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“You were told what to expect here,” Corayne pushed on, taking another step forward. Sand shifted around her scuffed boots.

The Falcons turned their eyes to her. She unsettled them. The Spindleblade on her back gave Corayne a strange silhouette, full of contradictions. A teenage girl was no warrior, but she wore a warrior’s sword and stood straight as any king.

“Monsters of another realm.” Her voice strengthened. “A Spindle torn.”

The Falcons were soldiers first, regarded for their physical prowess and loyalty. Not their political skill or subtle nature. Without his face coverings, it was easy to see the commander’s eyes. The reflection of truth.

“And a young woman who can save the world. Or end it,” the commander finished.

In spite of all they had done and all they had yet to do, a bit of relief stole into Sorasa Sarn.Whatever they’re here for, it isn’t death. At least not for Corayne.

The feeling did not last long.

The commander spurred his horse, trotting into the circle. Still a safe distance from Corayne, but enough to put Dom and Andry on edge. Both moved to her side again, firm as ever. This time, she didn’t wave them back.

“I will be taking custody of Corayne an-Amarat,” said the commander.

Inwardly, Sorasa groaned.

Dom’s sword rose, furious with sunlight. “You may try.”

The commander was undeterred and unmoving, content to remain in the saddle.He has us outnumbered, even with Dom. He has no cause to fear us.

Sorasa did not move her hands, but her mind flew to her daggers and sword, grasping for options and opportunity. She found none.

Corayne raised her chin, tipping her golden skin to the sunlight. She looked less like her uncle in the desert, but her black eyes remained, deeper than any cloak, consuming as the night. She fixed the commander with a penetrating glare.

“You know my name, sir,” she snarled. “It’s only fair you share yours.”

Again Sorasa felt that unfamiliar flare of pride.

The commander blinked, drawing himself up in the saddle, like a bird ruffling its feathers. He paused for a long moment, looking over Corayne again, eyeing her sword, her worn boots, the flecks of blood and muck all over her clothing. Then he took in her strange Companions, united behind her, but as disparate from each other as wolves and eagles.

She half expected Dom to say something bold and foolish again, but for once he kept his immortal mouth shut.

“I am Hazid lin-Lira, Commander of theMarj-Saqirat.”

Sorasa kept her face blank, but her jaw tightened.The commander of the Crown’s Falcons, their leader, the King of Ibal’s closest bodyguard. Sent for us—for Corayne.

“The rest of you are, of course, welcome to accompany her,” lin-Lira added, glancing through their strange number again.

Sorasa almost laughed at the absurdity. “And if we refuse?”

Lin-Lira knotted his reins in his fists. “I have orders to follow, Amhara.”

Corayne did not quail. She glared up at the Ibalet commander, fierce as ever. “Accompany me where, exactly?”

In unison, the Falcons saluted, each one drawing a circle on his brow, then a crescent on his chest, looping from shoulder to shoulder. The sun and moon. The sign of Lasreen.

The sign of—

“To Their Peerless Highness, Lasreen’s Chosen,” lin-Lira said, his voice catching oddly. “The Heir of Ibal.”

Sand mares were given, fully tacked, drawn from the back of the Falcons’ number. No caravan or cavalry rode into the Great Sands without spare horses, and there were more than enough to go around.At least no one has to share with Valtik,Sorasa thought, finding a small mercy in their otherwise-cursed existence.Or Charlie, for that matter.The fallen priest bounced like a sack of potatoes in the saddle, and Sorasa winced for the poor sand mare set to bear him across the desert, wherever the Falcons might lead.

Sorasa noticed that Corayne’s fierce attitude seem to melt when Andry helped her into the saddle again. His years as a squiremade him quick and skilled, and he tended to her like he would a glorious Gallish knight. Corayne watched him in silence, her lips pursed into a thin line, and Sorasa could almost see the words fighting to escape her throat.

Let your fear guide you,Sorasa wanted to say, but kept quiet. It was time to take her own advice. She feared the Falcons, feared the Heir, feared what any member of the Ibalet court might do to an Amhara killer. But that fear was small compared to what loomed over them—and what lay behind.