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I have only myself,Erida knew, letting the cheers and oaths wash over her. None satiated as they had only a few weeks ago.Myself and Taristan, the two of us allied against the rest of the world.
But Taristan was far away, seeking the Spindle in Gidastern. They could not protect each other from so far apart.
And it was terrifying, striking a chord so deep Erida didn’t know how to stop it. She could only weather the feeling, clinging to her mask of indifferent calm. It was her best weapon upon the throne, the only one she had today.
No,said a voice in her mind, a voice that was not her own.
It hissed and shouted, ringing like a tiny bell or the blow of a hammer on an anvil. A lion’s roar, an eagle’s shriek. A lover, a child. All things at once, and nothing at all.
You are not alone, darling. I am here with you, if you let me stay.
Erida’s hands quivered, the jeweled flower trembling in her grip. Her heartbeat quickened, blood racing. The air went heavy on her skin until she felt both held and trapped, comforted and captured in equal measure.
Again she looked through her courtiers. Again she saw Konegin’s face in them all, and Corayne’s too. Then Marguerite. Then Robart. The many kings and queens who still lay in her path to victory.
She took a steadying breath, air hissing between her teeth.
Who are you?she whispered in her head.
His laughter was felt as much as heard.
You already know, darling. Let me stay,He answered.
Queen Erida clenched her hand on the jeweled flower, again drawing blood. The pain steadied her and cleared her mind. Her eyes watered, seeming to burn.
Twice Queen, Rising Empress.
She faced the room and smiled, feeling the world in her teeth.
28
Blessed Are the Burned
Andry
He stared into the crackling fire, waiting for dawn to break. The war band was still asleep, spread out in the open field, but waking early was second nature to Andry Trelland. It was drilled into him after so many years in the barracks, rising with the sun to train and to serve the knights.
Ambara-garay.
Have faith in the gods.
Andry heard his mother’s Kasan prayers in his head, gentle but strong. She was across the Long Sea by now, safely returned to her family in Nkonabo. He tried to imagine her tucked into her chair, sitting in the courtyard of Kin Kiane’s villa. The warm sun on her face, the purple fish swirling in the little pond, the air perfumed with orchids and paradise flowers. He only knew her home as she described it in her stories, but it felt real enough. In his mind, she breathed deeply, without effort, her green eyes bright and open.Her sickness was gone, her frail limbs restored. She stood from her chair and walked toward him, brown hands outstretched, her smile wide and white. He wanted to go to her so badly. He wanted to believe she was alive and thriving, protected from the looming apocalypse. There was no other reality in Andry’s mind. None that he could bear, anyway.
The squire had more than enough on his shoulders.
Embers crackled in the fire, glowing red, throwing off a low heat to keep away the frost. Without the protection of the foothills or the trees, the Gallish plains were cold and barren. A sharp, cruel wind blew in from the east, carrying the chill of the Watchful Sea and the acrid sting of distant smoke. Gidastern burned, and now they were close enough to smell it.
A silhouette stirred, sweeping through the camp with the wind in his cloak. It rose like gray-green wings. For a moment, Dom was a god instead of an immortal, his face raised to the early sky. His scars held on to shadow, a memory of what lay behind.
He moved toward the horses, all gathered together in a hasty rope paddock. With a jolt, Andry jumped to his feet, his leg stinging beneath him. He watched, wide-eyed, as Dom slung a saddle over a horse’s back. Then the immortal loosed his sword belt and fixed it to the straps, buckling his blade into place.
Pained breath hissed through Andry’s teeth as he limped, picking through the sleeping camp as quietly as he could. His stitches held, the gash on his thigh still aching but healing well enough.
“What are you doing?” Andry whispered, ducking under the rope fence. He puffed out a breath and leaned against the flank of the closest horse, taking weight off his injured leg.
Dom turned from the saddle and eyed him coolly. The dawn light turned his pale skin to alabaster stone, his gaze bright green. The first streaks of sun crowned him in gold. He seemed an immortal in every inch, too tall and beautiful to be born of the Ward.
“Do you think I would abandon you, Squire Trelland?” he said thickly.
