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“My own, anchored offshore,” Isadere said, nodding their head in the vague direction of the coast.Some miles yet,Corayne knew,but not far. Not after how far we’ve come.“The ship is well provisioned and crewed, able to take you across the Long Sea.”

Corayne’s shoulders dropped. “To where, we don’t know,” she muttered, sounding as small as she suddenly felt. Around the table, the others gave no suggestions.

But Isadere settled back in their seat, glittering hands folded on the table. “The goddess knows.”

Too many eyes snapped to the Heir.

Charlie sucked in a sharp breath. “What shadows has your mirror shown?” he said, his voice wobbling. “What path do you think you saw?”

Isadere turned in their seat, looking back to the bronze mirror now dull and empty. A corner of their cheek lifted in a smile.

“You tell me,” they murmured. “I saw the first snows of winter, and a white wolf running with the wind.”

“A white wolf?” Dom wrinkled his nose, confused. Corayne felt the same.

But at her side, Andry leaned forward, hands braced against the table. His eyes lit with realization.

“You’re talking about the Prince of Trec,” he said, matching Isadere’s smile. “Oscovko. That’s his symbol.”

A grin split Isadere’s face. “Perhaps he will be the ally you need, while Ibal rises from her sleep?”

“The Prince of Trec is a drunk and a bully, content to skirmish with Jydi raiders, nothing more,” Sorasa sneered, shrugging her shoulders. “He won’t stand against Taristan and Erida’s army.”

“Oscovko was one of Erida’s most promising suitors,” Andry shot back. “He holds a grudge against her, that’s for certain. It might be enough to sway him.”

Trec held no coastline for her mother to pillage, and Corayne knew little of it beyond simple geography. A northern country, small but proud, content to control its iron mines, steel forges, and little else.

She blinked, trying to fit the pieces together. “We don’t need him to fight Erida’s army,” she murmured, blowing out a low breath. “We need him so we can close the next Spindle.”

Her heart quailed at the prospect, still weary from the last Spindle torn.

“And where might that be?” Sorasa grumbled, glancing between Corayne and Isadere’s mirror. “Any hints?”

“Of that, the mirror is unclear,” Isadere answered, their grin fading.

The assassin hissed like the snake tattooed on her neck. “Of course it is.”

Corayne turned in her seat. “Valtik?” she said, looking to the old woman, who was now snoring gently. “Any ideas?”

Sigil flicked the Jydi witch on the shoulder, rousing her. Valtik blinked, sitting up, her eyes that same disarming blue, now the brightest thing in the room. They even put the flickering candles to shame.

“Ideas, Valtik,” Corayne said again, flustered. “For where the next Spindle might be? Where Taristan is going next?”

“He leaves roses behind,” the witch answered, half giggling. She began braiding and unbraiding the strands of her hair, shedding dried sprigs of jasmine and old lavender. “Roses, dying on the vine.”

Corayne gritted her teeth. “Yes, we know he’s at the Rose River.”

“Or she could literally mean roses,” Charlie offered, shrugging. “They’re the mark of the old empire, the Cors.”

My own blood,Corayne thought. She remembered the roses in Erida’s court, the poor servants cutting flowers all night long for a monstrous wedding. Red as the figures in her dreams, red as the blood on her sword, red as the gown Erida wore that night, whenshe pledged to help them save the Ward, and then threw them to the wolves.

We cannot bother with roses now. We need answers.

“What do the bones tell,Gaeda?” she prodded, moving to take Valtik by the shoulder. With the other hand, Corayne reached for the witch’s pouch and the tiny skeletons rattling inside.

Isadere drew in a sharp breath. They stood up from the table, their nostrils flared. “I’ll not have Jydi bone magic in my presence,” they spat, their eyes shadowed with disgust. “Not before Lasreen.”

Corayne opened her mouth to question Isadere’s violent reaction, but Valtik laughed again, cutting her off. “You see all and nothing,” she crowed, putting her bag of bones away. “An heir like your king.”