Page 119 of Fate Breaker

Andry heaved a sigh of relief. The thought of another council, especially one filled with grim immortals, made his head spin.

“Thank the gods,” he grumbled.

“A Spindle torn for flames, a Spindle torn for flood.”

Valtik’s haunting voice echoed down the grand passage, her words lilting with a strange melody. She all but skipped toward them, her gnarled hands clasped behind her back.

Corayne beamed and shook her head. “It’s good to see you too, Valtik.”

Grinning, Valtik chucked Corayne under her chin, as if she were a simple grandmother instead of a bone witch.

“A Spindle lost for bones, a Spindle lost for blood,” she added with an airy wave, disappearing into the throne room.

“That’s new,” Corayne mumbled after her, her brow crinkling in concentration.

Andry shrugged. “It started a few weeks ago, in Ghald.”

“No wonder they thought you were a raider,” she said, brushing at his wolf pelt again. Then she eyed the ax at his hip, then his braids, taking in the full measure of him. “You certainly look it.”

“And I thought you were an Elder at first,” he replied, leaning down to her eye level. “Albeit a very short one.”

When she snorted out a laugh, the doors to the throne room eased shut. Clearly the Elder wardens had little patience for mortal laughter. They laughed all the more.

“Valtik was the only one I didn’t fear for,” Corayne added, putting her back to the throne room. She sobered a little. “Somehow, I knew the old witch would find a way to survive.”

“She’s the reason I lived,” Andry said plainly, the memory stark in his mind.I would have been lost in Gidastern.

“Then every aggravating second of her has been worth it,” Corayne said, her smile grimmer than before.

The vaulted hallways of Tíarma echoed their voices back at them. Again, Andry was reminded of a tomb.Hopefully not our own.

They stared at each other again, each sizing the other up. Andry knew Corayne saw the weight of the long weeks on him, just as he saw them in her.

“I look a ruin, don’t I?” Corayne muttered, looking down at her dress. “The Elders gave me some better clothing but it’s no use. I’m not suited to it.”

Fine as her clothes were, Corayne looked threadbare, run through with worry. He felt the same, cold to the bone.

“I don’t mind that,” Andry said too quickly. He fought back a wince, trying to explain. “It makes you look real. It—” His breath caught, his pulse hammering. “I can’t believe you’re real. I’m sorry, that doesn’t make sense either, of course you’rereal.”

To his surprise, Corayne flushed, a lovely shade of pink spotting the tops of her cheeks. Slowly, she took one of his hands, rubbing his raw knuckles. His skin went hot and cold, all at the same time.

“I know what you mean, Andry,” she replied. “Trust me, I know.”

Andry Trelland recognized what it was to want to kiss someone. He’d felt it a few times in Ascal, at one of the many nameless feasts and galas. Not that the squires were ever permitted to do much more than attend their knights. But he remembered what it was to catch a pretty girl’s eye and wonder what her hand would feel like. Wonder how well she knew the steps of a particular dance.

Corayne was not the same. Not because she walked a different path,but because she was simplymore. Bolder, braver, smarter. Brighter in every way. She wasmoreto Andry, more than anyone else had ever been.

Or perhaps ever would be.

His breath caught again, his fingers going numb in her hand.

“Follow me,” she said suddenly, turning him aside. Her fingers slipped through his own.

It is all I ever really want to do, he thought to himself ruefully.

He trailed after her, eyes on her back as she navigated the castle halls. Andry knew it had only been a month and a half since Gidastern, but the long days felt like a lifetime. She seemed changed since then, more sure of herself. Her shoulders squared, her back straight as she walked, a little more grace in her step than Andry remembered. She seemed leaner too.And her hands, he thought, remembering the old feel of her fingers.

She has more calluses. Worn by the hilt of a sword.