Page 39

Again the corner of her mouth lifted. She stalked away, gesturing for him to follow.

“I think I’d like to see that.”

Dom returned to find Corayne deep in her plotting, a map laid out beneath her hands. She had never looked so at home as she did now, her eyes alight as she scratched out notes or danced her fingers along a mountain range. For a moment, Dom saw her as she must have been. Before he and Sarn found her. Before the entire realm landed on her shoulders. That person had vanished so quickly, receding into who Corayne was now. Harder, sharper, worn by luck and fate.

Commander lin-Lira and Sibrez were gone, replaced by the captain of Isadere’s ship. He studied the map with Corayne. The Heir remained at the edge of the candlelight, occasionally glancing to the mirror full of moonlight.

Valtik had not returned, and Charlie was gone, too, probably snoring somewhere. Andry looked like he wanted to be asleep, but sat valiantly in his chair, his eyes half-lidded. Sigil poked around the hall, a glass of wine in hand as she examined the rich furnishings, picking at everything from the chairs to the rugs underfoot.

Dom went back to the table reluctantly, his eyes falling on a familiar point on the map. Unmarked, but he knew the place all the same. The foothills, the branching of the river. A quiet forest, quiet no longer. His breath pulled between his teeth.

“The temple poses two dangers,” Dom forced out, his voice harder than before.

At the table, Corayne raised her eyes.

“First, Taristan’s army, the Ashlanders,” he continued, each word more difficult than the last. The memory seared his mind.Drawn out from the ruined realm.“Either they are still there, guarding the Spindle, or they are with Taristan in Madrence.”

“Either way, not good,” Corayne muttered.

Dom nodded. “The second danger is that the temple sits in the foothills of the Mountains of the Ward, in the kingdom of Galland.” He swallowed around the lump in his throat. “A kingdom hunting us all.”

To his surprise, Corayne smiled.

“So we go around,” she said, drawing her hand down the long line of mountains splitting the northern continent in two. “We cross the Long Sea.” Her finger traced the path over the waves, from the Ibalet coast to a city across the water. “Make port near Trisad, cross through Ahmsare to the Dahlian Gates, and ride north along the mountains. Let them be a wall between us and Galland.” She walked her fingers along their route, marking the way. “And then we’re in Trec, on Galland’s own doorstep. Running with the white wolf. With any luck, Oscovko will be with us, his army too.”

Her cheeks were pink, not with exertion, but with glee. The map was her home, her purpose. Something she could do.Besides open and close Spindle portals.

She looked from Dom to Sorasa, a lip in her teeth.

Dom had not seen much of that part of the world, though he knew the map of the Ward as well as any other immortal. He looked at the mountains again, inked on the worn parchment. They seemed small like this, the journey not so far. Still, he estimated it would take many long weeks. If nothing got in the way.

“The enclave of Syrene is near,” he said, pointing to an unmarked place on the map. Of course mortals would not know it anymore. The rams of Syrene were secluded, high in the mountains, andhad not dwelled among mortals for many centuries. “Perhaps the Vedera there will help us in our journey.”

“We don’t have time for family reunions, Elder,” Sorasa spat, all but knocking him aside.

He pulled his finger from the parchment as if burned, putting distance between them.

Sarn only lowered her eyes to the map. “This is a long road, and we must make all haste to walk it. But it is the right road,” she added after a moment. “The only road I see, to take us into Galland without being caught. And perhaps find an ally too.”

Her eyes flickered to Isadere, who nodded gravely.

Corayne all but beamed, proud of herself. “Thank you, Sorasa.”

“Don’t thank me—thank your mother,” Sarn fired back, now tracing the route herself. “She may not have taught you how to fight, but she certainly taught you how tothink.”

Dom did not consider himself well versed in mortal emotion, but even he could see the shadow crossing Corayne’s face.Is it sadness or frustration? Does she miss her mother? Does she hate all mention of her?He did not know.

“Very well.” Isadere clapped their hands together, and the maidens jumped to attention. “We will do all we can to provision you for the journey.”

In unison, the handmaidens swept from the hall of the tent into the adjoining rooms. Dom could hear other servants through the thin fabric walls, already scraping together food and supplies.

“The sand mares?” Sorasa asked, raising an eyebrow.

Dom braced himself for a denial. The sand mares were fine horses, fast and strong enough for the long journey ahead. But theroad behind taught him to expect obstacles at every turn, if not outright failure.

To his relief, Isadere nodded. “The horses are yours to take north.”

With that, Sarn straightened and inclined her head. It was as close to a bow as Dom had ever seen from the Amhara. Behind her, Sigil’s eyebrows practically disappeared into her forehead. Clearly, she’d never seen Sarn bow either. Dom doubted anyone in the world had.