lining of black powder. Sorasa glanced back at Lemarta, to the lights of town and the port. They gleamed gold on the water, outlining the dark silhouettes of boats at anchor. TheTempestbornwas one of them, a leviathan among the fishing ships.
“No wonder Captain an-Amarat has the finest hunter on the Long Sea,” the assassin mused. “She had Cor gold keeping her afloat.”
Fear curled around Corayne again. “You know my mother?”
“I know her reputation,” she answered. “It is quite terrible.”
“Then I can bring you to her. Both of you,” Corayne said quickly, an offer as much as a threat. “She knew your prince better than I ever did. She met him, at least. She can help you more than I.”Help you leave this place and never return.
Dom shook his head. “It’s you we need.”
“‘We’?” Sorasa muttered under her breath.
The Elder ignored her. “It’s in your blood, Corayne, whether you know it or not,” he said.
Perhaps his mind is as dense as his body,Corayne thought with annoyance. “I’m not interested in you, your quest, or my father’s failure. I want none of it,” she hissed.
Finally he was silent, and there was no sound but the waves on the sea and the wind in the hills. Dom’s gaze went to his own feet. Perhaps it was a trick of the moonlight, but his luminous eyes seemed wet.
