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The clouds were still red, streaked by dawn long since broken.

“The sky looks strange today,” Erida muttered, stopping to observe the clouds. Indeed, everything had taken on an odd, glinting light, almost too harsh. Like the glass itself were colored, and not the sky beyond. “As it did yesterday.”

Harrsing barely looked. “The season is turning,” she said, shrugging.

“I’ve never seen a sky like that, no matter the season.” Eridaracked her brain, trying to place it. The closest she could think was firelight, giving off an orange glow, as if something burned just below the horizon, somewhere out to sea.

But that was impossible. It was only a trick of the clouds and the autumn winds, growing unpredictable as winter set in.

More Gallish ships bobbed in the bay, their green sails furled and oars stored. Erida smiled tightly at them, glad for their presence. They brought reinforcements and weaponry, and would return to Ascal with holds spilling over with Madrentine gold. Wars were won with coin as well as swords.

Her smile dropped as she counted, ticking off the ships on her fingers, one by one.

As if summoned, Lord Thornwall rounded the far corner, all but stomping down the passage with his own retinue of knights. The older man looked relieved to see her, but also disheveled, his gray hair mussed and cloak askew over one shoulder.

He dropped to a knee, dipping his head as she approached. “Your Majesty—”

“Lord Thornwall, there are half as many ships as expected in Vara’s Bay,” she said, and bid for him to stand. “Is there something I should know?”

“Yes,” he said tightly, straightening up. “The captains are reporting trouble in the Straits of the Ward.”

Erida raised a slim eyebrow and frowned. “The Ibalet navy?”

“Pirates, mostly,” Thornwall answered, shaking his head. He seemed oddly jumpy, out of character for the stalwart soldier. His eyes darted between Erida and her consort. “But that’s not what I need to tell you.”

Erida felt Harrsing shift next to her, going stiff. The old woman knew Thornwall as well as Erida did, and they both read the discomfort on his face.

“What is it?” Lady Harrsing said sternly, sounding like a schoolteacher.

Thornwall’s throat bobbed.

“A scout just returned with news.”

He gestured to a dirty, overgrown boy in the midst of his soldiers, his face windburned and his legs bowed from weeks riding. He stared resolutely at the floor, determined to not look anyone in the eye.

“And what does he say?” Erida asked slowly.

Thornwall swallowed again. “Corayne an-Amarat and her compatriots have been spotted, far to the north. On the other side of the Mountains of the Ward. Riding for Trec.”

The floor seemed to tip beneath Erida’s feet and she nearly lost her balance. But the queen held on to herself, keeping her feet even as her mind spun.

She already pictured Corayne in her head, a half-dead, desperate girl astride a weak horse. Stringy black hair, a long, plain face, skin bronzed by too much sun. She was unremarkable in Erida’s memory, neither beautiful nor ugly. An easy face to forget, but for her void eyes and her bold tongue. Did Andry Trelland still walk beside her, a traitor to his kingdom and his queen? Or was the squire dead, lost to the desert Spindle and the sand dunes? He mattered little, in the scheme of things. There was only Corayne and the blade on her back, the wretched power in her blood. She could undo everything they worked for and kill Erida’s newborn empire in the cradle.

“Trec?” Erida muttered, narrowing her eyes.So far from Ibal, half a realm away.“Why Trec?”

Thornwall shook his head, mouth gaping. He had no answer.

“I know why.”

Taristan loomed out of an archway, a red shadow against the pink-and-white walls. Erida’s heart leapt at the sight of him, her eyes going wide. She stepped away from Harrsing, gesturing for Taristan to approach.

“Join us, Your Highness,” she said, her voice thick.

The others bowed, allowing her consort to pass.

He snarled low in his throat and took Erida by the arm, leaning in to her. His fingers burned on her arm, his grip bruising.

“The temple,” he said in her ear. His voice trembled with sudden desperation. “It’s close to the border, a few days’ ride.”