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“I’m not Amhara anymore.”

Her voice rasped with disuse. The shock of it ran through the Companions.

For a moment, Dom broke his focus, turning his head to face Sorasa. They locked eyes only briefly, but Andry saw something sharp and painful pass between them.

Next to her, Sigil whooped out a shout of glee, standing in the stirrups. She all but shook Sorasa out of the saddle, grasping her shoulder in one massive hand. The movement dislodged her hood and Sorasa let it drop, showing her entire face for the first time since the clearing, and the Amhara.

Andry’s heart leapt in his chest, happy to hear Sorasa’s voice, sharp as it might be. Next to him, Corayne beamed.

Oscovko didn’t notice their collective joy, or simply didn’t care.

“Sounds like something an Amhara would say,” he muttered. “Well, Corayne an-Amarat, I promise not to sell you if your assassin promises not to kill me.”

Sorasa growled, her voice unsticking. “I don’t take contracts that small.”

This the prince chose to ignore. He spun neatly on his heel, gesturing for everyone to follow. He continued shouting, though, his annoyed grumble carrying on the wind.

“If we’re going to talk of the Lion Queen, I’ll need a glass of wine. Or ten!”

16

The Wolves of Trec

Corayne

This is much better than sneaking through wet tunnels and armed guards,Corayne thought, remembering how she’d once entered Erida’s palace. The castle of the Treckish king was far less difficult, now that Prince Oscovko led the way.

He snapped his fingers and the castle gates swung wide, the portcullis rising with the clatter of iron chain. The prince stalked through without so much as a backward glance, his burly compatriots from the war camp in tow.

The city set Corayne’s mind on edge, and she was glad to be leaving it behind, the castle walls swallowing her up. The smell of the streets alone had been almost unbearable. Sweet, savory, and foul all at once, clashing in her senses. Corayne’s eyes still stung with smoke even as her mouth watered over the cooking meat and fresh-baked bread. There was no fruit in the markets. They were too far north and too far into autumn for it. In Lemarta, Coraynenever found herself wanting for fresh food. She ached for it now, after so many days of meat and hard biscuits upon the Wolf’s Way. She could barely even recall the taste of olives or oranges, or good Siscarian wine. With a twist of sadness, Corayne realized she missed home. The salty breeze, the cypress hills. Fishermen in the harbor, the cliff roads, and the little cottage. A blue sky over bluer sea. She thought of her mother, and theTempestborn. Where they were now, she had no idea.Still sailing on to Rhashir, seeking riches? Or will she do as I asked, and fight?

Corayne knew her mother so well, and yet not at all. She couldn’t predict what path the pirate would take. The uncertainty was a needle in her skin, never forgotten, but sometimes ignored.

With a will, Corayne shook her head and raised her eyes, casting aside her doubts as best she could. She noted the inner bailey of the castle, smaller than the square outside. A great keep frowned over everything, blackened by fire long ago. Corayne spotted a barracks, a stable, and a chapel built up within the curtain wall. Compared to the New Palace, it felt cramped and closed in, the high walls throwing the entire yard into shade. Briefly, Corayne understood why Oscovko preferred living in the war camp outside the city.

Dogs bayed near the barracks, a loping pack of hounds ranging in color from yellow to gray. Corayne eyed them, remembering what Andry said about wolves. But the only wolves she saw were made of stone or thread, in black or crowned white, sculpted on the walls or embroidered on the many flags and tunics.

Prince Oscovko ushered them through at a harried pace. Men stopped to salute but he didn’t pause, climbing up the steps to enterthe keep without so much as a wave. Corayne could almost see the nerves firing beneath his skin. He was clearly uncomfortable.

“Welcome to Volaska, the Wolf’s Den,” he said without fanfare, pushing the oaken doors open. They were thick as Corayne’s arm was long, banded with Treckish steel, the strongest metal upon the Ward.

She shivered as she walked inside, blinking in the suddenly dim light of a long, torchlit hall. The windows at the far end were but slits, wide enough for archers, and the windows facing the yard were shuttered. Corayne willed her eyes to adjust and realized she stood in the center of the keep, in the court of the Treckish king. It was both feasting hall and throne room, with a raised dais in front of the dark windows. The throne of Trec sat empty, carved from a single block of the same white limestone on the ramparts. It was unadorned but for the wolf chiseled into the back, crowned with real gold.

Aside from Oscovko and his men, the hall was empty, even of servants. It smelled stale and unused, the air thick.

“Has King Lyev retired for the evening?” Sorasa asked, nearly blending into the shadows. Her voice sounded stronger already.

She ran a finger along the edge of a chair, disturbing the thick layer of dust. Corayne eyed the two soldiers behind Sorasa, following her every move from a safe distance. Corayne fought back a smile, if only for Sorasa’s sake.

Oscovko scoffed and crossed the wide room, pulling the rest of them along with him. “King Lyev has not entered his own hall in many months,” he said, sweeping through a doorway.

Three of his lieutenants followed, leaving the rest of his guard in the hall.

The adjoining chamber was long, thin, and brighter, its windows opening onto the steep side of the hill, looking out over the greater city. The Gates of Trec loomed in the distance, marked by the wide gap in the mountains. From here, the castle could see all the way to the Gallish border. Corayne squinted at it, as if she could see Taristan himself waiting on the other side. But there was only the gray haze of more forest and hill country, half dead with the season.

A feasting table ran down the middle of the room. It was too large for the space, clearly dragged in from the great hall. Oscovko gestured for them to sit and helped himself to a glass of wine from the sideboard. He downed a goblet in a single gulp before filling it again and taking a chair.

Corayne noticed he did not take the seat at the head of the table, but the one to its right. The other remained empty, left open for an absent king.