Realm Breaker

by Aveyard, Victoria

  Erida of Galland had been mentioned often in Corayne’s ledger. Her fleets patrolled Mirror Bay and the Long Sea like lions over grassland, hunting pirates and smugglers, protecting their waters. But their captains were easy to bribe. Galland was an empire in all but name, fat and sated, its borders far-flung. Its interest lay mostly in growing wealth the easy way: through trade, tariffs, and subjugation. There were the escalating border skirmishes with Madrence, the Jydi raids every summer, but nothing to interrupt their long harvests and the passage of gold. Gallish merchant vessels were bloated, slow, easy prey. Corayne expected their queen to be the same.

  She was sorely mistaken.

  Erida was young, that much was true, with a lovely, gentle face and skin like a polished pearl. She did not speak to the people flanking her but listened intently as they jabbered in her ears. Her face was as still as the surface of a pond. The crown on her head was gold, as was the rest of her jewelry, set with every kind of gemstone, a rainbow of emerald, ruby, and sapphire. Beneath the chandeliers, her gown flared a deep, visceral blood red, cut in crimson and scarlet, vivid as a still-beating heart. Corayne would have expected more of that Gallish green, but perhaps red was tradition for weddings? Then Queen Erida caught her gaze, her eyes a piercing blue even across the hall. She tipped her head, staring as they approached, her focus darting from Corayne to Dom and then to Andry following close behind.

  Erida stood quickly, waving back the knights at the base of the high table.

  “Let them pass,” she said, her voice light and musical. Giving no cause for concern.

  The guards in their golden armor pressed back, allowing the trio enough room to approach. Corayne clenched her teeth, hoping Andry and Dom would do the talking. She didn’t want to explain the realm’s destruction in front of a feasting crowd.

  Andry bowed quickly, nodding at several of the table occupants as well as the Queen’s knights, before honoring the Queen herself. “Your Majesty,” he said, bending low at the waist.

  “Squire Trelland,” she answered, inclining her own head. “I’m glad to see you feasting with us again, after so long in your mourning,” the Queen said, clasping her hands together. “Will your mother be joining us? Lady Valeri is always welcome at my table.”

  Lady Valeri is halfway to the city docks by now, if not already on board a ship bound for Kasa, Corayne knew. They had sent her off less than an hour ago, tucked into a wheeled chair with two servants for the long journey.

  Andry merely shook her head. “My mother is still not well enough for feasts, I’m afraid. But I have brought two more to your great hall, Your Majesty. You would do well to listen to what they have to say.”

  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.

  “My father was at the Spindle,” she said, trying to look somber for a man she’d never met. Erida’s face fell a little. “Cortael of Old Cor. He was of Spindleblood, able to open—and close—any Spindle still in existence.”

  The Queen looked her over, eyes widening as she took Corayne in. Does she see the Spindle in me, the tremor of something lost and distant? Do I look as different as I feel?

  “So it’s your blood too, then,” Erida said finally, steel in her voice. “You can do the same. You can fix this.”

  Corayne could only shrug. “That’s the idea.”

  The tower room was round, made for pacing. The Queen did so slowly, like a philosopher in a library, searching for answers. A flush rose in her pale cheeks. “Taristan has an entire army, and while y
ou three seem capable enough, I doubt you can face it alone.”

  “We cannot, Your Majesty,” Corayne said. She wished she could show her, wished they had more proof than Dom’s scarred face and Andry’s story. “I’ve seen only shadows of it, but the shadows were enough.”

  “So the realm depends on me.” Erida raised her chin, standing in profile against the low fire. Corayne thought of kings on a coin, their images worked in copper and gold. “My armies, my soldiers. My blood as much as your own.”

  “It does” was all Dom said.

  Corayne shot him a withering glare, then dared a step forward, her cloak hanging loose around her shoulders. Up close, she and the Queen were of a similar height. But everything else could not have been more different. She was a pirate’s daughter and Erida a ruling queen.

