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“I think Ibal is the only country youaren’twanted in,” the bounty hunter grumbled, tugging him back into her chest. Despite Sigil’s unyielding grip, Charlie rolled his eyes. “Are you trying to change that?”
“Would it kill you all to behave?” Corayne hissed through gritted teeth, managing to glare from Sorasa to Dom to Charlie.
She stepped sideways, hiding the muzzled Charlie from Isadere’s view.We are not here to debate religion.
“You’re right, Your Highness,” she said, her fingers worrying the grip of the Spindleblade. The leather was starting to feel familiar, wearing to her own hand instead of her father’s. She tried not to think on what that meant. “The Ward is in grave danger, and you’ve known this for a long time.”
Isadere’s chin dipped only an inch, but that was enough.
The hope in Corayne, the unkillable, foolish hope she tried too hard to ignore, continued to grow.
“So has your father, right?” she prodded, weighing Isadere’s reaction.
The Heir’s face darkened, the shark’s smile turning into a shark’s scowl. For a second Corayne worried, afraid she had overstepped.
Then Isadere shared a knowing look with their brother.
“Indeed he has,” Sibrez answered. His voice trembled with frustration.
“So he fled,” Corayne said. The threads wound together in her mind. “To the summer palace, high in the mountains.”
Together the royal siblings paled, looking away. Shame crossed them like a storm. It passed over lin-Lira too, his callused hand curling into a fist.
“And you, your Falcons...” Corayne turned to the commander, reading his body language. “You refused to go with him. Your king, your own blood, your duty.” He shifted under her scrutiny, and somehow Corayne felt like the elder of the two, though lin-Lira had decades on her.
“You crossed the crown to save the Ward,” she murmured.
Though she’d spent many days under his command, at the mercy of lin-Lira and his soldiers, she felt like she was seeing him for the first time. The smile lines at the edge of his mouth, the spattering of gray in his beard. The kindness behind his eyes. Thefearpulling at his edges. Suddenly he did not seem so intimidating, not compared to the ragged Companions his men herded out of the desert.Killers, all of us now.Corayne remembered the blood on her own hands.Even me.
Isadere laid a calming hand on lin-Lira’s shoulder. They were not as young as Corayne first thought: lines of age showed on their own fierce face. As with lin-Lira, Corayne saw the doubt in them, the fear.
“There will be no crown to save if the Ward falls,” Isadere breathed, their fingers lingering a little too long. Then they snapped their hand away, squaring their shoulders to Corayne, the Companions, and the Spindleblade.
The candlelight burned in their eyes. Though the flames werewarm and golden, Corayne could not help but feel that cloying red heat, the embers of What Waits. They burned now, somewhere across the Ward, begging to ignite.
Isadere gestured to the table, bidding them to sit. “Tell me everything.”
The handmaidens replaced the candles twice before Corayne finished her tale, with choice additions from both Dom and Andry. While most sat around the table, Sorasa paced in easy rhythm. Charlie remained stubbornly silent, wary of Sigil’s monstrous hands. Though they spoke well into the night, Isadere’s guardians followed Sorasa at a distance, never breaking stride, tireless in their watch on the Amhara. Corayne learned they were called theEla-Diryn: the Blessed’s Dragons. Like the Falcons protected the King of Ibal, so were these warriors sworn to defend Lasreen’s Chosen. They would die on their own swords if Isadere told them the goddess wished it.
It was a fierce power to hold.
The Heir listened, thoughtful and silent.
But Erida listened too, and we all know where that got us.
“And then the Spindle was gone, forced shut,” Corayne said, looking at the gash on her palm. It was healing well, despite long days gripping the reins of a horse. The Spindleblade was a thousand years old at least, but sharp as the day it was made. It cut clean. She still felt the bite of it, cold steel against flesh. “The waters receded back into the sand, leaving only the bodies and an empty oasis. We went to the outskirts to regroup. That’s where the Falcons found us.”
“Commander?” Isadere said, speaking for the first time in hours.
At the flap of the tent, lin-Lira nodded. “That is the truth of it,” he sighed, nodding along.
Sigil leaned forward on her elbows, a lock of black hair falling into one eye. “Now here we are, your prisoners.”
“For the final time, you are not prisoners—” lin-Lira huffed, only for Sigil to cut him off.
“Then are we free to leave?” she snapped, eyes on the Heir.
“Yes,” Isadere answered neatly, without hesitation. “Eventually.”
