All over the oasis, hissing echoed, the serpents wailing a lament for their lost realm. Corayne slumped, leaning hard on the sword. She expected the sting of a fang at any moment.
It never came.
Her head lolled against a warm shoulder, and arms tightened around her body, holding her steady. She glimpsed dark amber eyes, a kind mouth, a gentle face.
She tried not to lose focus, keeping her eyes wide. But the sky darkened anyway, the sun losing its brilliance. Figures surrounded them, indistinguishable. Enemies or allies, she couldn’t say.
“It’s over,” she heard Dom mutter, his voice distant and fading. “It’s over.”
Andry felt closer, a hand brushing her arm. His body was warm against hers. She tried to cling to him, her grip too weak. “With me, Corayne. Stay with me.”
Her eyelids drooped, the Spindleblade falling from her wounded hand. “That’s one down,” she murmured, slipping into darkness.
32
THE ORPHANS
Erida
For a man who could crush diamonds in his fist, his touch was featherlight, his fingers gentle on hers.
Queen Erida let Taristan escort her from her horse to the staging ground at the top of the hill, the Madrentine border and the Rose River spread out before them. On the banks, the First and Third Legions formed up like silver beetles in ranks, crawling inexorably forward to the hastily constructed barge bridges anchored in the current. Despite her husband’s glowering presence beside her, not to mention her assembled council of generals and war advisors, Erida could not tear her eyes away from the river. Twenty thousand men marched below, cavalry and infantry and archers, pikemen, knights, squires, and peasants pressed into service with their feudal lords. Men and boys, enamored of war or terrified of it. Rich, poor, or somewhere between. Their hearts beat for me this morning. She breathed deeply, as if she could taste their steel. The moment shimmered in her mind, already a treasured memory.
When I am old, an empress without equal, I will remember this day. When it all began.
She felt Konegin’s glare, familiar as her own face. He had no cause to be angry. He wanted this war as much as any other good son of Galland. Madrence was weak, unworthy of its lands and wealth. It needed a stronger master. He only wishes he were me, his feet in my shoes, my crown on his head. And what a crown it was this morning: her father’s own, made for battle, a circle of gold hammered into a steel cap. Her hair hung loose beneath it, falling over her shoulders in waves. Erida was not accustomed to steel, but her armor was light, made from precious metal, meant for ceremony rather than war. She had not bothered with a sword, even for show.
“A beautiful morning, Cousin,” she said, drinking down another gasp of crisp autumn air. In the foothills, the leaves were turning, edges going red and gold.
Konegin huffed a noise in his throat, low and wet. “I’ll weigh the morning when evening comes,” he answered, folding his arms over his golden breastplate. It matched his luxurious beard, every hair combed into place. He looked the part of a king.
But so does Taristan, she thought, his hand still supporting her own.
Again he wore blood red beneath his armor, which was crimson and scarlet with a cloak edged in gold. The colors reflected oddly in his eyes, giving them a sheen like rubies. He brushed his hair back, slicking the dark red locks against his scalp. By now she noticed that one of his eyebrows had a split in it, cut by the tiniest white scar.
The cuts were still on his cheek, thin but unmissable, the same blue as the veins in her wrist. She wanted to trace them, one finger to each.
“You’ll lose a thousand men by nightfall,” Taristan muttered, his eyes never leaving the river. His wizard was not with them, cooped up with his own doings back at Castle Lotha. “The Madrentines are dug in between their forts. Their trench lines are as deep as our own. Even if we outnumber them five to one, it will be a killing field.”
His voice was flat, without accusation.
“A thousand men for the border,” Erida answered. “A thousand men for a clear road to Rouleine, and then Partepalas, and then the coast.”
A clear road.
They both knew what that meant.
Though the Spindle was back in the ruins, guarded by an encampment of five hundred men, she could still hear the growl within it, the shuddering cascade of gems and teeth.
“For the glory of Galland,” Konegin rumbled, putting a fist over his heart.
Though she despised him, the Queen didn’t mind echoing his words, the battle cry that had lived in her since birth. “For the glory of Galland.”