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As the terrible pulse pounded, so did Corayne’s.

How I despise that flame inside you, that restless heart of yours, What Waits said with her mother’s voice.And how I envy it too.

Though she could not see them, Corayne could feel His too-long fingers reaching across the Crossroads, His claws dragging lightly over her skin. She shivered and tried to turn away, tried to run, tried to scream.

Let me in, and I will make you queen of any kingdom you wish.The voice wavered, her mother’s playful tone fading into something darker, heavier.I will save the life of your Elder. I will spare your friends in the castle. I will keep the Ward as it is now, green and alive, its people free and safe. I will make your realm the jewel in my crown, and you its keeper.

What Waits purred and snarled.

Let me in.

“I will not,” Corayne hissed through gritted teeth, the battle raging inside her own head. “I will not.”

Her legs shook, but slowly, one foot moved, sliding inch by awfulinch. And then an arm hooked across her chest, throwing her backward with reckless abandon.

It was enough to break the spell, and What Waits howled, His rage so absolute it shook the trees, echoing through the ashen Crossroads.

Corayne landed in Andry’s arms, the Spindleblade still in hand. She could only watch, slack-jawed, as Taristan pushed them both away, back toward the Spindle. He threw one last glance at his niece, his eyes black all the way through.

They were her father’s eyes, and her own too.

Her body shook as Taristan turned around, never to look at them again.

If he feared the steps, and the shadow at the top, he did not show it. Instead, he sank to his knees, facing Queen Erida. Slowly, he took her head in his hands, brushing away the ashes clinging to her torn and bloody cheeks. Erida shuddered in his grasp, her body twitching, trying to get away even as she pulled him closer.

For a moment, Corayne thought she glimpsed a flash of blue in Erida’s eyes.

Then the steps rumbled, the earth shaking.

This is not over, Corayne of Old Cor.

The voice hissed and whispered, speaking in all languages. Corayne turned from it as she turned from her uncle and the Queen, leaving them with the embers.

The Spindle slid over Andry and Corayne, the Spindleblade with them.

When her boots hit stone, Corayne whirled, gripping the sword with both hands, all her strength poured into a single motion. The Spindleblade cut through the air, severing the portal, leaving Taristan and Erida behind forever.

However long forever was.

They returned to a crater of corpses, the Ashlander army withering where they stood. Whatever had kept them alive seeped out of them, like blood into the ground. One was fallen already, her green armor dull; the Princess of Iona finally returned home. Isibel lay next to her, her eyes closed, as if only sleeping. In a glance, Corayne knew she would never wake up.

The living flooded through the courtyard, Elder soldiers dispatching the few corpses still clinging to cursed life. Their figures blurred, unimportant to Corayne. She searched the ground instead, eyes roving over paved stone and roses.

Domacridhan lay in the same place, with Sorasa kneeling over him again. His blood dried on her hands, turning them a horrific black color. His eyes were still open, wavering, but always fixed on her face. She did not blink, holding his gaze.

Charlie was there too, slumped against a battered but breathing Garion. The assassin held a bloody rag to one side of his face.

When Charlie’s eyes met hers, his mouth dropped, his feet already moving to meet her.

Corayne did not know how to feel. Triumph sounded wrong. There was no victory, only survival.

One hand still clutched Andry’s, the other the Spindleblade. It felt strange in her grasp now, the hum of it dimmed. It was the same with the Spindle, the light of the golden thread sputtering, and then fading away. Closing the door to the Crossroads forever.

It was the last thing Corayne saw before her vision slanted, dark spots dancing in front of her eyes. Until the blackness ate up the world, and there was nothing at all.

Dawn broke cold and yellow over Iona, the relentless clouds of Calidon blown away by a cleansing wind. The red light was gone from the sky, as if it never existed at all. Small fires still burned within the city, and out on the field. Most flickered around the jeweled corpse of a fallen dragon, its gemstone hide gone dull, its wings like black sails against the ground.

On the battlefield, a company of Temur riders made another pass, rounding up survivors of every army. Kasa, Ibal, the immortals. And Galland too, whoever remained, too injured to run with the rest of the legions. The lucky ones scattered into the mountains, fleeing before the full might of the Temur Emperor, and his magnificent Countless.