“It’s yours,” Andry said slowly, and she realized he was staring. He and the Elder had finished, both well up to speed. Without hesitation, the squire lifted the sword and held it out to her. Dom’s eyes followed the blade.

Corayne drew back in her chair before the fire, her eyes wide. She was already sweating in the close, warm air of the Trelland apartments. Her breath caught in her throat.

Valeri Trelland leaned forward in her own chair. “It sounds like you’ll need it, my dear,” she said, her voice placid and slow.

As the maids had said, Valeri was clearly battling a sickness, her body frail, her dark skin drained of warmth. But she sat up straight, her green eyes clear. She was unafraid.

“All right,” Corayne bit out, extending her hands.

The sword, finely made and well kept, was lighter than she’d thought it would be. I’ve never held a sword before, she thought idly. A true sword, not a pirate’s long knife or ax. A hero’s sword. Her eyes narrowed. A dead hero’s sword.

Despite the hot air of the room, the sword was cool to the touch, as if drawn from a river or ocean, pulled from the night sky between the stars. Her curiosity rose inside her again, hungry jaws wide. Slowly, she slid the blade from the sheath an inch, then another. The etched steel gleamed in the firelight, the design punctuated with markings like writing. For a moment, Corayne thought she might be able to decipher it. A bit of Ibalet, some Kasan, a Siscarian loop—but no. The words of Old Cor were lost as the empire, lost as her father. She sheathed the Spindleblade again with a hiss of metal and a sharp pang of sadness.

Her hands closed around the grip. She filled the shadow of a man dead.

“So the Companions of the Realm live on,” Andry said, looking from her back to Dom. He set his jaw, and some of the softness of his face melted away. “The quest is not failed, simply unfinished.”

By now, Corayne had lost count of how many times Dom’s lips had pulled into his scowl. This was certainly the worst one yet.

“That is one perspective,” he managed, sounding flustered. “Two of us remain.”

“Three,” Corayne said, startling even herself. She blinked fiercely. Be brave, be strong, she told herself, though she felt miles away from either. She raised her chin, trying to remember her mother’s voice, the one she used on the deck of a ship. In control, in command. “There are three now.”

Dom watched her intently, a sorrow languishing in his eyes. Corayne didn’t know whether to embrace him or slap him out of it. “Very well,” he said, his voice low.

As if this wasn’t what he wanted, what he asked for, what he sought me out to accomplish. Corayne gritted her teeth. I’m here because you brought me, she thought. You can at least pretend this isn’t a death sentence.

“And more will join us soon,” Andry said eagerly, all but leaping from his seat. He began sweeping around the parlor room, his energy vibrant and jarring against the circumstances. “I warned the Queen but she’s done nothing. Now, with you, my lord, and you, my lady”—he nodded at them both, still pacing—“she won’t have a choice. Queen Erida is fiercely protective of her kingdom. Certainly she won’t let it fall into ruin beneath Taristan’s feet.”

He paused before a shield on the wall. It was old, notched at the edges, the face painted gray with a blue star cut in two by a long slash. The squire stared up at it, as a priest might look upon his icons and altars. With a sinking feeling, Corayne realized she saw no signs of his father in these rooms. She looked at the ruined shield again, and at the boy before it.

We have something in common.

“I’ll help you of course,” Andry said, tearing himself away from the shield. “I’ll bring Mother to Nkonabo, out of harm’s way, but I’ll return. I swear it.”

Again, Dom looked pained, and Corayne felt some of it too. The daughter of Old Cor and the immortal didn’t have much choice in the matter, but the squire? It is a long way to Kasa, and a long way back.

“You don’t have to do that, Andry,” Dom said.

“It’s my duty,” Andry said fiercely. “My lord is fallen. I will avenge him.”

“You should stay with your mother.” Corayne selfishly regretted the words even as she said them. “Protect her.”

Andry went to his mother’s chair, standing like a guardian at her side. “And I will. But I’m a Companion. I have a duty to fulfill.”

“Very well, my son,” Valeri said, her eyes sharp. She put a hand on her son’s arm, soothing him a little. “We’ll leave this very night. I can be ready and waiting at the city docks by the time you finish with the Queen. All the arrangements are made; we need only send word.”

“I’ll call for your maid and porter,” Andry murmured in reply, kissing her closed fingers. “I’ll meet you on the ship before midnight.”

“The sooner we’re gone to Nkonabo, the sooner you can return,” his mother said with a small but pleasant smile.

It seemed to satisfy Andry, but Corayne saw the tightness at the corners of her mouth. The wariness going up behind her spring-colored eyes. No mother would send her child into danger willingly, even if it was their dearest wish. Suddenly it was not Valeri Trelland she saw by the fire, but Meliz an-Amarat, her hair tangled by a salt wind, lips moving without sound.

Take me with you, Corayne wanted to ask again.

I will not echoed.

“You should go to the Queen tonight, right now,” Valeri pushed on. She stood from her chair, hesitant on weak knees. “Before everyone gets too swept up in the festivities.”

“Festivities?” Dom quirked his head to one side. His scars caught the hearthlight.

Pacing again, Andry searched through cupboards in the parlor. He drew out matching baggage, a pair of satchels packed and latched tight. Both filled for a long journey, Corayne saw.

“The Queen is nineteen years old, and has been fielding betrothals ever since she came to the throne four years ago,” Andry said with an annoyed sigh. “Fending them off, mostly. But I guess her council has finally worn her down. She’s due to announce her husband at court this evening and marry him in ceremony tomorrow morning.”

Roses for the ceremony, cut by hand all night long, Corayne remembered the maids in the garden. It would be bare by morning, when Queen Erida married a man she’d been forced to accept. Corayne felt a sting of pity for the young queen. As much pity as a common girl could have for a monarch of the realm.

“Certainly this takes precedence,” she said. “And maybe it’s an opportunity for a reluctant bride. An excuse to delay a wedding she has no desire to go through with.”

Andry grinned at her, his smile like a star. It lit him up. “That could work.”

Corayne couldn’t help but smile too, riding a rare, unfamiliar blaze of hope.

“The Queen will listen,” she said, leaning on the Spindleblade. She used it to push herself to her feet, only to find it was more than half her height in length. “As your queen did not, Dom.”

His great limbs unfolded, and Dom stood with grace. He was like a moving statue, slow and deliberate, a harsh contrast to Andry’s rabid energy. “Mortals are hot-blooded, quick to anger, quick to fight,” he said. “It has been your flaw these centuries past. Perhaps it will be your salvation too.”