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“We seek to build a great empire, with Galland at her heart,” Erida said, sincerity welling up. She realized the maids were listening too, slowing in their work to let her speak. “I want peace across the realm, and prosperity for its peoples.”

The histories will remember me well. Victorious, generous, magnificent, holy. And beloved, she thought. Even as she spoke, she traced the paths the gossip would take, through the palace, the city, the noble families, and the commonfolk across the Ward.

“I want to build greatness and glory. A land worthy of our gods.” It wasn’t a lie. Erida tasted the truth of them, seductive as it was. At the edge of her mind, a warm red presence glowed with pride. “And I will do what I must to make it a reality. For us all.”

“Of course, Your Majesty,” Harrsing said from her seat, her voice cracking the quiet in half. “Lord Konegin’s treason will not be tolerated.”

Erida allowed a maid to help her from the bath. Another wrapped her in a robe warmed by the fire.

“He will be dealt with,” she said. Combs slid through her ash-brown hair, pulling her back and forth. “I must cut off the head of the snake before his venom sets in.”

If it hasn’t already, she thought.Certainly he has allies still at court, people who would put him on the throne if they could. I must root them out.

Death had shadowed her first coronation. Erida suspected it would haunt the next one too.

11

Their Souls Together

Corayne

One night in Sirandel turned into two, then three, then a week. Corayne did her best not to let the days melt together. But time felt different in the Castlewood, beneath the trees in the shifting pockets of sunlight. She told herself the spent days were useful. The Elders needed time to gather their warriors from the far-flung corners of the forest. And Corayne needed time to heal what wounds she could. Her bruises disappeared, her scrapes and burns fading away.

But the memories remained. They cut too deep to ever close.

At least sleep was peaceful here. Either she was far enough away from a Spindle, or What Waits could not penetrate the Elder enclave. She dreamed only of the little cottage by the sea, and the smell of lemon groves.

By the seventh morning, she knew Sirandel enclave well enough to find her way to a training yard alone. Corayne braided back her hair as she walked, sorting out a few tangles with her fingers.

The yard was always empty when she arrived, left open for her use. The Elders heard her coming long before she was close enough to see them. She eyed the stone circle, big enough to hold many sparring pairs.Moss filled the old markings carved in the stone, while sculpted trees wove together overhead. Colored glass spit a rainbow across the flat circle.

Corayne danced in and out of the shards of light, going through the motions Sigil and Sorasa drilled into her. It was harder without them, but her muscles remembered, and she relied on instinct.

The Elders outfitted her well, replacing her burned clothes with a selection of fine velvet tunics, leggings, and plain leathers. All in rich browns, golds, and purples, to blend with the winter forest. There was also a cloak of Sirandel, embroidered with foxes, the hood lined in impossibly soft fur. It reminded her so strongly of Dom’s Ionian cloak that she could never wear it.

The immortals left her to her own training, approaching only to leave water, food, and an array of weaponry she might find better suited to her form. She brought the Spindleblade with her each day but hesitated to use it. The sword was Taristan’s, not hers.

Corayne preferred a shorter, lighter saber, its blade slightly curved.

With every arc of her sword, she pushed herself a little bit faster, a little bit harder, until her breath came in short gasps.

It will not be in vain, Corayne told herself for the thousandth time.

“Forgive the intrusion.”

Huffing, Corayne let the momentum of the sword turn her around to face Valnir himself. Grand as he was, the Elder hesitated at the edge of the stone circle.

“How long have you been watching?” Corayne grumbled, wiping her brow with her vambraces. She was careful to avoid the spikes of the Dragonclaws.

Valnir blinked at her, stone-faced. “Perhaps an hour.”

Not for the first time, Corayne wanted to scream at the social norms of the Elders.

“What can I do for you, my lord?” she said, trying not to sound annoyed.Is it finally time to move? Have your warriors assembled?

To her dismay, the Elder monarch took a step forward into the training ring, his purple cloak trailing behind him. The bow was on his back now, like another limb.

“You have been well trained,” he mused, circling around Corayne with a keen eye.