  “If it helps,” Corayne murmured, “one can hardly be expected to marry while fighting a war against hell itself.”

  The Queen’s true smile was a small thing, one corner of her mouth turning upward. She loosed a single, knowing laugh. “I wish that were true,” she said sadly, her shoulders drooping in resignation. “But my agreement is made. I’ll need to go through with it, for better or worse.

  “I’m sorry for doubting you, Andry, and for not acting sooner,” Erida added, moving to address the squire. He did not gloat as most men did, and remained still when the Queen took his hands in her own. He looked disconcerted by her touch, as if he wanted to pull away. “Before, I could not believe it—I thought lying to the court was the best option—but with you three standing here . . .” She looked over them again and faltered, showing the girl beneath the crown. Frightened, alone, but brave to a fault. “I see the truth of it now.”

  “Thank you, Your Majesty,” Andry whispered, slowly removing his hands.

  She only nodded and clapped her palms together. At the sound, the door to the chamber flew open, her knights still waiting dutifully in the hall. “Well, let’s get on with it,” she sighed.

  They followed her out, a row of strange ducklings behind a stranger duck. Corayne had to stop herself from bouncing as she walked. Though her uncle’s army rose before her, with hell behind him, she felt lighter than ever, hopeful—optimistic, even. The Queen of Galland would help them fight. The largest army in the north was with them, and certainly more would follow. She had Dom to keep her safe, a queen on her side . . . every step away from Lemarta had been a leap into a life she’d never thought possible. Every moment was danger, excitement, freedom. Every morning brought a new horizon.

  If only my mother could see me now, she thought.

  “So, Spindleblood. A descendant of Old Cor.”

  The Queen fell in beside Corayne, the golden knights hemming them in.

  She glanced at Erida and felt another burst of relief. “Don’t remind me,” Corayne muttered, drawing another laugh from the Queen.

  “We don’t choose what we’re born to, Corayne,” Erida replied. She touched the crown on her brow. “We can only walk the path put in front of us.”

  Corayne shook her head. The cold feeling snuck into her fingers again, sharper than before. “I’m not sure why my path had to involve the end of the world.”

  To her surprise, the Queen of Galland took her hand kindly, giving it a reassuring squeeze. Erida stared at her intently, as if looking into a deep pool.

  “At least we’re walking it together,” she said, dropping her grip. “I believe in you, Corayne. Something about your eyes—I suppose it’s your blood. The legacy you carry.”

  Corayne wished she had a mirror. Wished she could see what the Queen saw in her, what Dom saw in her father. Something in the fathomless black.

  “I wouldn’t know.”

  “It could be the sword too. The Spindleblade.” Erida’s eyes darted, looking to Corayne’s hip and then her shoulders. She fixed on her cloak with a knowing smirk. Ahead, the door back to the great hall swung open, bathing them in a wash of noise. “You have it, don’t you? I’m told we’ll need it.”

  “I do,” Corayne whispered as they walked through, side by side.

  She felt Andry and Dom at their backs, and the knights in their golden armor. The army of the Ashlands and the hell of What Waits were far away, barely a wisp of memory. And her uncle was a shadow, a mountain on the horizon that need only be climbed.

  We can do this.

  Queen Erida ascended the dais with ease, accustomed to the eyes of a hundred courtiers. She raised a hand for silence and they obeyed, their conversations dying to soft murmurs through the cavernous hall. At the high table, her advisors jumped to their feet, allowing her to pass in her bloodred gown. She nodded in turn, wearing her cold court smile.

  Corayne and the others stood to the side, with nowhere to sit and nowhere to go without causing a fuss. The knights did the same, at ease in a semicircle around them. Dom clasped his great hands behind his back. Andry stood tall, his eyes narrowed with focus as he watched the Queen settle her audience. His jaw tightened when she opened her mouth.

