She did not hesitate, her courtly smile fixed in place. “Very well.”
“Alone,” Andry said, “in the privacy of your chambers. If it pleases you,” he added hastily, bowing again.
The squire is court-raised, born behind the walls of a palace, Corayne surmised, hopeful. He knows how to speak to nobles and royalty without losing some semblance of a spine.
Again, Erida ran her eyes over Corayne and Dom, weighing them both. What she saw in them, Corayne could not say.
“Her Majesty cannot simply abandon her betrothal feast,” said the nobleman at her side, his gaze cutting. “Her husband has not even been presented to the court yet.”
“It can wait a matter of minutes, Cousin. Squire Trelland has no cause to lie, and I trust his judgment,” Erida replied, turning a winning smile on him like a sunbeam. It did not reach her eyes. But the man set down his goblet and opened his mouth to argue.
“This is a matter of great urgency, Your Majesty,” Corayne blurted out. She let every ounce of desperation and need rise in her face. And hope too, whatever there was in the corners of her mind. “Your kingdom depends on you. The realm depends on you.”
“The realm,” the Queen echoed, looking at Andry. The squire stared back, his face just as desperate, trying to communicate as much as he could without speaking. Between them, Dom kept his mouth firmly shut, though a vein stood out in his neck. Corayne worried he might explode or simply drag the Queen off if they wasted another minute on court posturing.
Erida perceived.
“Very well,” she said, gathering her skirts. “Follow me.”
No less than six guards in lion armor followed, peeling off in formation to flank the Queen as she led them away from the high table. There was some murmuring on the dais and through the great hall, but none of it seemed to bother Erida as she walked, her crown high and proud. Corayne could not help but let the hope inside her grow, a flower in sunlight. And yet there was cold in her still, pricking at her fingers and toes, like she’d been out in the winter rains too long. It was an odd sensation, difficult to ignore, begging to be heeded. She shoved her hands in her pockets, hoping to warm her them a little. Her fingers brushed against the charm from the old Jydi woman, bits of twig and polished bone.
They didn’t go far, entering a passage behind the dais that led down a shallow stair. Doors branched off on either side, some open to show parlor rooms and dark fireplaces, shelves of books and long couches piled with cushions. Erida brought them to a round room, the base of another tower, its ceiling low and intricately carved. More lions, Corayne thought wearily. There were a few chairs, as well as a stout table, but no one bothered to sit.
The guards did not stay. Queen Erida waved them off with a quick brush of her hand and a pointed glance, gesturing to the door. They obeyed, leaving the Queen alone with a squire and two strangers.
She must trust Andry very much, Corayne thought. Or be more foolish than I thought.
“Well, you’ve come to talk about the Spindle,” the Queen said sharply. Her face did not change, but her gentleness disappeared. She was as stone, resolute, her brow sterner than her years suggested. “I’ve heard the tale twice over from Andry Trelland. I might as well hear it again from you.”
Not a fool at all.
Dom raised his chin. “I am Domacridhan, a prince of Iona, what you call an Elder, son of Glorian Lost. Your knights answered the call of my aunt, the Monarch. I bore witness to their slaughter at the Spindle, and I saw the army brought forth from a burned realm,” he said quickly, the words coming hard and fast. “All Trelland told you is true, and you will not waste another minute of whatever time we have left. I only hope it is not already too late to stop Taristan of Old Cor.”
Corayne winced at the hot accusation in the Elder’s words. Though Dom was an immortal prince, Erida was a queen, and they needed her aid more than any other. She braced herself for the inevitable: a denial and a dismissal.
It never came.
Erida nodded at Dom, her hands folded again. A ruby winked on her finger, big as a grape. “And you?” she asked, looking to Corayne with sapphire eyes. “Did you survive as well?”
“I was not there, Your Majesty,” Corayne said. The sword was cold against her back, stealing the heat from her flesh. Part of her wanted to rip the Spindleblade off and give it away, to someone better suited to the task of saving the world. To Dom, to Erida, even to Andry.
The rest, the part she did not understand, the part that grew with every passing day, would never let the sword go.