Page 223 of Fate Breaker

“Cowards, both of you,” she cursed. “So eager for the ending of the world, but not by your own hands.”

Her eyes flickered between her uncle and the wizard, then Andry again.

Andry watched the wheels turn in her head, her brilliant mind searching for some chance.

Then the dead appeared in the archways, the horror of them worse than Andry remembered. Some were skeletal, little more than animated remains, held together by rotting tendon and loose skin. Others were fresh, in Gallish uniforms, rough-spun clothes, even silks. Andry tried not to look at their faces, and glimpse who the corpses used to be before they fell under Taristan’s sway.

But one face caught his eye.

From the roses, Dom gave a terrible moan, his face lined with sorrow.

An Elder princess stumbled among the undead as they surrounded the courtyard, still in the green armor she wore in Gidastern. Some plates were missing, others cracked, spattered with old, dark blood. What hair she had left hung loose across her face, a black curtain to hide a gruesome, rotting face.

“Ridha.”

Isibel inhaled sharply, her body going taut behind Andry. He could not help but pity her, hateful as she was. Hers was a fate no parent deserved.

Gingerly, Andry turned his head an inch, peering out of the corner of his eye. Isibel wept silent tears, her eyes following her daughter’s halting corpse. In her grief, her hands shook.

And her sword lowered an inch.

A storm broke inside the courtyard then, as Charlie leapt up from the ground, his long knife flashing in his hand.

Isibel screamed like a demon, woken from her stupor as Charlie’s blade stabbed through the back of her thigh, between the plates of armor. Andry leapt away as she collapsed to the ground, clutching at her leg.

Time ceased to exist, everything happening through a dreamlike haze.

Andry’s boot crunched down on Isibel’s wrist, breaking her grip on her sword. With a kick, he sent the ancient blade spiraling into the roses, shearing petals and thorns as it skittered through the dirt.

Across the garden, Corayne’s Spindleblade whistled through the air, slicing inches from Ronin’s head. The blind wizard managed to dodge under the blow just in time, ducking Corayne’s sword as she advanced, a furious battle cry on her lips. He curled his fingers, lunging out of her way, as Corayne rounded on Taristan.

Her sword met his own in a spray of sparks.

As they dueled, Sorasa clambered over the ground like a spider, leaving Dom to fall backward as she leapt onto Isibel’s back. The Elder woman hissed, still on the ground, her wounded leg bent beneath her. Sorasa’s own legs clenched, thighs wrapped around the Monarch’s throat, threatening to choke the life out of her.

Blades crashed, hammering again as Corayne danced around Taristan.Out of the corner of his eye, Andry saw Charlie take Sorasa’s place, pressing the torn clothing back over Dom’s wound.

For his part, the squire turned on the wizard, his sword in one hand, the ax in the other.

The scale balanced.

If only for a moment.

44

Nameless

Corayne

The Spindle shimmered, even as Corayne turned to put the golden thread behind her. She felt it always, as keenly as a needle in her skin. It called out to her with a voice like the wind, rising to a steady howl. And beneath, What Waits called too, His hissing whispers lacing through her mind.

The infinite realms wait for you, Corayne an-Amarat. The crossing of all roads, the center of every map. All of it is yours, you need only claim it.

Taristan’s sword crashed against her own, the force of his blow making her arms shake. But he was not the Spindlerotten monster she remembered, gifted by a demon king, over-strong and invincible. He was as close to mortal as Corayne had ever known him, the testament of his new weakness written in every blooming bruise and new scar.

Her uncle wheeled in front of her, and her own life hung in the balance of every sword thrust.

Claim your fate, Corayne, the demon in her mind whispered.