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Corayne didn’t falter. “And turned into this? Into the Ashlands?” Her brow dipped, her face going grim. Taristan’s eyes bored into her own, the black orbs nearly eaten by hellish red. “Isawit.”

To her surprise, her uncle wavered, the red flickering in his eye disappearing for an instant. He blinked at her, his jaw going tight. The white veins on his neck strained, suddenly jumping. A strange look crossed his face and Corayne knew it well.Fear.She delighted in it, knowing she struck a blow against a man who could not be harmed by steel or flame.

“You never have,” she sneered, shaking her head. “He didn’t show you what it means to be overthrown. This realm cracked with his own, consumed by Asunder. You didn’tsee.”

Taristan only growled, adjusting his stance and grip, lowering the sword to Corayne’s height. The blade mirrored her reflection. She looked terrible, covered in soot and dust, tear tracks running down her face. Her braid was a wild tangle, her black eyes broken.

Her uncle hissed down on her, his hot breath like smoke. “I will be an emperor like my ancestors before me. I will rule this realm as destiny demands.”

Corayne held her ground. “You will be ashes beneath His feet.”

“Give me the blade,” he said again. “Or they die.”

Behind her, she heard the undead press down on the Companions. But her friends remained silent, bent but not broken, resolute before their doom. The smoke stung Corayne’s throat, making her eyes water. Hot tears gathered, threatening to fall. But she refused to weep in front of her uncle. She would not give him the satisfaction.

“If I give you the blade, we’re all doomed anyway,” she murmured.

Taristan only shrugged, greedy eyes moving from her face to the Spindleblade behind her shoulder. His brother’s sword. The last remnant of her father upon the Ward.

She thought of What Waits, his shadow clear before her. He’d offered her a kingdom for surrender. A small piece of her wondered if it would have been smarter to take it, to barter for their lives. To live on their knees, if it meant they would still live.

Her pulse hammered in her ears, cut with the thunderousbooms of collapsing buildings. The flames ringed the churchyard, holding back like the hounds and the undead. Her chest tightened, overwhelmed by the impossibility of it all. Taristan held each and every card.

But one.

The Jydi horn sounded through the city, followed by the Treckish howl.

The noise broke his focus, just long enough. Corayne dropped her knife and rolled, catching Taristan off guard. He swung the Spindleblade but missed, misjudging her speed. In the same motion she swiped out her forearm, catching him across the face as Sorasa had taught her. The Dragonclaws dragged over his skin, the spikes of steel cutting a long gash across his cheek. He yelped and sprang back, reeling, the Spindleblade still in his grip.

Like the fire, he threw off a feverish heat. All black had gone from his eyes, replaced with a livid blood red. He gingerly touched his face, feeling the sudden well of blood from ragged flesh. His eyes widened, puzzled and afraid.

Corayne smirked, raising her Dragonclaws. The steel spikes dripped red.

“You’re indestructible to most things, Taristan,” she said. Overhead, the blizzard swirled. “But not all.”

In her mind’s eye, Corayne saw the old witch on the deck of a ship, chanting over her Dragonclaws with herbs and old bones. Whatever she did many weeks ago seemed to have stuck.

Jydi blessings. Bone magic.

Ibalet beliefs. Godly echoes.

Valtik’s power. Isadere’s gift.

In the corners of the churchyard, the army appeared, Elder and Jydi and Treckish together, swords and arrows and shields flashing. They cut through the scores of undead like a hot knife through butter. Corayne could not dare to hope, but relief coursed through her anyway.

The play for time worked.

“Hold them off!” Taristan snarled, clutching his bleeding face.

Behind him, the hounds leapt from the rooftops, jumping down into the yard to join the fray. Their flames spread rapidly, setting fire to the dry grass between the graves. And the undead burned too, their clothes catching light.

Ronin stumbled forward, fingers twitching. His eyes reflected the blooming fire, going red as his robes. “No—”

On the ground, Dom lurched against his undead bindings, throwing them off with a roar to rival giants. He grabbed for his sword and swung with abandon, freeing the others with a few precise cuts of the blade.

Corayne lunged for them but something grabbed her collar, throwing her deeper into the rose garden. She landed hard against the ground, her head spinning from the collision. But she forced herself up, fighting the dizziness, trying to get back to her feet. Voices called for her somewhere, but a figure blocked them out, his white hand reaching over her shoulder.

She flinched away, but it wasn’t her body that Taristan grabbed for.