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Then she kicked at the Lionguard knight’s body, shifting his corpse on the floor. His golden armor gleamed up at them, catching the distant torchlight.

“This should just fit you, Dom,” she said, eyeing the body.

The immortal wanted to argue. Instead, he found himself shoved into steel plate and a green cloak, a helmet crammed over his skull. Between Sorasa and Sigil, they made quick work of lacing him into the armor. He watched, helpless, as Sorasa belted the sword around his waist, her fingers quick and sure.

“It’s a bit tight,” he grumbled. After weeks chained to a wall, the armor felt like a new kind of prison.

Sorasa only rolled her eyes. “You’ll live,” she bit out.

They rounded the corner of the corridor, just to face down another long line of empty cells. The passage angled steadily upward, to gods knew what. Dom strained his hearing, but there was nothing but the sound of their own hearts.

Sorasa quickened her pace, stupid as it was to push herself.

“Erida is in the palace, triumphant in her return from Madrence,” she said. “We should pay her a visit.”

For once, Sigil looked reluctant in the face of a fight. She put out a hand, grasping for Sorasa’s shoulder.

“We have to get out of here,” she said, her dark eyes flashing.

The assassin shrugged her off neatly.

“Do I look like I want to stay?” Sorasa scoffed. “We’re leaving, we’re just going to make the most of it.”

Though Sigil looked skeptical, Dom felt a strange sense of calm. He didn’t need to ask to know Sorasa already had a plan, and another plan beneath that one. After all, she’d had two long days to puzzle it out. He found himself falling silent, where once he would want to argue. To needle the assassin, poke at her intentions. Search for the lie in her words, for any evidence of deceit or betrayal.

I am not Amhara anymore.He could still hear her words spoken weeks ago, as if they still hung in the air.

By now, Domacridhan of Iona certainly believed them. His heart tightened and swelled, overcome for an instant.

Then he shut his feelings away, as Sorasa once told him to do.

You don’t need it.

He saw only the path in front of them, and the sword in his hand. The way forward was easy. They just needed to stay alive to walk it.

13

The Dying Swan

Erida

The great hall had long recovered from the wreckage left in Corayne an-Amarat’s wake. New chandeliers hung from the vaulted ceiling, each one individually bolted to the stone. Every surface shone, each slab of marble polished, the wood-paneled passages oiled and gleaming. Rugs were freshly washed, statues dusted. New banners of Gallish green and Corrish red hung heavy at every arch. Lions snarled and roses bloomed, wound together for queen and prince consort.

And guards lined the walls, done up in armor with good swords at their sides. More guards than Erida ever remembered there to be in her palace.

She entered her great hall with the usual fanfare, a simple green gown trailing out behind her. After her parade through the city that morning, she couldn’t stomach the thought of putting on another complicated, overwrought dress weighed down by jewels. Her hair was unbound too, waving gently down her back beneath a plain circlet of hammered gold.

The message was clear. Queen Erida was tired from a long journey, exhausted by pageantry, and would not linger.

Her ladies and Lionguard kept pace, a few measured steps behindtheir queen. Three knights followed along this evening. Three others flanked Taristan, already seated at the high table.

“All hail Erida, Queen of Galland, of Madrence, of Tyriot, and Siscaria. The Empress Rising,” boomed Lord Cuthberg from the dais, shouting out her titles.

Her lips twitched, wanting to smile. But she maintained her still, demure mask as she climbed the steps to the high table.

Throughout the great hall, the other tables were already crowded. Erida glimpsed a rainbow of silk and fur, all dappled with candlelight. High nobles of the court stared back at her, murmuring and watching. Most were well-known courtiers—lords and ladies, military commanders, and a few nobles already come in from the countryside for the coronation.

Among them, the delegation of the Temurijon was easy to spot.