Page 228 of Fate Breaker

Corayne

Whatever you decide, possible death or certain death, be quick about it.

Sorasa said that once, in the shadows of Ascal, on a night so far from where they were now it made Corayne’s head spin. She remembered the lesson too well.

Certain death, she thought as Erida seized the Spindleblade, and cut the golden thread in two.

A light flashed and Corayne ducked, squeezing her eyes shut against the terrible brightness. Someone pressed in against her, his touch gentle but firm.Andry, she knew, his embrace familiar as he tried to shield her with his own body.

Power and magic crackled over their skin, the sensation impossible to comprehend.

Then the smell of death and roses disappeared, wiped away. Replaced by something impossible.

Corayne expected the Ashlands. A red world of dust and ruin. Another realm broken.Or worse, she thought.His realm. Asunder, the abyss.

Instead, her eyes snapped open to see lush green grass under herhands, rich and dark. A warm breeze rustled her hair, as it rustled the branches in the countless trees. Verdant leaves shimmered all around them, dancing beneath the light of a gentle, unseen sun.

Slowly, Corayne straightened, her mouth agape. She wheeled, drinking in the impossible place.

Next to her, Andry did the same, his dark eyes wide.

“What is this realm?” he murmured over her.

Gone was Tíarma and the courtyard. Gone were Sorasa, Dom, Charlie, and even Isibel. Gone were the undead corpses, their withering bodies already a memory. Instead, Andry and Corayne stood in the middle of an endless forest, surrounded by impossibly perfect trees, each one the same, silver-barked with lush green branches. Even the temperature was perfect, like a lovely spring day. The land ran flat in every direction, without undergrowth, bare but for a level carpet of cool, soft grass.

The trees arced together, like the buttresses of a vaulted cathedral, forming a maze of perfect corridors in every direction, each one as far as the eye could see. Except one. A single passage through the trees ended a few yards away, blocked by a set of carved marble stairs. They rose sharply into the treetops, with no indication as to where they ended. If they ended at all.

Their own Spindle thread sparkled a few feet away, glowing with inner light.

It was not alone.

Other threads glimmered through the trees, just waiting to be opened. Countless Spindles leading to countless realms.

“The Crossroads,” Corayne finally answered, her heart in her throat. “The door to all doorways.”

Andry stared at the trees, the light of endless Spindles turning his brown eyes to molten gold. “By the gods,” he breathed. “Every realm.”

By the gods indeed, Corayne thought, trying to fathom the sheer weight of the world around her. What each Spindle contained. What lay just behind the flickering threads, what lands and new realms. Her mind spun with possibility.

And temptation.

Anywhere I wished, I could go.Farther than any mortal thought possible, beyond every horizon that ever existed. Her Corblood heart sang and ached, beating so hard Corayne feared her ribs might shatter.

Anywhere. Perhaps even home.

Corayne did not know where her ancestors came from, but it haunted her just the same. Since childhood, or even longer, she realized. Since she first looked up at the sky and wondered what lay behind the stars, what called to her across the endless blue.

A wretched snarl brought her back to her body.

Across the clearing, Taristan gathered Erida in his arms. She lurched against him, her once beautiful face drawn and pale, her eyes too terrible to comprehend. White veins wriggled beneath her skin, like worms on a corpse.

“Erida, remember yourself, remember who you are, what we have built,” Taristan growled, his wife struggling against him. He took her with both hands, and the Spindleblade fell from her grip.

As much as Corayne hated him, she paused at the sight of Taristan’s face. He looked stricken, heartbroken even, his unfeeling air replaced by sorrow. Fire danced in his eyes, but the black was there too, warring for control. Not like the Queen. Whatever sapphire blue there was in Erida had long disappeared, eaten up by the demon in her head.

“I am what you made me,” Erida screamed back at her consort, trying to claw out of his grasp. “I could not sit by and watch you falter. Not after all we have given.”

With Taristan distracted by the Queen, their opening was clear.