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Her eyes narrowed to slits, a muscle jumping in her jaw. “I know that,” she snapped, her voice dropping. She rounded on Dom again, eyes flashing. “It’s my father you mourn, Domacridhan. Don’t act like I’m detached from this, like I don’t know what’s at stake.”

Dom’s face went hot, but not from the roaring campfire. He dropped his eyes, examining his boots instead of Corayne.

She didn’t let him chase her off, and instead went to her knees, taking his hands in her own. Her eyes shone, black as Cortael’s.

“I know you’re frightened,” Corayne said softly. “So are we.”

He gritted his teeth. “It isn’t the same.”

“Grief isn’t a competition,” she countered, dropping his hands. With a withering glance, she stood. “We’re going to fight tomorrow morning. And we’re going to win.” She stuck a hand out, palm open to him, and wriggled her fingers in invitation. “It’s the only option we have.”

From his seat, Oscovko laughed into his wine. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were raised by wolves,” he said, nodding at Corayne. “In my country, that’s a compliment.”

“Worse than wolves,” she answered, her smile edged with bitterness. “Well?” she added, tipping her hand again.

It was warm in Dom’s own, and so small, so breakable. He took it anyway, hoisting himself up.

“Very well, Corayne an-Amarat,” he said, and her smile flared like a sunbeam. Behind her, all but Sorasa smiled too. “I will sleep and dream of victory.”

Domacridhan slept and dreamed of death.

22

Kneel or Fall

Erida

The halls of the Palace of Pearls became familiar, to Erida’s annoyance. She wanted to be gone from Madrence as soon as possible, but the days wore on, and her army remained in Partepalas.

She awoke that morning in the usual way. Too many maids, too many ladies, all buzzing around her like a cloud of flies. They washed, groomed, clothed, and coiffed her, a practice Erida was long accustomed to. They worked in silence, never speaking until the Queen spoke to them, which Erida never did. She kept her lips pressed shut, her eyes on the floor, her mind elsewhere.

Her skin tingled, even days after the rainstorm in the gardens. She could feel his touch still blistering on her face, his burning fingers still tracing her cheekbones and mouth. The hands of her ladies paled in comparison as they combed through her long hair.

Not that either Erida or Taristan had addressed the moment,either in court or in their few private moments beyond the watchful eyes of her council. Ronin had said nothing either, meaning he did not know. Otherwise, the little red weasel would have squirmed with jealousy. After all, she was the wizard’s greatest rival for Taristan’s attention, a point he made endlessly clear many times.Attention or allegiance,she wondered idly, trying to ponder where Ronin’s true ire came from. The answer eluded her, as did most things about the red wizard. Spindlerotten, her courtiers called him. A Ward mortal born with magic, touched by a Spindle somehow. Once a conjurer, and now the mouth of What Waits, the Torn King of Asunder. A demon from children’s stories, a nightmare Erida knew to be all too real.

And Taristan’s master too.

Erida shuddered, thinking of the red sheen in her consort’s eyes. She barely noticed the gown as the ladies slipped it over her head. The skirts fell in sheets of white silk, the hem embroidered with roses.

She left the warmth of her rooms behind, the wider halls cooling with the autumn season. Her Lionguard fell into formation, flanking her on her walk through the palace. Like her ladies, they were silent, and for good reason. They guarded the most powerful crown upon the Ward. Nothing would break their focus.

Lady Harrsing met her at the staircase, one hand on her cane. The other reached for Erida’s arm, which she gladly provided.

“Did you sleep well, Bella?” Erida said, surveying her old friend. Her brow crinkled with worry. Harrsing’s years seemed to be catching up with her on this campaign.

But she only chuckled. “As well as I can hope for these days. Every moment brings some new ache.”

“Something to look forward to,” Erida scoffed, shaking her head.

“Is there anything for me to look forward to, Your Majesty?” Harrsing’s grip on her arm tightened, her long fingers surprisingly strong. “I’m told I’m very good with children.”

Erida’s face went suddenly hot against the cold air, so quickly she worried her skin might steam. Again she felt Taristan on her lips, and the feverish sensation of his skin.

She forced out a laugh, giving no ground. “You are relentless.”

Harrsing shrugged. “I’m old. I’m allowed.”

Warm light bathed the grand hall below, spilling out from the windows overlooking the Long Sea. The waves looked golden and pink beneath the rising sun. A bitter wind blew, leaving whitecaps across the water. Only a week had passed since they marched into Partepalas, victorious, but the weather had turned quickly, the warm air of the south giving over to winter’s damp. She could only imagine how Lady Harrsing felt, so thin and weak beneath her fine clothing.