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Sorasa gritted her teeth against the relentless echoes. “No, this is worse.”

Minute by minute, the worry grew, until Corayne thought she might be sick all over herself. Then the black snake closed the last mile. The sound of charging horses joined the din, along with the shouts of too many soldiers to fathom. When the horns went up on the battlefield, signaling the Gallish charge toward Iona, she swayed on the spot. But Andry would not let her fall. He shifted, as good as a wall beside her, allowing Corayne to lean.

“A Spindle born for flame, a Spindle born for flood.”

Corayne whirled to find Valtik standing much too close, clad only in her usual shift. She looked weak and small against the armored ranks. But Valtik stared straight ahead, at the dragon circling over the army.

Sorasa eyed the old witch, then the dragon again.

“You should go inside, Valtik,” she warned, only for the witch to hold up a white hand, cutting her off.

“A Spindle born for riches, a Spindle born for blood.”

Flame. Flood. Gold. Blood.Corayne saw each Spindle in her mind, and the realms they led to. Infyrna. Meer. Irridas. The Ashlands. She winced, wondering which Spindle lay here.

Next to her, Valtik’s eyes tracked the dragon. It circled over the battlefield, snarling. Corayne wagered Taristan rode directly beneath it, withRonin at his side. Though her uncle had lost his ability to heal his body, and his great strength, he had gained a formidable bodyguard.

“The gods of Irridas have spoken, the beasts of their treasures awoken,” Valtik murmured. Her gnarled fingers worried at her pouch of bones, still belted at her waist.

Corayne’s heart rose in her throat. She remembered the rhyme. It was almost exactly the same as the spell she used to force the kraken back into the Spindle. In spite of herself, she dared to hope, watching the old witch sway. Gently, she touched Valtik on the arm, encouraging her to continue.

The witch turned to her, eyes going wide. Even against the red light, they remained an impossible, vibrant blue. Even so, she looked like any other old woman, her skin thin as paper, veins webbing beneath the lines of age. Spots dusted over her cheeks, and the scent of lavender clung to the air. For a moment, it overpowered all else.

“The enemy is at the gates,” the Jydi witch said, her mad laughter gone.

Corayne stooped to meet her eyeline. “I know, Valtik. Help us defeat them. Tell us what to do.”

But Valtik only laid a palm to Corayne’s face, her hand icy cold against her cheek. “Be well, Breaker of Fates.”

Out on the battlefield, the dragon gave a scream like nothing Corayne had ever heard. She flinched, ducking down as it suddenly shot up into the sky, wings beating furiously to send a hot, ashen wind tearing over the castle.

“Inside!” she heard Sorasa scream. The Amhara caught one of the straps on her armor, using it to drag her back up the landing.

Corayne’s legs scrabbled over the stone, trying to run. It only sent her tumbling sideways, knocking herself off balance, and taking Andry withher. They sprawled together, hitting the ground with a painful smack. Corayne’s head rung like a bell and she wished she had her helmet, foolish as it looked. Her vision spun but she looked up in time to see Valtik still rooted to the spot, the dragon’s wings blowing her hair back in a silver curtain.

Again, Corayne smelled lavender. And snow.

“Valtik!” she shouted, crawling to her feet. “Valtik, run!”

The dragon wheeled around the city in a terrible arc, flame spouting from its jaws. A ribbon of fire danced along the walls, breaking against stone and Elder alike. Screams pierced the air even as arrows twanged, a hundred bows raised to fend off the circling monster. Most glanced off the dragon’s jeweled hide. Hardly enough to deter a dragon, enraged and ensnared to the will of What Waits.

Then it turned on Tíarma.

The old woman did not move, somehow tall against the tormenting wind. She only squinted, her mythic blue eyes narrowing to slits. But they did not dull or diminish.

If anything, her eyes seemed to glow, stronger and more fearsome.

“Valtik,” Corayne said again, her voice weak, lost to the chaos.

Lavender. Snow.

Her mind spun, her focus still fixed on the witch, small as she was. A single old tree before a ruinous storm.

I know those eyes, she thought suddenly, images crashing through her head. Every memory of Valtik, cackling and rhyming, her bones spilling over her bare feet. And then another pair of the same eyes, the same shade, the same luminous, impossible blue.

They looked out from an old man’s face, swaying in his step, kind in his manner. Old, insignificant, a weary sailor doomed to chase after a pirate’s daughter.

“Kastio,” she whispered, too soft for anyone to hear her.