Page 229

Corayne and Andry ran together, the grass soft beneath their boots. His sword was left behind in Allward, so Andry drew his dagger and his ax. Corayne had nothing but her own two hands and her clawed vambraces, their edges glinting.

She made for the Spindleblade, all her focus bent on the sword.

Then a clap like thunder went through the trees and all the Crossroads rumbled, the ground shaking under their feet. Corayne almost lost her footing and dropped to her knees to steady herself, Andry crouching beside her as the earth shook.

Taristan froze, what little color he had left draining from his face. In his arms, Erida continued to squirm, her expression desperate and devastating, like a starved woman seeing food for the first time. Like a priest before her waking god.

She pulled in Taristan’s grasp, her livid, burning eyes on the marble steps. A hideous smile split her face as she sensed something Corayne could not.

Another ferocious crack split the air and the marble split with it. A long fissure spiderwebbed down the otherwise flawless white stone, the line like a jagged bolt of lightning.

Corayne shivered, her body jumping with the noise.

Something is coming.

“Get back to the Spindle,” Corayne hissed, shoving Andry away. “Run.”

But Andry Trelland did not move. Instead, his fingers wove through her own, his touch warm and familiar.

For once in her life, Corayne understood what home must feel like.

“With me,” Andry said, dragging them both to their feet.

The ground shook again but they kept their footing, staggering only a little as they ran for the sword.

Across the clearing Erida threw herself out of Taristan’s arms, laughing wildly when another crack ran through the marble.

Taristan moved to follow her, only to whirl back. He looked between Erida and the Spindleblade still lying in the grass. Anguish and anger warred across his face, as he warred within himself. His eyes darkened, going blacker by the second, until his brow furrowed. He looked like someone waking up from a nightmare.

Corayne slowed and met his eyes across the steel of the Spindleblade. The sword reflected both their faces, similar as they were, chained together by blood and destiny.

She expected him to lunge for the blade, but Taristan did not move, his breath coming in short, ragged gasps.

“Claim your fate, Taristan of Old Cor,” she said softly.

Claim yours, Corayne an-Amarat.

The voice was a needle between her eyes. She screamed against it, almost collapsing, only for Andry to hold her steady. What Waits scratched at the edges of her mind, begging to be let in. Begging to hold Corayne as he held Taristan. As he consumed Erida.

“My fate is my own,” Corayne snarled aloud, to Taristan and the demon god hammering his way through the realms. “To claim or break.”

Another rumble shook the earth as another crack ran down the stairs. This time the noise was unmistakable.

A footstep.

The air shuddered, and a flash of light swept through the green forest, blinding them all for an instant. When it cleared, Corayne opened her eyes to embers, the trees burned black, the branches crumbling, the beautiful leaves blown to ashes in a merciless wind.

The destruction raged, the flames voracious and churning around them. It felt like being at the eye of a storm. Corayne gritted her teethagainst the sudden heat, her eyes slitted through the smoke. Even as the fires burned and What Waits screamed, she pushed through, holding on to her mind and her goal.

She grabbed for the Spindleblade, its jewels leering red and purple. Her fingers brushed the gems, but another hand was faster, the fingers white, bones all but showing through tight skin. Veins wriggled like pearly worms.

Erida.

Corayne leapt backward just as the Queen swung, arcing the blade with all the strength in her body. She was no swordsman, her movement jerky and unpracticed.

Andry swept his knife to meet her blade, eager to block her next harried blow.

He met Taristan’s own dagger instead.