“Defend the Spindle. Defend the Queen!” someone shouted, his voice met with the confident roar of a dozen voices.
The roof above them bristled with Gallish troops, their spears long and wicked. The sun burned behind their heads, turning the soldiers into silhouettes, figures with no faces and no names. Inhuman. Soldiers of What Waits, not warriors for a mortal queen. Corayne lunged and darted, trying not to lose her balance as their spears rained down. Her dagger dropped from her hand, lost to the waters.
Something splashed behind her, crashing along the flooded street—a serpent or a soldier, she did not know. All she could do was run, Sorasa at her shoulder, fleeing in whatever direction they could.
Until strong arms scooped her around the waist, lifting her up and out of the water as if she were only a doll. Corayne balled her fists, aiming to swing, only to find herself slung belly down over Sigil’s saddle, the Temur woman towering over her.
“Easy, I have you,” the bounty hunter said, using her hips to guide the horse.
The mare ran as best she could, galloping for the causeway steps, climbing up and out of the water. Her hooves clattered on stone, and Corayne’s teeth rattled so hard she though they might fall out. The causeway was meant for foot traffic and not a charging horse, but Sigil kept the mare in hand, taking sharp turns in swift stride.
The geyser of Meer roared up alongside them, spitting gray water like rain. Corayne gaped as they galloped, Sigil holding her steady. In the heart of the geyser, something thrashed.
More serpents, she thought at first. Until one of the things coiled into view, the mist parting to show a fat, long tentacle, its underbelly patterned with suckers, the end flat and probing. Another unfurled out of the water, gigantic, the length of a cathedral spire. They waved in unison, a sick, pale purple, snapping through the air, obliterating palm trees with every swipe. It pushed forward, outward, easing from its realm into their own.
Still she could not see the Spindle, but even so, she knew.
“I need the sword,” Corayne murmured, unable to blink, unable to do anything but stare. All thoughts but the Spindle-blade melted away.
This was what Mother’s ship met on the Long Sea. This nearly sank the Tempestborn and killed her crew. Killed my mother. A monster was being born before her eyes. How many ships will it sink? How many mothers will it steal?
These things are going to cut the Ward in two.
“I need the sword, Sigil!” she shouted, wriggling, her voice stronger.
“What does it look like I’m doing?” Sigil growled, spurring the horse over the walkway, her hooves a rain of hailstones.
What drew the kraken, Corayne did not know. But the arms twitched, changing direction, as more of its lumbering bulk shifted from the geyser, tentacles wriggling free. The first arm crashed down, then the second, the weight of them cracking straight through the stone walkway.
“Sigil!” Corayne shouted as the woman kicked the horse, snapped the reins, and gave a sharp “hyah!” in perfect unison.
As the walkway crumbled under the mare’s hooves, she gave a mighty leap, sailing through the air while the structure collapsed, sending up a spray of water. They landed hard, sliding over the flat roof of the nearest house, cluttered with empty pots and a thatched canopy.
The poor mare collapsed to her knees, shuddering and breathing too hard, her eyes rolling in her head. Corayne tumbled onto shaky legs, every nerve in her body aflame. Sigil had more grace, stopping to give the mare a swift pat down the neck. She murmured a Temur word Corayne did not know, but she could guess.
Thank you.
They flew down the steps of the house, Sigil leading the way as they reluctantly plunged back into the water. Corayne finally ripped her cloak away, leaving it to the oasis as they ran.
“Dom!” Corayne screamed, cupping her hands over her mouth. A swell of fear threatened to consume her. If the Elder could not hear her, if he could not come . . . Only death would stop him. Only death would keep him from me. “DOMACRIDHAN!”
She tried not to think of the others, or their fates. Sorasa, on the other side of the town. Charlie, probably hiding on a rooftop. Andry. The noble squire who betrayed his country, his duty, all he ever worked for. Who left his mother to save the realm, and broke his own heart to do it.
Andry.
He appeared at the far end of the lane, still on horseback. His sword dripped red, his face a ruin of rage and sorrow. Corayne knew that look. She felt it in herself, in her hands, in her blade as it cut through a man’s life.
“Corayne!” Andry shouted, his mare fighting through the water, her neck high and nostrils flaring. He stood in the stirrups, extending a hand as he rode.