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In Nezri, the Spindle gave him the monsters of Meer, a force to terrorize his enemies in the Long Sea.That Spindle is lost, but the monsters remain, patrolling the deep.

And then there was the gift given at the temple, where Taristan drew a corpse army forth and killed his own brother.Flesh cut and then made whole again, wounds wiped away.Erida remembered their first meeting, when Taristan sliced his palm and bled before her throne, only for the skin to knit back together. Healed before her very eyes.

What comes next?she wondered, thinking on What Waits and the hellish realm He ruled beyond their own. But those were not thoughts she could entertain long. A god or a devil, who blessed and cursed in equal measure. But thus far—only blessings.

The Prince of Old Cor furrowed his brow, lowering his head so red locks of rough-cut hair fell into his eyes. He leaned over thewizard, using his greater height and bulk to much advantage. But Ronin knew his own measure too. He did not quail, his quivering hands finally still.

“Have you another Spindle, Wizard?” Taristan said through sharp, white teeth. His voice guttered like the embers on the floor. “Have you another place to send me?”

Ronin’s eyes flickered. “I have a few leads. Strange doings, whispers from the archives. Whispers from Him.”

A corner of Taristan’s mouth twitched. “So nothing of use yet.”

“I’ve led you to three Spindles, my prince,” the wizard said proudly, though he bowed his white-blond head. Then he glanced back up, his red-rimmed eyes alight. “Don’t forget, I’m Spindletouched as you are, gifted by realms beyond our own.”

“Gifted like me?” Taristan flexed a fist, his message clear.

Ronin bowed lower. “What Waits makes servants of us all.”

Erida eyed the wizard’s exposed neck, the gap of flesh like fresh snow.

Taristan caught her gaze; then he bowed too, a dip of his head. “And serve we shall,” he said, gesturing for Ronin to rise. “Your service is best performed in the dust and pages, Wizard. I’ve a Spindle to replace.”

Ronin nodded. “And two to protect.”

At least that is easy.

“I convinced Lord Thornwall to leave a thousand men at Castle Vergon, dug into the hill below the ruins,” Erida said, examining her ring of state. She let the emerald catch the light, the jewelglowing green. When she looked back up, both the wizard and the prince were staring, brows raised.

She allowed herself a small, satisfied smile and a shrug. “As a rear guard,” she said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “To defend our march forward, and protect against any vengeful Madrentines who might wish to slip past us and threaten Galland.”

Even Ronin looked impressed.

“And,” she added, “to stop any teenage nuisances from making trouble. The Spindle is safe, and not even Corayne or her miscreant guardians can do anything about it.”

Taristan tipped his head. “What about your soldiers? What happens when some Gallish knight wanders into the ruins and finds himself in the Dazzling Realm?”

Erida shrugged again, donning her courtly smile. “The Vergon ruins are unstable, born of an earthquake. It isn’t safe for them, and their captains have been told as much.”

“Very good,” Ronin said, genuine for once. “The Spindle remains. With every passing moment, it tears at the foundations of the Ward itself.”

Taristan’s grin was quick, crackling with energy. “We still have the temple too, in the foothills, all but forgotten.”

The wizard nodded, pink spots rising on his cheeks. He seemed renewed, either by their improving fortunes or his master’s will. “Defended by an army of corpses, the broken soldiers of the Ashlands.”

“Is that not enough?”

Erida’s question hung in the air.

“Two Spindles left open, left eating at the Ward?” She imagined the Spindles like insects gnawing at the roots of the world. Wearing through with acid and teeth. “Is it only a matter of time now?”

Ronin’s responding laughter set her hair on end. He shook his head, despairing of the queen. “If it worked that way, What Waits would no longer be waiting. We need more.Heneeds more.”

“Thenfindmore,” Taristan said, pacing again. He could not stay still for long. Erida wondered if that was his own nature, or the product of his gifts, jolting inside his skin like lightning in a bottle. “If I cannot hunt Konegin, perhaps I can travel back into the desert. Return to a known place of crossing. Reopen the way to Meer.”

Again the Queen felt that confusing jab of terror at the thought of Taristan traveling so far from her side. Luckily, a retort was easy to reach for. Her wits did not fail her.

“Normally I would agree, but hundreds of Gallish soldiers now lie dead in the sands of Ibal,” Erida said, matter-of-fact. Their endings did not bother her. Too many soldiers served her command. It would do no good to weep for them all. “And the Ibalet king is no fool. He will know of my trespassing army and be ready for more. I cannot give another kingdom cause for war, especially not one so powerful. Not yet, not while we have Madrence within reach.”