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“I’m beginning to despise these council meetings more than I ever did my petitions,” Erida sighed, squeezing her eyes shut. They felt itchy and bloodshot, irritated by candle smoke and camp dust. Despite her ladies’ best efforts, there seemed to be dirt and grime everywhere. “At least the petitioners could be dismissed. But these idiots and hangers-on must be coddled like children.”

“Or whipped,” Taristan answered, his tone flat. It wasn’t a joke.

“If only things were that simple.” Erida motioned for wine and Taristan obliged, filling her goblet. She nudged the tea away. “I wish I could send the lot of them back to Ascal and leave only the generals. At least they know what they’re talking about.”

She took the glass, their fingers brushing. His skin sent a bolt of lightning down her spine.

“And why can’t you do just that?” he said, looking down at her. The black void of his eyes seemed to swallow the candlelight.

Erida blanched, forgetting his fingers.

“Send the court back to Ascal? Without me or any of my closest advisors? I might as well give Konegin my throne this very night.” She swallowed a bracing gulp of red wine. It steadied her. “No, they have to stay here, and stay satisfied. I won’t drive more allies into my cousin’s arms. Wherever he might be.”

“Lord Thornwall’s scouts still haven’t found anything?”

Ronin’s preening hiss sounded from the end of the table. He stared out from his red robes, his white face a moon against scarlet. Not for the first time, Erida debated commanding him into a new set of clothes. The red was so garish. He looked foolish at the council table, and made her husband look foolish with him.

“No,” she said hotly.

Ronin arched an eyebrow. “Or perhaps they aren’t trying at all?”

Erida grew stern. After four years as queen of a vicious court, she knew manipulation well.

“I trust Lord Thornwall more than most people upon the Ward.”

“Can’t imagine why,” Ronin grumbled, shrugging it off. “Two weeks we’ve been stuck here. Two weeks wasted in this mud. Get off, you,” he added, waving off the last of the dogs. They yelped and bolted out of the tent.

“You are welcome to go wherever you will, Ronin.” Erida wished she could banish him outright but knew better than to try. She had not forgotten Castle Lotha and the Spindle there, or the snarl within it. If anything had come forth, she did not know, but Ronin still seemed satisfied, and that unsettled her enough. “Sieges take time, as you must know.”

“Yes, indeed. Sieges take time,” Taristan ground out. He put his empty glass on the table, still standing. Like Erida, he wore no armor. He had no use for it, not while archers and catapults did the fighting. There was only the Spindleblade belted at his hip, settled over his red tunic and leather breeches. “For men, at least.”

Erida opened her mouth to question him, but Ronin shoved back from the table, his chair falling to the ground with a thud.

“What have you seen?” he demanded, his red-rimmed eyes all but glowing across the tent.

The wizard stalked forward, his bone-white fingers trembling on the tabletop. The crimson folds of his robes fell back from his wrists, exposing too-thin arms. He looked like a spider crawling through its own web. Behind him, the candles guttered, their flames jumping yellow and red.

At the head of the table, Erida drew back against her chair, only an inch. She hated Ronin at all times, but this she feared. And for that she despised him even more.

Taristan showed a trickle of emotion.

Triumph.

“I dreamed of them,” he answered.

“Who?” Erida hissed, but her consort didn’t look away from the red wizard.

Instead Taristan took up his prowl, circling the other side of the table, until he stood opposite Ronin. His grin was a terrible thing. There was something predatory about it—unnatural, even. Erida hated the way it made her heart skip.

His eyes roved over the tabletop, a graveyard of half-empty plates and cups. Bones, skin, the dregs of ale and wine. The messmade Erida itch, but Taristan looked through it, as if nothing else existed in the world.

“They come tonight,” he said, raising glassy eyes. Erida squinted, trying to catch the telltale red sheen, but there was nothing but the black abyss. “From the river.”

Ronin could hardly disguise his glee. For a second, Erida thought he might jump up and down. Instead he rounded on her, closing the yards between them with short, scrambling steps. He grinned, showing small teeth.

“I would tell your ladies to start packing,” he said, as if gloating.

The Queen of Galland did not like confusion. It made her feel weak. She tried to hide her bewilderment but couldn’t help it. She glanced to Taristan, waiting for some kind of explanation.