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At the closest table, still several yards away, the red wizard sat and glared. He ignored the council around him, for all of Harrsing’s efforts. Konegin pretended Ronin didn’t exist at all, speaking only to his lump of a son. Both were gray-faced in defeat. Erida spared them little mind. Lord Konegin was an obstacle, yes, but small in comparison to the road ahead. And she had an ally against him, a powerful one, who could not be killed by man nor steel.
The wizard drew her eye instead.
“At first I thought Ronin was a priest.”
Taristan finished the meat on his plate, leaving the rest undisturbed. “Silent and useless gods do not hold my interest,” he muttered.
“In Galland, we pray to Syrek above all. God of war, god of victory, god of conquest, god of life. And, in some scriptures, some teachings, the god of death too. The god of hell and heaven, in equal measure. You need only decide which side to worship and believe in.”
She thought of the statues, the idols, the many stained-glass windows and tapestries depicting Syrek and his bleeding sword, his flaming spear, sunlight like a halo around him, smoke and victory in his wake.
“The scriptures say he brought forth Old Cor, ushering your people into Allward from their lost realm.” Erida leaned forward. “Perhaps he means to do so again.”
Taristan did not hesitate. “Perhaps.”
When the servant returned, Erida did not refuse another glass of ruby wine.
“Where does Ronin guide you next?” she asked when he was gone. The drink was cold, at least, a relief in the heat. And it numbed her a little, smoothing her edges after a long night and longer morning.
“He’s found some promising leads in the cathedral records, whispers of Spindles through the centuries and further.” Erida wanted to ask precisely what but refrained. “We’ll head east.”
“And what will the next Spindle bring us?”Invulnerability granted. One army given. And in the desert, the power to rule the seas. What more comes?
“I don’t know until the crossing is made. I could open a door to any realm in existence, known or unknown. To Glorian, the home of the Elders, or the lost realm of my ancestors. To Infyrna’s furious blaze, the frozen wastes of Kaldine, Syderion, Drift, Irridas, Tempest,” he said, rattling off realms Erida only half-remembered from religious lessons and Spindle tales.
“Even the Crossroads, the door to all doorways.” Taristan’s voice dropped to a whisper. “Or Asunder herself.” He looked to his wizard, holding his red gaze. Something passed between them, a message even Erida could not fathom. “If the girl cannot be found by nightfall, you must set a guard in Ibal, and in the foothills.”
A corner of her mouth lifted in a smirk.Corayne of Old Cor is barely more than a child, a sparrow alone while the hawks circle.“You’re afraid of her getting through burning sands and an army? She barely escaped mypalace—”
“But escape she did,” Taristan bit back. The red sheen was in his eyes again, a glimmer like the edge of a coin. “There’s more at play with her, and the others traipsing after her.” His face darkened, his black brows swooping together. “Set the guard, Your Majesty.”
Dispatching men to the temple, to guard foothills within my own border, will be easy enough. We just need to keep a low profile, direct attention elsewhere.Erida clenched her teeth.But to send a company to Ibal, a foreign kingdom? Over the Long Sea and into the Great Sands, past their fearsome navy... how do I disguise that? How do I even make such an order?
Taristan held her stare as she thought, watching the scales balance. She wanted to shrink from his attention, to think alone, to plan in her own measured way. But there was no escape from the man beside her.And there should not be. He is my husband, a choice I made, a path I followed. He is mine to use. I should not hide from him.
Though no answer came, Erida knew she would will one into being eventually. She nodded slowly and he smiled, cruel as a knife-edge.
“Very well,” she said. “You’ll leave this evening.”
He dipped his head, glancing at Ronin again. The wizard placed his white hands on the table and stood, despite the second course being served around him.
“I’ll leave in an hour,” Taristan replied, matching the wizard.
Erida watched him stand, her face carefully blank. She was not the only one to see. The eyes of the court rose with her consort, some of them grinning rudely, others whispering. Erida did not like being pushed into a corner, but this was a corner she needed to face.
With a sigh, she rose to her feet as well, leaving the plates and wine abandoned.
“I suppose it’s best the court think you eager rather than indifferent,” she hissed. He eyed her sharply, confused for a blistering second.
Then she pulled him away, the Lionguard traipsing along at a respectable distance.
“One course of the wedding feast,” she muttered, taking his arm with a violent grip. “I believe we’ve set the record.”
The royal residence was oddly quiet. Most of the palace servants, even her handmaidens, had been commandeered for the ceremony and reception. The halls echoed, yawning as Erida walked the well-known steps to her bedchamber. The Lionguard tromped behind, their armor ringing, but they would not follow much longer. The bedding of a ruling queen would have no witnesses. Not even the red wizard, who followed behind the knights with his haunting glare.
It was not so warm within the cool stone of the palace, but she felt heat all the same, creeping up her arm and into her spine. Taristan’s palm still pressed against hers, neither of them dropping the charade of a couple. As with the glass at the feast, he looked sharply at everything—the walls, the rugs, the tapestries—drinking in a world he had never known before. All of it was as familiar to Erida as her own face. She tried to see it through the eyes of another. It felt bizarre.
Her solar was as long as a gallery, lit by a wall of windows looking out over the gardens. She could see the tents, big as ship sails, and the lagoon beyond like a green mirror. The knights planted themselves beside the windows in practiced formation. Their path ended here, guarding the door to the Queen’s bedchamber. But no further.
