“None of that makes me his daughter,” she seethed. “Let alone a lady.”
Or a princess or a fairy queen or any other hero in a story for children and fools.
“I did not realize you knew so much of him.” The sadness in Dom’s eyes was matched only by his growing frustration. Again, Corayne wished to tear both emotions away. She wanted neither from this stranger on her doorstep.
I’ve known since I had the sense to know. At least Mother was good enough not to lie about him, she thought, and she meant it.
“I have no use for illusions and false hopes. Your friend was both,” she said. And it was the truth, a bitter one she had lived with all her days. “Well, go on. Hand over the gold and be gone from my door.”
Dom furrowed his brow. “Gold?” Again he looked to Sorasa, this time in confusion. “You mortals are always asking for coin.”
The woman scoffed low in her throat. “We mortals live in the real world.” She did not move from her place on the path, keeping long yards between them. “Clearly the man sent money for his bastard,” Sorasa explained slowly.
The Elder flushed and scowled in equal measure. “I have nothing of his to give you, my lady.”
Corayne only shrugged.
But the assassin gave her pause. She shivered as the woman narrowed her eyes, already dark with a lining of black powder. Sorasa glanced back at Lemarta, to the lights of town and the port. They gleamed gold on the water, outlining the dark silhouettes of boats at anchor. The Tempestborn was one of them, a leviathan among the fishing ships.
“No wonder Captain an-Amarat has the finest hunter on the Long Sea,” the assassin mused. “She had Cor gold keeping her afloat.”
Fear curled around Corayne again. “You know my mother?”
“I know her reputation,” she answered. “It is quite terrible.”
“Then I can bring you to her. Both of you,” Corayne said quickly, an offer as much as a threat. “She knew your prince better than I ever did. She met him, at least. She can help you more than I.” Help you leave this place and never return.
Dom shook his head. “It’s you we need.”
“‘We’？” Sorasa muttered under her breath.
The Elder ignored her. “It’s in your blood, Corayne, whether you know it or not,” he said.
Perhaps his mind is as dense as his body, Corayne thought with annoyance. “I’m not interested in you, your quest, or my father’s failure. I want none of it,” she hissed.
Finally he was silent, and there was no sound but the waves on the sea and the wind in the hills. Dom’s gaze went to his own feet. Perhaps it was a trick of the moonlight, but his luminous eyes seemed wet.
Despite her frustration, Corayne softened. She could almost taste the misery rolling off him. “I am sorry for your loss,” she added gently. Reluctant, she touched his arm.
He sagged beneath her fingers, coming undone. Do immortals know how to mourn? Corayne wondered. She looked at Dom again, a mountainous figure, his neck bowed in pained surrender. I don’t think they do.
“I am sorry,” she said again, dragging her gaze to Sorasa.
The woman waved a hand, her face blank as she watched the road. “I am not involved in these dramatics.”
This time, Dom did not stop Corayne from unlatching the door. It yawned open, and darkness spilled from the cottage. He stood resolute and thoughtful, watching as she took a step forward.
“You say you want nothing to do with us, with your father,” he said in a low, rough voice. “But don’t act like this is what you want either.”
In spite of herself, Corayne froze on the threshold. She stared ahead, into the shadows of the familiar old cottage. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Dom raise his hood, his scarred face and emerald eyes retreating into shadow.
“Your blood is born of the Spindles, of distant realms and lost stars. You want the horizon, Corayne of Old Cor. You want it in your bones,” he said, turning back down the path to join the assassin on the road. “And she’s never going to let you take it.”
Corayne drew in a sharp breath, a dozen retorts rising to her lips. They died quickly, cut apart by a difficult truth.
“Your father was the same.”
No spine.
The two words caught her like the smack of a wave, pulling her under.
But Corayne refused to drown. And she refused to be caged a second longer, a bird meant to fly, not rot on a cliff with nothing but the wind for company.
She looked back to them, only for a moment. Dom turned and met her gaze, his face filled with luminous, aching hope. Corayne felt it too, the hope she thought had died with her mother’s refusal. It bloomed anew, raw and sharp, bleeding at its edges, but stubbornly alive.