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“How dare you, Witch?” Isadere seethed. Behind them, the mirror remained dim and empty, a simple circle of bronze now. “You question the will of the goddess?”
To Corayne’s surprise, Charlie moved between them, his ink-stained hands outstretched.
“She questions nothing, Your Highness,” he said, his tone taking on a placating air. “Her beliefs are your own, at the root of all things. She serves the gods as you do, in her own way.”
Isadere’s eyes flicked over him, taking him in again. Their gaze lingered on his fingers.
“And which gods did you serve once, Priest?” they murmured.
Charlie straightened, raising his chin. “I serve them still.”
“Very well,” Isadere answered, sinking back into their chair.
Corayne gritted her teeth, weighing Valtik’s bone magic against Isadere’s help. It was a difficult scale to balance. Thankfully, thewitch was in no mood to make it tip. She gave Corayne a single glance with her unnerving eyes before standing from the table and puttering off toward the desert. The guards did not bar her way, and she disappeared into the night, leaving the faint scent of winter in her wake.
At the edge of the hall, Sorasa began to pace again, shaking her head.
So what now?Corayne wondered, hope sputtering in her chest.We are lost without a heading, a ship beyond sight of shore.She tried to think, racking her brain for anything that might be of use.
“We don’t know where the next Spindle is, that’s obvious.” The admission felt like defeat, but she pushed through it, pacing around the table. Again she wished for a map. Or a quill and some parchment. Something she could hold in her hands, to help her think. “What do we know?”
“Erida and Taristan are strong enough to take Madrence by force, and quickly. Before any kingdoms can rally to Madrence’s side. They know it, or they wouldn’t be marching on Rouleine,” Andry offered, his voice low. Corayne saw the weariness wash over him, finally catching up after their long ride through the desert.
Sorasa nodded over him. “That hasn’t happened in a century. And Taristan is with Erida. Either he’s following the path to another Spindle, or conquering Madrence is more important to his cause.”
Corayne took it all in, tallying the information like lists in her old ledger. The map of Allward rose in her mind, familiar as her mother’s own face. She saw the perilous border between Galland and Madrence, drawn along the Rose River, dotted with a soldierline of castles to protect either side. Then the Rose met the Alsor, the two rivers coming together before running on to the sea. At their joining stood Rouleine, the first great city in Erida’s way. Not as grand as the Madrentine capital, Partepalas, but certainly a prize for any conqueror.
At his seat, Dom ran a hand over his scars. Corayne winced, thinking of the skeleton soldiers and their knives.
“No, Taristan still hunts the Spindles as we do,” he said. His lip curled with disgust. “Searching for clues in old legends, listening to the whispers of that red rat of a priest.”
Isadere narrowed their eyes. “Has he torn any more Spindles since you saw him last? Drawn out...worsethings?”
With a sigh, Dom rolled back his shoulders, chasing away some ache. Even immortals felt pain. “We don’t know.”
“There’s still time,” Charlie breathed. He drummed his fingers on the table.
Sigil looked at him sidelong, scoffing. “And how do you know that?”
The priest shrugged, settling back in his chair. He interlaced his hands over his belly, like a man satisfied with a good meal. “The Spindles hold up the realms. We aren’t dead yet, so that’s something.”
“That’s something,” Sigil echoed, shaking her head.
We aren’t dead yet.Corayne almost laughed, and the many long days of travel and toil seemed to crash all at once, a terrible wave. The sea serpents, the horses, the oasis town filled with nothing but ghosts now.We aren’t dead yet,she thought.Weave that into a tapestry, for it seems to be the core thread of this journey.
“We do know where a Spindle is.”
Andry’s voice was a bell, clear and ringing through the tent. His eyes met Corayne’s, brown on black, earth on stone. She furrowed her brow, trying to think, trying to figure out what she had forgotten, drowning in her memories. The Spindleblade was still in its sheath, leaning against her chair. Now it felt like a stone, trying to push her into the ground. Trying to bury her.
Her lips formed the question, but Andry answered before she could ask.
His face tightened with regret, his mouth drawn into a wince. Pain laced his voice, as if there were a knife in his body, twisting slowly.
He opened his mouth, his teeth gritted, his jaw tight. The words were agony to him.
“The temple,” he forced out, and Dom drew a searing breath.
Faster than anyone thought possible, the Elder jumped up from the table and stalked out of the tent, the doorway flapping as if caught in a strong wind. Sorasa stopped in her pacing, her expression blank, her tiger eyes wide as she stared after him.
