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Andry gave a curse through gritted teeth, pushing back against the Monarch. It was like slamming himself against a wall. She did not give.

“Corayne,” he said, his voice breaking.

She did not stop, nor look at him. Her eyes were on the sword, and her palm. She winced as her hand ran the blade’s edge, drawing a line of red blood.Cor blood.

Shaking, she held out the sword, as if offering it to Isibel.

The Elder ruler stared back at her, eyes narrowed in confusion.

“There is your key,” Corayne spat. “You want the Spindle, you do it yourself.”

On his knees, Andry braced for the end, waiting for Isibel to claim her terrible prize. But she did not move, her sword still pressed against his neck. She didn’t even blink.

Her hesitation was damnation enough.

Corayne gave a withering laugh to pierce the courtyard.

“You walk us all to the edge of doom, but cannot move the final inch,” Corayne said, her voice dripping with cold judgment. “Coward.”

Isibel answered with silence, her jaw clenched.

Then footsteps echoed from the halls, through the open archways of the courtyard, and Corayne froze. Slumped against Sorasa, Dom gave a low growl, hearing what Andry could not.

“So this is how it ends.”

The sneering, hateful voice burned. If Andry was not already kneeling, he would have fallen to the ground.

Taristan of Old Cor stood silhouetted, looking down into the rose garden. He was as Andry remembered in Gidastern. Bloodstained, ragged, his eyes a deep well of bottomless hunger. When his gaze raked over the courtyard, Andry could not help but shiver.No, he is worse than mymemories, he thought. Taristan seemed weary, his fingers bruised and bleeding even as they held an unremarkable sword. And the white veins splayed beneath his skin, creeping up his neck. He seemed to rot from within. Andry supposed that might be true.

The red wizard hunched next to him and Andry’s stomach churned. Ronin’s eyes, or what remained of them, wept blood over his face. His head turned, sightless; his nostrils flared as if he could smell the Spindle.Perhaps he can.Somehow, the wizard grinned, showing his rat teeth.

Behind them, shadows guttered along the passageways, outlining lurching shapes of twisted figures. Andry almost laughed at the circumstances.What’s a few more corpses now?

Isibel turned her head, grimacing to Taristan and Ronin.

“I give you everything you need for victory, and still you mortals are so slow,” she grumbled. “Well then, come. Claim what is yours, and I will do the same.”

Ronin descended the stairs first, giggling, his steps haltingly slow as he limped into the garden. He swayed, one hand cast out lest he fall.

Corayne remained frozen, the Spindleblade in hand. Her own blood splattered the ground beneath the sword, falling in ruby drops. She sucked in a steadying breath.

Her uncle held her gaze as he approached, sparing only a glance for Domacridhan and Sorasa on the ground. Andry half expected the assassin to leap up and attack.

“You fought bravely,” Taristan murmured as he passed.

Sorasa hissed back up at him like a snake. “You will regret this moment for the rest of your days.”

In her arms, Dom gave a wet, halting laugh more akin to a death rattle.

“A king of ashes,” the Elder said, blood flecking the air. “And ashes only.”

A king of ashes is still a king.Andry remembered how Taristan snarled the same words so long ago, when Cortael was still alive, when all this had only begun. Then, he was a wolf, dangerous and desperate.

With a jolt, Andry realized that desperate, ravenous edge was gone. Taristan was a wolf still, but less reckless, less emotional. The man who laughed at his brother’s dying body was stoic now, without smirk or reply.

His aim was the Spindle and nothing else.

“You may do the honors,” he said flatly, gesturing to Corayne.