Page 9

Ronin raised a finger, stepping forward. Whatever cord ran between queen and consort, the wizard neatly cut it in two.

“On that we agree, Your Majesty,” he said. “One Spindle is lost. Another must be gained, and quickly.”

Erida turned away.I will not war for attention, especially with that rat of a wizard.Her lip curled with distaste as a curtain of exhaustion fell over her.I began this day on one battlefield, and now I stand on another entirely.She certainly felt like a soldier, fighting with wits and intelligence instead of a sword.A sword is far moresimple.She ached to undo the lacings of her underclothes, tightly pulled behind the folds of her gown.

But she was a queen. She did not have the luxury of weariness.

Erida drew herself straight again and planted her hands on her hips. “The Spindle is not the only thing you lost today. We walk a knife-edge,” she sneered, again cursing her husband’s political ignorance. “Taristan of Old Cor can crush skulls in his fist, but he cannot inspire allegiance.”

She glanced up to find Taristan staring, his black eyes boring into hers.

“And for that matter, neither can I,” she bit out, her teeth gnashing together. One hand fisted in her skirts, wringing the fabric between her fingers. Her throat bobbed, the words coming out too quickly to stop. “No matter what I do, no matter how much glory or gold I bring these awful, viperous courtiers, they do not love me the way they should. The way they would a man on my throne.”

Taristan looked on through it all, a strange look crossing his face. His lips twitched.

“What must I do to win them?”

His question shocked her, and Erida felt her eyes widen.Perhaps not so ignorant.

“Win a castle,” she answered sharply, gesturing to the window. It was shuttered, but they both knew the warring border lay beyond. The rich, weak lands of Madrence, waiting to be taken. “Win the battlefield. Win every mile into Madrence, until you and I plant the Gallish flag in the middle of their lovely capital, and claim all we see for the Lion.” The green-and-gold snapped in hermind, raised high among the glittering towers of Partepalas. “Bring my lords victory, and we willmakethem love us for it.”

As they loved my father and grandfather, and every Gallish conqueror before who lives in our paintings and stories and songs.

I can join them, she thought.Not in death, but in glory.

Already she felt the warmth of it. It wasn’t the cloying heat of Taristan, but the gentle, familiar embrace of a parent returning home. Her father was more than four years gone, her mother alongside him. Konrad and Alisandra, taken by illness, felled by too common a fate. Erida cursed their ending, unbecoming of a king and queen. Still, she missed their arms, their voices, their steady protection.

Taristan looked on quietly, his gaze like a brush of fingers against her cheek. She set her jaw to a fierce edge and blinked away the memories before they could take hold. Before her husband could see their weight.

I cannot give over to sorrow,she knew.Their memory should be a current pushing me forward, not an anchor.

“Win, and win quickly,” Erida bit out, tossing back her head. Her ash-brown hair coiled against her pale cheeks, finally coming loose from the intricate braid that had survived the morning’s bloodshed. “We must have victory before any allies rouse to defend this land. Siscaria will already be on the move, maybe even Calidon or the Tyri fleets. We must hope Ibal is preoccupied with monsters in the Long Sea. If Galland conquers Madrence quickly, with you and me at the head of her army, the road to empire becomes much, much smoother for all of us.”

That road stretched out before her, long but straightforward.The legions of Galland would continue to march, cutting a line down the valley of the Rose River. There were castles along the border, fortresses to defend small towns and lush farmlands, but nothing to stop the might of Erida’s armies. The first true test would come at Rouleine, the city at the joining of the Rose and the Alsor.And when Rouleine falls, the capital is only days away, a jewel waiting to be claimed.

“I’ll have Lord Thornwall take stock of the armies,” she added, thinking aloud. A list spun in her mind, things to be accomplished as quickly as possible. “By first light we’ll know how many men, if any, deserted with Konegin.”

Taristan blew out a frustrated breath. “Certainly your cousin does not hold so much sway, Erida,” he said, almost placating.

“My cousin is amanwith king’s blood in his veins,” she snapped, near to spitting. The injustice of it all still stung like a salted wound. “That holds enough sway for too many in my kingdom, let alone my own court.”

His reply was steady, unyielding as his black-eyed stare. “It holds no sway with me.”

Erida held his gaze, sapphire crashing against jet. Any retort died on her lips. Of course her prince consort would take her side. After all, his power in Galland came from her, as his power of the flesh came from his demon lord. But there was something beneath, unspoken.

An admission she could not yet understand. But she certainly wanted to try.

“We cannot forget our master, Taristan.” Ronin’s voice was nails on glass.

Erida clenched her teeth, turning her eyes on the red wizard as he moved between them, a scarlet wall. She did not need to see his horrible white face to know what message lived between his words.Our master is What Waits. Not the Queen of Galland.

And while she thought herself equal, if not superior, to all who walked the Ward, even Erida knew her measure against the demon king of hellish Asunder. Though her spine remained as steel, she felt a tremor in her skin.

“Gifts have been given, and payment must be made,” Ronin pressed on, gesturing to Taristan’s body.

He is strong as an immortal now. Stronger, even,Erida thought.

At Castle Vergon, he crushed diamonds in his fist, testament to his new strength.