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Like the castle, the city of Iona threatened to burst at the seams. They fit as many soldiers as they could within the walls, but most made camp at the bottom of the ridge, digging in with their backs against the gates and the rising cliffs.

The next morning, Corayne watched the palisade walls go up around the war camp, along with a ditch and field of sharpened pikes. It would not hold off Erida’s legions for long, but it would be something.

It was not yet spring, but the air felt warmer on her face. Corayne flinched against it, the sun streaking through the clouds. Spring was coming, and with it, melting snows. Easier passage through the mountains. A safer road for all that sought to destroy the realm.

Her chest tightened beneath her cloak, until she felt her ribs might collapse inward.

She was not alone on the landing, but most gave her a wide berth, leaving Corayne an-Amarat to her thoughts.

Isadere an-Amdiras was not most.

Corayne felt their stare like a knife at the neck, and turned to find the Heir of Ibal watching from a distance.

“Your Highness,” Corayne muttered, dipping into a quick bow. “Do you have everything you need?”

“Everything within possibility, yes,” Isadere answered, walking to Corayne’s side at the edge of the terrace. “The squire will be made a seneschal if he keeps up his good work.”

Corayne smiled and tipped her face into the sun’s warmth. Foreboding as it was, she reveled in it for a moment.Andry deserves a warm castle filled with laughter, not a war bearing down on him.

“I admit, my mirror did not warn me of the cold,” Isadere grumbled, burrowing into a cloak of tawny furs.

“Your goddess showed you Iona,” Corayne said.

Isadere barely nodded. “I mustered what army I could, with my father’s blessing.”

Corayne was the daughter of a pirate, well versed in the matters of the Long Sea. She knew how dangerous the Ibalet navy could be, if truly roused to war.There will be no chance Erida moves by sea.

“What of the Kasans?” she said, thinking of the elephants penned up outside the city wall.

“Queen Berin has been wary for some time. She received summons and warnings from across the Ward,” Isadere replied. “We sailed to Nkonabo first, to prepare for the crossing. She was more than willing to send soldiers north with us, despite the danger.”

Corayne tried to call up the feeling of relief and joy when she first spotted the unified army. It was difficult to grasp now, with the realities of their circumstance on full display.

“It feels like a cruel joke of the gods,” Corayne cursed. “Drawing us all here, making us think we have a chance.”

Isadere only blinked.

“Do we not have a chance, Corayne?” they asked plainly. “It does not matter what Isibel of Iona commands or believes. Taristan and Erida are coming whether she chooses to fight or not.”

Fire licked up Corayne’s spine, hot and angry. “What then? We kill ourselves out there while she watches and weeps over a realm she will never see again?”

“The Monarch can do as she wishes. But the others around her can not stand by, not while the realm crumbles beneath them,” Isadere said, too serene. “They will fight with us, when it comes to it. Even Elders fear to die.”

“Comforting,” Corayne snapped, letting them both lapse into uneasy silence.

As in the desert, Isadere’s blind faith in the goddess set Corayne on edge. She could not understand it, no matter all she had seen. Sorasa was not so zealous, though she served the same god. The memory of her made Corayne heartsick.

“You cannot break it, can you?” Isadere asked in a low voice. Their black eyes flashed to the Spindleblade, still close at Corayne’s shoulder.

The steel pressed against her back, the jewels of the hilt winking in the corner of her eye. Taunting her.

“If only we could,” she replied. “But a Spindle still burns in Gidastern. If we break the last blade, then hope is truly lost. And the realm too.”

She could still smell the city in flames, the golden thread of a Spindleglowing through the inferno. Corayne despaired of ever truly reaching it again, but knew they were doomed if she did not. Even if Taristan fell, the Spindle he left behind would one day tear the realm in two.

“Even Elders fear to die,” Isadere said again, their eyes boring into Corayne’s own. Their voice deepened, filled with meaning.

Corayne’s tongue felt heavy. She wanted to tell Isadere about her misgivings, to ask for advice. To unload her worries about the echo of a Spindle humming somewhere in the castle. It grew stronger every day, until Corayne feared she might walk through a portal on her way to breakfast.