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“Yes, we’re aware,” Corayne bit out. At her side, Andry nudged her in the ribs. His own face was a mask, still and unreadable. The squire was more accustomed to royal nonsense than any of them.

Commander lin-Lira put a hand to his heart and bowed, drawing Isadere’s attention. Their gaze softened.

“Galland is growing bold,” he said, standing straight again. “Two hundred soldiers marched across our land, all to protect an abomination that would kill us and sink our fleets.”

Ibal is the greatest sea power in the Ward. A threat to their navy is a threat to their entire kingdom,Corayne knew. And so did Galland.

“So it’s true. The Spindle torn,” Isadere breathed, biting their lip. “I must admit, I prayed it would not come to be. Prayed my readings were incorrect. But alas, the mirror does not lie, and here we stand.”

Corayne eyed the bronze disc behind Isadere. Its hammered face seemed unremarkable, inscrutable. Hardly a source of prophecy.

Sibrez bared his teeth. “What remains of the monsters?”

With a hearty chuckle, Sigil clapped a closed fist to her leather cuirass. “Nothing but their bones,” she preened. “You’re welcome.”

Sibrez inclined his head. “Well done, Temur.”

Lin-Lira pushed on. “Queen Erida has not only broken our sovereignty, but she marches on Madrence in force.”

“That is hardly news.” Isadere flapped their hands. In the corners of the tent, the handmaidens set to lighting candles. The shadows around the hall lifted. “Galland squabbles with Madrence every decade.”

“They march down the Rose, heading for Rouleine,” lin-Lira continued, his voice deep with meaning.

Corayne knew little of gods and priests, but she knew maps. She knew the Ward. She saw the Queen’s route in her mind, andher heartbeat quickened as she stifled a gasp, looking to Andry. He stared back, brow furrowed. She did not need to read his mind to see her own harried thoughts mirrored in his eyes. If Erida’s armies were marching south along the Rose River, heading for the Madrentine city of Rouleine, they were truly at war. Her conquest—and Taristan’s—had begun.

“I despise northern politics,” Isadere muttered. “So barbaric.”

Ever the squire, palace raised and court born, Andry stepped forward and swept into a practiced bow, bending at the waist.

“If I may, Your Highness?” he said, looking up to them in deference.

Isadere eyed him as they would a peculiar plant. “Yes?”

Andry straightened, a hand on his chest. “I am Gallish born, raised in Erida’s court. There have been skirmishes along the border for generations, but no real army has ever moved in either direction, not for a hundred years. If what he says is true, then Queen Erida is well and truly at war in the north. And she’s doing it with a monster at her side.”

“The no-name she married?” Isadere scoffed, looking back to Sibrez. Their noble visages broke as they shared scornful smirks. “The all-mighty Queen of Galland, married to some jumped-up Cor nobody. I admit, even that escaped Lasreen’s fortunes. But who am I to judge the whims of another heart?”

Corayne set her jaw. Resolute, she pulled aside her cloak and freed the Spindleblade, drawing the full length of steel from its sheath. Isadere’s eyes danced along the blade, taking in the sword and its strange markings. So did the rest of the attendants, even the helmeted guardians, their eyes dotted with candlelight. Sibrezand lin-Lira examined the sword from a distance, fascinated by the ancient weapon. Corayne felt the full weight of the hall press down, the attention of every person trained on her.

The last time I stood before a royal, she tried to kill me. At least Isadere hasn’t tried to do that... yet.

“That nobody is my uncle, Taristan of Old Cor, and the only other person alive who can open a Spindle,” Corayne said. She tried to sound as strong as the steel in her grasp.We failed to rally Galland to our side. We cannot fail again.“He did it here, in your own lands. Tore open a portal to Meer, and sent monsters spewing into the sea. By my hand it was closed, saving your fleets from destruction.” The sword felt right in her hand, not an anchor pulling her down, but a crutch holding her up. She leaned against it, letting its strength fill her. “And he’s going to do it again, as soon as he can. No matter the cost to Allward.”

After a long moment, Isadere raised their gaze from the blade. Their face tightened and they looked back to their mirror. But the light was gone, and the candles glowed poorly in its face. Whatever they wanted to see did not appear.

“Do you know where he might go next?” Isadere asked, and Corayne felt a wretched flare of hope. “To another Spindle?”

Before Corayne could answer, Charlie spoke up. He wore a playful smirk. “Should we ask your mirror?”

Isadere raised their chin. “The mirror shows what the goddess wills. It does not bend to mortal whims.”

“So it only shows you what you need... after you need it?” Charlie needled. He clearly enjoyed this.

Corayne winced, fighting the urge to step on Charlie’s foot.

The Heir flushed and scowled. They shifted, planting their body between Charlie and the sacred circle of bronze, as if it were a child to be protected. “I’ll not hear blasphemy.”

“You may cover your ears,” Charlie answered, before Sigil clapped a hand over his mouth.