  “My lords and ladies, I thank you for joining me this evening,” Erida said, dipping her head gracefully. Her courtiers responded in kind. They adore her, Corayne knew. It was easy to see the love the Gallish court held for their young queen. Will they love her tomorrow, when she sends their children to war against a madman and a devil?

  “I know my betrothal has been long in the making, perhaps too long for some of you,” the Queen continued. Behind her, a few members of her council exchanged knowing smirks and the edges of laughter. Erida took it well in stride. “But with the aid of my illustrious council, I have come to a decision, and upheld the will of my father, King Konrad, who built all you see before you.” Erida put out one glittering hand and gestured to the vaulted ceiling, the columns, the great glass arches and rose windows of the hall. “His wish for me, and for Galland, was one we all share. We are Old Cor reborn, the glory of the realm, heirs to an empire we are destined to rebuild. With my husband at my side, I intend to fulfill that destiny.”

  Among the tables, several courtiers raised their goblets and drank deeply. A few cheered in agreement. Even her cousin, the surly nobleman, banged his fist on the high table.

  Corayne felt the thud of it in her chest, like a war drum. Next to her, Andry flinched. There was sweat on his lip, an odd shallowness to his breath. Corayne furrowed her brow and put a hand to his wrist. His skin felt clammy and cold.

  “Andry?” she whispered. “It’s all right. Your mother needs you, and no one will blame you for leaving to protect her.”

  The squire drew a shaky breath, his lean chest rising and falling.

  “I thought I heard—did she ask you about the Spindleblade?” he whispered.

  Corayne frowned, confused. “Yes.”

  Andry took her hand without breaking his gaze, his eyes never leaving Erida’s face. She felt a jolt as his fingers joined with her own. Then his lips pulled back, baring his even white teeth. It was not shame on his face, or regret.

  Terror.

  “I never told her about the sword,” he breathed, sounding dazed.

  Hot and cold leapt up inside Corayne, fire and ice, burning fear and frigid shock. She blanched, owl-eyed, unable to move, rooted to the spot. Never told her about the sword. It was still there, the length of steel running down her back, tucked beneath her cloak, digging uncomfortably between her shoulder blades. Forged in a lost realm, twin to her blood, the only other thing in the realm that could stop an apocalypse.

  I never told her about the sword.

  Dom gripped her shoulder, strong and desperate enough to hurt. She met his eyes quietly, slowly, and saw Andry’s fear, her own fear, mirrored in the Elder prince. It was worse than on the hilltop, when the corpse shadows advanced, their swords raised, their jaws wide and hungry. How can this be worse? Corayne wanted to scream.

  But she wasn’t stupid.

  She knew how.

  The knights tightened their formation, boxing them in. There was nowhere to turn, nowhere t
o run. Corayne heard every clink of their armor, the rasp of their steel, as the Queen basked in the adoration of her court. Her voice rose, high and clear, echoing down the columns and archways. On the opposite side of the dais, a pair of silhouettes appeared, one of them tall and lean, the other swathed in a crimson cloak.

  Dom’s grasp broke with a huff of pain, and the Elder stumbled to a knee, a dagger poking from his side. His blood ran hot and scarlet, blooming from the wound as a knight stood over him, face stern beneath his helmet. Corayne opened her mouth to scream, only to feel the sharp poke of another dagger at her ribs, begging to slide between her bones. The knight behind her breathed heavily on her neck, close enough to cut her throat if he so desired.

  “Keep quiet,” he hissed. “Or I’ll run you through.”

  She had a knife in her boot, the sword on her back.

  Useless in my hands, Corayne thought, her mind screaming.

  She could only stand, gasping through clenched teeth, watching Dom bleed as Erida beckoned to the silhouettes. The first stepped into the light with a roguish smile, a flowing gait, and the proud arrogance of a conqueror.

  “It is with great pleasure that I introduce you to my prince consort, my husband, a son of Old Cor, heir to the bloodlines of the ancient empire, and father to the new world before us,” Erida said. Her gentle face was angelic. “Prince Taristan of Old Cor.”