Page 137

After Marguerite, sleep was difficult. Many nights Erida lay awake, remembering the feel of a dagger in her hand, and the warm spray of blood from the girl’s abdomen. The young princess falling in front of her, spilling red across a marble hall that was once her home. Her eyes dying last, the light leaving them after her chest stilled, her last gasp of breath already echoed and gone. It was not Erida’s plan to kill her, but her death ended the Madrentine line. And removed a valuable pawn from Konegin’s grasp.

It served a purpose.

So did this, she thought.

Taristan lay undisturbed next to her, the steady sound of his breathing better than a lullaby.

Tonight, sleep came easily. And Erida dreamed as she never had before. Of great columns of fire, golden and bright. Beacons across the realm, unifying the continent. A dragon’s jeweled wings. Her army marching across fields of green and fields of snow. Across rivers and over mountains. The rose of Old Cor and the lion of Galland held high, flags snapping in a harsh wind. No more truce flags, no more opposition. Only surrender ahead, only conquest and victory. Beneath it all, a familiar voice, whispering as He always did.

Then the dream changed. She saw Corayne an-Amarat, a sword on her shoulder, a purple cloak thrown out behind her. She stood on a high ridge, silhouetted against a blue sky torn with white clouds. Another wind blew, sending out her raven hair like a black standard. The girl stared back at her, as if seeing her through the dream.

She has Taristan’s eyes, Erida knew. She remembered that from their brief meeting, so long ago.

The whispers rose, hissing, too many to understand, in every language. Erida held Corayne’s gaze even as she strained to listen, trying to decipher the message of What Waits.

Across from her, Corayne drew the sword sheathed at her back, slow and deliberate. Red and purple jewels glinted at the hilt, and Erida recognized it immediately.

Corayne raised the Spindleblade, her face grim, her jaw set into a hard line. Her black eyes seemed to swallow the light of the world, dimming the bright flames burning at Erida’s side. The air turned cold and the Queen shivered, cursing her own fear.

Then the blade slashed downward in a careful stroke. Erida braced, eyes open, watching as the steel passed through the air like a falling star. It blazed toward her, the air singing with its passage.

In the blade, something reflected, a single flash. Fast, but not fast enough. Erida glimpsed a castle of stone, surrounded by towers, its battlements crowned with stags carved from granite. Flags flung out in the buffeting wind, gray-green, embroidered with silver antlers.

Then the sword fell and Erida could not help but close her eyes, raising her hands to defend against the killing blow.

Air seared from her lungs as she sat up sharply, still in bed, the windows filled with sunrise. Her breath came in heavy gasps, her good hand pressed to her throat. She expected a rush of blood from an open wound. There was only hot skin, fevered to the touch, burning like the candle across the room.

Her mind burned too, branded by a single image, her lips forming a single word.

“Iona,” she whispered, the flag still waving in her head.

Beneath her own thoughts, something else moved. Like a shadow, but heavier, a weight behind her own heart. It did not speak.

She knew Him anyway.

26

A Broken Shield

Corayne

She woke with a gentle sigh, grateful for another night empty of dreams. There had been few nightmares since Gidastern, but enough to make Corayne wary every time she lay down to sleep. Erida’s burning eyes or the memory of What Waits, his shadow across the ground, his whispers in her head, were more than enough to give her pause.

It was easier to get out of bed since Andry’s arrival. Instead of turning over to sleep another hour, she got to her feet, leaving the warm nest of piled blankets. She still was not used to the chill of the castle. She doubted her body would ever adjust.

As she pulled on her clothes, she wondered if her father did.

Her stomach growled as she stepped into her boots, an easy distraction from spiraling thoughts. She followed the sensation all the way down the tower of guest apartments, making her way to the great feasting hall the Elders never seemed to use.

Charlie and Garion were still gone, near two weeks now. She was not afraid for them, not truly. She imagined they were in Lenava by now, the nearest Calidonian city. Listening for rumors, waiting for any news that might herald the storm to come.

Andry was already in the feasting hall, seated with his back to her, at a table set with an array of food. It was an overwhelming amount, far too much for the few mortals in the castle. But Corayne wagered the Elder cook had no idea how much to feed them, so they made everything possible just in case. There were platters of porridge, freshly baked bread, apples drizzled with honey, a glistening ham, eggs still sizzling in oil, good hard cheese, and creamy butter. Corayne’s stomach growled again at the sight.

Smiling, Andry turned over his shoulder. He still wore his Jydi furs. “Hungry?”

“A little,” Corayne replied, filling a plate with a bit of everything from the Elder pantries.

“Their cooks are probably exhausted, preparing three meals a day instead of the usual zero,” she said, biting into an apple as she sat. “They must be cursing us for making them work so hard. So, what is it today?”