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“I’m sure everyone back at court is scandalized,” she teased, leaning into the space between them.

“Absolutely,” he said, playing along. “It’ll be the gossip of the season. Other than, you know, the Queen trying to conquer the entire world.” Then he looked ahead, through the bowing trees to the head of the column. His voice dropped. “At least Oscovko knows what he’s doing.”

As always, Corayne’s interest was piqued. She turned away from the river. “How so?”

“Look at them: they certainly don’t look like any army I’ve ever seen.” He nodded forward along the column, to Oscovko at its head. “No flags. No matching tunics or uniforms. Nothing to marktheir kingdom or their loyalties. And Oscovko looks like any other soldier. No crown, no fine armor.”

The crown prince wore only black fur and brown leathers, blending into his men around him. Far from the knights and lords Andry remembered.

“He isn’t proud or foolish enough to put a target on his own back,” he said, half impressed. “Or make it easy for a scout to identify his army.”

Corayne heaved a sigh. “Not that flags or crowns matter to the Ashlands,” she muttered.

A chill ran over Andry. He knew better than most that the corpse soldiers would devour anything in their path if Taristan commanded it. They were empty husks in his memory, undead, a nightmare made flesh and bone.

He shook his head, refusing to let such thoughts swallow him up.

“Oscovko’s smart to skirt the border like this,” Andry continued, gesturing to the river. “There isn’t a castle for miles, down out of the foothills. The closest real garrison will be in Gidastern, away on the coast. And no village watch is going to be able to stop an entire war band.”

Corayne eyed him keenly, looking him up and down. She lifted the corner of her mouth in the shadow of a smile. “Is that hope I hear in you, Andry?”

“I think hope is all we have, Corayne,” he bit out. “Painful as it might be.”

Her smile remained but her eyes darkened. She looked back toher reins, dropping her gaze. “I tell myself not to do it. Hope,” she said. “But I can’t stop myself.”

Andry leaned, bumping her shoulder softly. “Good. I’d hate to see you lose it. You and your hope have gotten us this far.”

“Me?” She balked. “I’m nothing without the rest. Dom, Sorasa—andyoutoo.”

Despite the bitter cold, Andry went warm beneath his cloak. He furrowed his brow. “I’m just a squire.”

“You can keep saying that, but it doesn’t mean I’ll believe it,” she snapped back. “Let me give you a compliment for once.”

Andry met her eye, noting the twin spots of pink on her cheeks. Her annoyance only made her more endearing, just like her curiosity and her dogged resolve. He wondered how much of that was her Corblood, the restless nature of her ancestors. And how much was simply Corayne, a girl from the end of the world, who only wanted to see the rest.

“Very well,” he finally said, grinning. He felt his own cheeks go hot. “Just this once. But that means I can give you one too.”

She rolled her eyes. “Fine.”

His reply was quick, already formed. “I’m glad to know you, Corayne an-Amarat. You’re the bravest person I’ve ever met. And no matter what you may think, you’ve done great things already. You will do greater still.”

At the top of her fur collar, her throat bobbed. Something softened in her black, inscrutable eyes. Then she narrowed her gaze and turned back in the saddle, facing forward. She put her nose in the air and sniffed. “That’s three compliments.”

The snow had finally moved on, the sky clearing above the trees. Bare branches veined overhead, and the river was behind them now, the sound of it lost to the forest.

“Galland,” Andry said, his breath clouding in the frosty air of dawn.

Beneath her hood, Corayne made a groggy, half-formed noise. She jolted and almost fell from the saddle. Only Andry’s quick reflexes kept her upright. As always, he was astounded by her ability to sleep sitting up.

“Sorry,” she slurred out, getting her bearings as they rode. “What?”

“We’re in Galland,” Andry said again. The name of his own country felt like a stone around his neck, weighing him down. He swallowed against the sensation.

Corayne pushed back her hood, freeing a head of wavy black hair. She blinked sleepily in the daylight, looking around at the half-dead forest, over the heads of men and horses. The Companions rode along around them, half asleep but for Dom and Sorasa, both straight-backed in the saddle.

“How can you tell?” she forced out, searching the woods.

Andry did not feel pride, but shame instead. “I’ve studied war maps all my life,” he murmured. “It was supposed to be my duty to defend this border one day. And defend the rulers who kept it.”