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“No more nightmares,” Corayne answered, resting her chin on her knee. “No more dreams either. Just black. It feels like dying.”

Andry looked at her sharply, abandoning the quiet peace of the sky. “Do you want to talk about what happened?”

She cut a glare at him. “You’ll have to be more specific, Andry.”

He bit his lip.

“You fell through the Spindle,” he finally said, fixing his eyes onher face.She is still here. She’s right in front of me.“At the temple. The horse bucked and you went flying. You disappeared through the portal and I thought—I thought you were never coming back out.”

Corayne’s olive skin went sickly pale, her lip trembling as he spoke. Immediately, Andry wished he could take it back and steal away the pain the memory caused her.

“He was there,” she whispered. Her eyes glassed over. “What Waits.”

Andry’s heart dropped. He clawed his fingers in the dirt. Before the temple, What Waits was just a fairy-tale villain or demon in scripture, little more than a way to keep unruly children in line. Now Andry knew better. What Waits was as real as the ground beneath his hands.

Corayne’s voice wavered. “He didn’t have a face or a body, but I knew. I saw his shadow.”

Andry saw that shadow now, deep in her eyes, taking hold of her heart.

“And I saw what he does to the realms he conquers,” she hissed. “I used to dream about him, even before Dom and Sorasa found me. I didn’t know then, what He was. Or what He wanted.” For reasons Andry could not fathom, she blushed, as if ashamed. “I suppose Taristan had the dreams too, once, long ago. And he gave in to them.”

He took her fingers gently, wishing he could tear away her gloves and feel her skin on his.

“Not like you, Corayne,” Andry said, holding her hand as he held her gaze. “I know you fear your uncle. So do I. But you’re stronger than he is.”

She glanced away, exasperated. “Andry—”

“I don’t mean with a sword or a fist or anything like that. I mean in here.” He tapped his own chest. “You are stronger.”

Her smile was weak, but brilliant still. She gave his hand a squeeze.

“I’m only as strong as the people beside me. In that, at least, I’ve been lucky,” she said, withdrawing her hand. “Even if I’m fated for trouble at every turn.”

Andry scoffed low in his throat. “You’re not the only one.”

“I grew up alone, you know.” Her eyes burned into his, the red lines of dawn breaking over her face. “There was Kastio, of course. My guardian. Too old to sail but strong enough to watch over me when my mother was gone. But still, I was alone. I played with maps and coins instead of dolls. I had contacts, business partners, my mother’s crew, but no friends.”

Corayne put a hand to the Spindleblade at her side, running a finger over the jeweled hilt. It seemed to strengthen her, ground her somehow.

“Then the world decided to end, and I am the only person able to stop it.” Her smile soured. “Can you think of anything more lonesome?”

Andry wanted to take her hand again, so badly his fingers stung.

“No, I can’t,” he said.

“But I don’t feel that way at all. Somehow, all this, terrible as it’s been—” Her breath hitched. “I’m trying to say thank you, Andry. For being my friend.”

You are so much more than that, Corayne,he wanted to say. The words rose up in his throat, begging to be spoken, fighting forair. But he clamped his teeth and held his tongue. Spindle monsters and Erida’s hunters were not as frightening as the truth in his chest, rattling his ribs like a cage.You might not know what friendship feels like, but I do. This is deeper,he knew.

Corayne held his gaze, going quiet. Waiting for a reply Andry could not force himself to make.

When she turned, he felt something inside himself deflate.

“Thank you to this lump too,” she said, batting Charlie on the shoulder.

He snorted himself awake, bolting upright with a grimace. The young priest blinked at her and frowned.

“I am not lumpy; I am round,” he said, yawning. “And I hardly consider you a friend. A nuisance, maybe, but nothing more.”