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Bretha hugged her sisters in again, blue eyes narrowing. “A prince and a priest all in red.”
All her annoyance melted away, and a jolt went up Sorasa’s spine, the edges of her vision going black. At her side, she heard Dom suck in a searing breath, while Corayne almost lost her balance, leaning back against Andry. He held her steady, despite his injuries, his eyes flaring open.
Corayne sputtered, her lips flapping. “A prince and a priest?”
“He wasn’t a priest. He was a wizard,” the middle child said primly, looking up at her older sister. “Spindlerotten, like Mama said.”
“Oh, sorry.” Bretha lowered her face. “Awizardall in red.”
“In Gidastern,” Sorasa hissed.
The girl’s eyes found her own. She nodded, her haunted gazerunning the assassin through. “Yes. I saw them come through the gate two days ago. And then the burning started.”
Sorasa’s mind spun. She could almost feel the others’ minds spinning with her.
Corayne crumpled into the dirt, falling back on her seat. She ran a hand through her loose hair, her eyes going distant. She turned from the three children, looking back to the Companions, staring but not seeing.
Frozen to the spot, Dom all but shook with fury. His hand gripped his sword again, threatening to snap the hilt clean off.
Corayne’s fingers clawed in the dirt. “If Taristan is there...”
“Another Spindle,” Andry choked out. “Another portal.”
Sorasa felt her knees buckle, and she put a hand to Dom’s shoulder, using his bulk to keep herself up. It was suddenly difficult to breathe. Her skin still crawled with the memory of the skeletons, their bony fingers, their rusty swords. She tried to remember her training, to push down her fear. Let it guide, but not control. It felt impossible.
Another Spindle.Not just wherever the dragon came from, but another one open.She fought to count.Two closed, and two torn. Every time we take one step forward, that wretched prince shoves us back.
The words had the opposite effect on the Elder. He did not tremble or quail.
For the first time since Byllskos, Sorasa Sarn feared Domacridhan of Iona. There was no Dom behind his eyes, only hatred and rage. His feral edge took over, pressing out all thought.
“He’s close,” he growled, and the girls shuddered. “Close enough to kill.”
It was Charlie who struck the final blow, his terrified face like a knife in Sorasa’s gut.
The fallen priest leaned back against a tree, forcing a heavy breath. Slowly, he kissed his palms and raised his hands in prayer.
“The Burning Realm comes. Infyrna.”
27
Empress Risen
Erida
Conquest was cause for celebration.
And a luxurious coronation ball was a lovely distraction for Erida’s nobles, both Gallish and Madrentine, who now occupied the same court. She saw the same misgivings in them all, no matter how hard they tried to hide them. What had happened to Marguerite of Madrence was common knowledge by now, leaking out all over the palace. Word had probably reached Ascal, slithering back along the Cor roads to reach even Lord Ardath’s failing ears.
Erida knew better than to ignore viperous gossip. If left to fester, it would eat at their loyalties and alliances, destabilizing all she sought to build. And drive more nobles to Konegin’s cause, sending them scurrying from one overlord to another. His efforts would not stop with Marguerite. She was sure others had received letters of friendship and schemes, within her own court and without.
She curled in a chair in the salon of her chambers, staring outat Vara’s Bay and Partepalas upon the shore. Weeks had passed since Taristan left, pursuing the next Spindle, and the strange red tinge in the sky had not lifted. He sailed out under the cover of darkness with Ronin at his side. The wizard had insisted on his garish red robes, but Taristan left his imperial finery, returning to his worn leather jerkin and old, stained cloak. She worried for him on his journey, but not truly. None could threaten her husband, not with steel or flame. And he was suited to the road, born a wanderer. She only hoped he returned quickly, his Spindle torn and his task finished.
Her ladies murmured among themselves as they flitted about the salon, preparing her things for the coronation that afternoon, and the ball afterward. She wished Taristan were with her, but the Spindle called, and so did her own duties. She needed to crown herself Queen of Madrence, cement her title, and forge on toward her own great destiny.
And the Spindle would only strengthen their reign, paving the road to the empire.
The sooner it’s done, the safer we both will be,she thought, tipping her head back.
