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Valnir didn’t look up from the sword.

“But no more, if you speak truly,” he breathed. “If that is the last Spindleblade in the realm, and you its wielder, then we have nothing else to fear from Taristan of Old Cor.”

“I wish with all my heart that were true.” Corayne sighed and took a step toward the Monarch, dangerous as it felt. “But my uncle does not act alone. He is a servant of What Waits, who seeks to break this realm apart, and claim the pieces for His own.”

Valnir waved a hand at her. “Through the Spindles, yes. Ridha said as much, and Isibel before her, when all this nonsense began. But Taristan can’t tear any more Spindles without the sword in your hand. So long as we keep the blade from your uncle, the realm is safe.”

Then something glittered in his eyes.

“Better yet, we destroy it,” he growled. “And ensure no Corblood conqueror can ever threaten the realms again.”

Corayne lurched forward, planting herself between the Elder and the Spindleblade. She put out a hand, as if she alone could stop Valnir should he choose to act.

Thankfully, the immortal pulled up short. He narrowed his eyes, confused and enraged. “You wish to keep it? Forwhat? Yourself?”

Corayne all but scoffed in frustration. “Taristan’s damage has already been done. I’ve closed two Spindles, but there are two more open still. One in Gidastern, beyond anyone’s reach. And one—I don’t know where. If I did, I would be there already. But the open Spindles will eat at the world, like cracks spreading through glass. Until everything shatters. And What Waits—”

“Waits no more.” Valnir whirled, his long cloak sweeping over the floor. Leaves circled in his wake as he prowled back to the throne. With a sigh, he sank back into his seat, the branch across his knees again. “The Torn King of Asunder conquers this realm like so many others.”

Corayne’s jaw tightened.

“So manyothers?” she echoed, her brow furrowed.

Valnir gave her a leveling look. “Do you think this is the first realm What Waits seeks to conquer and consume?”

A hot flush washed over Corayne’s face and down her neck.

“No. I have seen the Ashlands with my own eyes, sir,” she forced out, trying to sound as stern as Valnir looked.

In her head, she saw the broken realm beyond the temple Spindle, a land of dust and heat and death. Nothing grew. Nothing lived. There were only corpses crawling over each other, and a weak sun in a blood-soaked sky.How many other realms fell to such a fate? How many more will fall after we do?

Valnir’s gaze changed, if only a little, more thoughtful than before. And perhaps, a little impressed. One long-fingered hand rose to his neck, and rubbed at his scar, tracing the old line of uneven flesh. With a jolt, Corayne realized what the scar was from.

Not a blade.

A noose.

Her mind spun.Who in all the realms would try to hang an Elder king?

“Tell me of your journey, Corayne an-Amarat,” Valnir said finally, his eyes still faraway. “Tell us all.”

Exhaustion loomed over Corayne, threatening to crush her. But she could not falter. Princess Ridha had failed to sway Valnir and his people. Corayne knew she did not have the luxury of failure anymore.

She spoke as quickly as she could, as if she could outrun her own sorrow. By now, she knew the story well enough.

“My mother is Meliz an-Amarat, Captain of theTempestborn, known as Hell Mel in the waters of the Long Sea.” The Elders looked on blankly. Her mother’s fearsome reputation held little sway with immortals of the forest. “And my father was Cortael of Old Cor, a prince born, heir to the empire long dead.”

She winced as recognition flickered through Valnir and his guards, and even Castrin.

Corayne bit her lip. “I know members of this enclave, your own kin, died with my father, at the first Spindle torn.”

Elders were strangers to grief, and they wore it poorly. Valnir went sullen at the mention of the dead.

“You know Domacridhan survived, and set out to find me, just as Princess Ridha set out to find allies among the enclaves.”

The Monarch was even less accustomed to shame. It curdled on his face and Corayne half expected him to huff like a child.

She kept on.