Thornwall leaned back in his seat, looking thoughtful. “Bhur has not conquered in two decades. The Temurijon lies quiet and flourishing. His armies maintain the borders already drawn, nothing more.”

For now. The peace held across the west by the might of Temurijon was near legendary, stretching for decades. Bought in blood, Erida knew. But such is the price of peace and prosperity.

“The Emperor will not live forever, and I am far younger than he is,” she replied, returning to her chair. “I’m not willing to gamble on his sons, who might hunger for conquest as their father did in his youth. And I will not form an alliance that will send my soldiers across the mountains to fight and die for another throne, to save Treckish throats from Temur blades.”

Harrsing raised her chin. The apple-sized emerald at her neck gleamed. Along with being a shrewd counsellor, Lady Harrsing was the wealthiest woman in Galland. After the Queen, of course. “Well said, Your Majesty.”

“Indeed, you see better than most of my generals,” Thornwall said. His gaze lingered on the smaller map still in hand. “Though I admit, I have wished to test the knights of Galland against the Temurijon’s Countless. What a war that would be.” His tone was wistful, almost dreamlike.

“What a war,” Erida echoed.

She saw it in her mind as clear as day. The Countless, the great army of the Temurijon steppes and Emperor Bhur, had never been defeated in battle. And none had tried them in decades. She wondered if the horse archers were still formidable, if Gallish steel and Gallish castles could weather such a storm if it came to break. And what kind of empire could rise from such a clash. With myself at its head, alone without equal. Without need for any other.

“Our armies are prepared to fight and defeat any kingdom upon the Ward,” Konegin said sharply. “And any conflict with the Temurijon would be long in coming. It does us no use to dwell on it now. We have a different task close at hand.”

“You are good to keep us on track, Cousin,” Erida muttered, feeling the opposite. He offered a false smile in return. “Keep Oscovko in contention. Are there any names to add? Or to remove?” She did her best not to sound hopeful.

“Duke Reccio of Siscaria has offered his son and sent a portrait of his likeness,” Ardath wheezed. “I know you’d prefer not to wed so close a cousin, but I’ve had it put with the others. A Jydi clan leader also sent a bear pelt and her letter of intention.” He drew out a battered page from his folio and passed it to the Queen.

“Her?” Lord Thornwall balked.

Erida took it in stride. While the lower peoples of most kingdoms were free to wed as they chose, man or woman, between or neither, a ruling queen was bound by the possibility of children. “She would not be the first. And the Jyd don’t birth their heirs, they choose them. I cannot say the same.” The letter was not parchment but treated skin. Animal, I hope. There were only three words on it, poked in. You, me, together.

“I see we’re using the word letter lightly,” she muttered before putting it aside. A low chuckle passed around the table. “Have the pelt sent to my residence in the Castlewood, and a letter of thanks sent to the Jyd.”

“The Crown Prince of Madrence, at least, has given up his hopes,” Harrsing offered. She put a hand to her necklace. Her skin was paper thin, near translucent, showing blue veins beneath. “Orleon weds a Siscarian princess at the turn of the month. We can cross him off.”

The small victory was bittersweet. Erida grit her teeth, loath to say what she must. “Can I not dangle myself a bit longer? I’d like to give our soldiers enough time to rally along the Madrentine border. As soon as the pretense of marriage is gone, we begin our push to the ocean. And I’d rather not fight both Madrence and Siscaria if I don’t have to.”

“I can try.” Harrsing bowed her head. “I’ll send word of your . . . renewed interest to the court at Partepalas.”

Thornwall scratched his beard. “I’ll do the same and alert our encampments near Rouleine.”

“Good,” Erida said. The Third Legion was already nearby, stationed among the forts and castles of the tumultuous border. Twenty thousand men will be ready to fight before the autumn sets in. “How long will they need?”

“The First Legion dispatched from the capital forts two weeks ago.” The old soldier leaned back in his chair and blew out a breath, counting out the days on his fingers. “Riding hard, on the Cor roads, without incident, I’d say the knights and cavalry would arrive in less than four weeks’ time. The infantry—swords, pikes, archers, and whatever peasant we press into picking up an ax—another two months.”

The Queen nodded. “Then buy us three, Bella.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

“I’d rather be bait than a prize,” Erida said. If I am to be dangled on a hook, I’d like to do so under my own terms, for my own ends. “Well, if there are no more suitors to discuss . . .”

“There are plenty,” Konegin ground out.

Talk of war always emboldened her, and Erida put a hand down on the table. She leaned toward her older cousin, careful to keep her temper in check. Though women have more right to anger than men.

“And none who tempt me, or Galland,” she told him. To her delight, he drew back in his seat. “If I am to marry, I will do it for the good of my crown. To strengthen my throne instead of selling it. We are the successors to Old Cor, the rightful empire, the glory of the Ward. Find me a husband worthy of that destiny, of my father’s and grandfather’s dream. Find me a champion.”

A high bar to clear. Impossible, perhaps. And that was her aim. Set a target so small none could hit it. If the Crown Council guessed as to Erida’s true intentions, they did not say so or show it. They would not call their queen a liar, young as she was. Nor am I lying, she thought. If such a man exists, I will marry him, and wield him like the sword I cannot carry. To carve out an empire like the days of old, from one edge of the map to the other, uniting all beneath the Lion. Beneath me.

“There are the funerals to see to,” Ardath said softly, drawing Erida back from her musings. “Though we’ve had no word yet. It’s possible they never find the bodies.”

Erida nodded. She’d selected the riders herself, from the ranks of the Lionguard. To look for the corpses of Tyr and the Norths. And the army of ruin, should it exist at all.

“Body or not, they shall be buried in honor, with all the glory they earned in life. Sir Grandel, Sir Raymon, and Sir Edgar will long be in our memories,” she said, and it was the truth. The knights had guarded her since the coronation, and her father before. While she would not weep over their loss, she was upset to lose them still.

Konegin nodded in agreement, but his eyes were sharp. “What of the squire?”

The mention of Andry Trelland sent lightning through the Queen, down her spine and into her fingers. If what he said comes to pass, if what he saw in the hills was real, if a Spindle is torn, if the stories and fairy tales are true . . .

But Erida forced an uninterested shrug. “I’m sure another knight will take him on. He’s a fine young man; it should be no trouble to find a place for him.”

“He said nothing of his plans when he returned? Bloody and alone in the middle of the night?” Konegin pressed. Now it was his turn to lean over the table. “Again, I ask, what did he tell you?”