Page 220 of Fate Breaker

To his dismay, Isibel only shrugged. “That is a chance I am willing to take.”

43

Roses Grown in Blood

Andry

It was the temple all over again. The Companions defeated, caught in the jaws of a trap none of them saw coming.

Sorasa cradled Dom where he lay, doing what she could to stem the flow of blood. It was a fool’s errand, hopeless. Even Andry could admit it, a sob rising up in his throat. But he forced it down, telling himself to focus. There was no time to mourn, not with the Monarch of Iona looming over them.

Gently, Andry tugged Corayne away from Dom, putting some distance between her and Isibel. It would not matter much. But it mattered enough to Andry.

The torchlight flickered over Isibel’s silver armor, turning her to liquid flame. She tossed her proud head and raised her nose, assessing Corayne as if she were an object, and not a person. Andry supposed that was how Isibel felt all along. Mortals were so far beneath her, she did not have the ability to see them as anything more than tools.

“You can feel it, can’t you?” the Monarch said imperiously.

Corayne tightened in his arms, her armor against his own.

“I feel nothing,” she snarled, lunging.

Andry held firm, his grip unyielding. He gritted his teeth, doing all he could to keep Corayne from ending up like Charlie, unconscious among the roses. Andry wished he could split himself in two, so he could stay with Corayne and go to Charlie in the same second.

Isibel continued at her languid pace. Her boots scuffed over paved stone and packed dirt, crushing vines beneath her feet. She glanced at the buds and thorns, her stare broken.

“Roses grow where Spindles cross, in their wake, their absence, and in their coming,” she said, bending down to inspect the tangle of vines. “It’s why the people of Old Cor took the rose as their sigil. To symbolize their own heritage as children of crossing.”

Andry’s breath caught as the rosebuds around Isibel began to bloom, growing before his very eyes. All over the courtyard, the roses unfurled, their scarlet petals like bursts of fresh blood.

“No,” Corayne whispered, her voice thick with emotion. “Not now.”

The Spindle, Andry thought, barely daring to say it even in his own head.The Spindle is right here among the roses, waiting for us. Waiting for this moment.

This has always been our fate, he thought bitterly.Since the beginning.

Distantly, he thought of his mother. Painful as it was, Andry let go of her, and any belief he might see her again. He could only hope she died of her sickness, and not slaughter. That she would never live to look upon a realm broken, the Ward in ashes around her.

The smell of roses perfumed the air, sickly sweet over the scent of blood, until Andry thought he might retch. He tipped his head, hoping for a fresh gust of wind. The red stars stared back, the open sky taunting him above the walls of the courtyard.

A dragon roared somewhere, and Andry prayed it was Valtik.Come back, we need you.We are all going to die here if help does not come.

“I know what it is to feel trapped between two worlds,” he blurted out suddenly, stopping Isibel in her tracks.

She glared at him from a yard away and tipped her head, a look of disgust curdling her beautiful face.

“You know nothing of this pain, Mortal.Wardborn,” she replied, the title a curse.

Slowly, Andry inched backward, pulling Corayne with him.Valtik, Valtik, Valtik, he screamed in his head, willing the dragon witch to hear him.

“I saw it in my mother. Born of Kasa, though she came to serve a northern queen.” He swallowed hard. “She was forever torn between two kingdoms, between where she came from and where she ended up.”

The Monarch shook her head. Sneering, she took another step forward, closing the distance again, until they were only a sword’s length apart. Andry debated his own sword, and how quickly he could draw it while pushing Corayne to safety.

“I saw enough of your quick thinking in the council meetings, Andry Trelland,” Isibel said. “I will not be drawn into your attempt to stall for time.”

Beneath his armor, Andry trembled.

“Damn,” he heard himself mutter.