Realm Breaker

by Aveyard, Victoria

  The Spindle glowed in Taristan’s eyes. He stared, unblinking, and plunged a hand into the thin, shining thread.

  Erida expected the Spindle to burn or cut, to harm him in some way. Instead his fingers passed through it as easily as the divide in a wall of curtains, pushing aside the planes of this realm to reach the next. Then his hand disappeared, and his wrist, until he was well past the elbow of his arm. On the other side, there was nothing but empty air.

  His mouth tightened, his teeth clenching together as his body jerked once. If he was in pain, he did not show it.

  “Taristan,” she heard herself murmur. To the Queen’s surprise, she grabbed his opposite shoulder, fingers working into his leathers, trying to pull him out.

  The Spindle gave him back without difficulty.

  Diamonds, big as eggs, flawless and without peer, spilled from his hand, rolling over his fingers and onto the grass. At first Erida thought they were blocks of ice, some rough, some clear, too massive and too many to be jewels. She grabbed one, expecting it to be frozen. Instead she felt hard stone, heavy on her palm.

  “Irridas,” Ronin breathed, stooping to inspect the stones. “The dazzling realm.”

  “Home to Tiber, the god of riches,” she said reflexively, remembering scripture.

  The gems were marvelous, but Erida was queen of a wealthy kingdom. It was difficult to impress a woman like her with jewels. She straightened, a diamond in her fist, watching Taristan’s face.

  When his thin lips spread into a smile’s shadow, she swallowed. “What else?”

  “Nothing gets past you,” he replied, taking the jewel from her. His bare skin was already pale, but Erida did not miss the steady spread of white veins in his flesh. They matched those already on his chest, growing and branching, as something grew and branched in him.

  His fingers closed, the diamond in his grip. His knuckles went hard and sharp, bones standing out beneath his skin, and the gemstones crumbled to dust, sifting like starlight between his fingers.

  This time, he smiled with white teeth, like a predator closing in on a kill.

  Her flesh burned when he raised his palm to her face, cupping her cheek. His blood smeared, sticky on her skin, but somehow she didn’t mind.

  In the Spindle, something growled.

  26

  PAIN AND FEAR

  Corayne

  Sigil rode a horse as a bird flew. Second nature, with incredible, impossible ease. The people of the Temurijon were legendary equestrians, nearly born in the saddle, and Sigil was no exception. Her mount was no steppe pony, but a chestnut hunter, with long legs and a white star down its face.

  She kept a rope from the pommel of her saddle attached to Charlie’s, forcing him to keep pace, dragging him along with a grimace. He bounced on his mule like a sack of potatoes, and every time they stopped, he walked gingerly, wincing. Like Corayne, he wasn’t exactly comfortable in the saddle, and Sigil needled him for it. Their relationship was strange, gruff but tolerating, despite Sigil’s endeavors to bring Charlie to execution. Even so, they shared old jokes and even older insults. Clearly she’d been chasing him for a very, very long time.

  “I must say, I’m glad to get out of that marsh,” Sigil said, raising her face to the sun as they trotted along a country lane. Freckles dotted her cheeks. She led them southwest, leaving the Adiran mists behind. Though Corayne knew the map as well as anyone, she had no idea where they were going.

  Sorasa swayed with the rhythm of her horse, her cowl raised again. “I can’t believe you wasted so many days squatting in the mud, waiting for such a sorry excuse for a bounty,” she said, cutting a glance at Charlie.

  Sigil drew herself up proudly. “I’ve never failed to bring a charge to justice.”

  Charlie sneered next to her, huffing. “And never failed to collect a blood price.”

  “Blood price? Don’t act so moral, Priest,” she shot back, grinning. “I believe one of your charges is murder.”

  On his own horse, Andry coughed, doing his best to hide a disapproving grimace. His best isn’t very good, Corayne noted, watching the squire squirm next to her. Dom was stone-faced, trying to hide his own disapproval. You’re surrounded by criminals now, Prince, Corayne thought.

  “It was him or me,” Charlie said airily, waving a hand in the air. The movement almost made him slip from the saddle. “Garion of the Amhara taught me well.”

  Another Amhara? Before Corayne could open her mouth to ask, Sorasa peered out from her hood, a mischievous glint in her eye.

  “I’d say you taught him a few things too,” she wheedled, loosing her sharp, reserved laugh.

  Charlie blushed a furious red but laughed with her, the pair exchanging meaningful glances. Another odd history, longer than we know. Corayne couldn’t help but be amused watching them both. They reminded her of the Tempestborn crew, a collection of killers and rogues, at home with each other and no less lethal for it.

  Craning her neck, the bounty hunter looked back, twisting her body in her leather-bound armor. Her own smile was brittle. “I’m surprised Garion wasn’t waiting in the marshes, same as me. You didn’t exactly make yourself difficult to find.”

  His smile disappeared in an instant, replaced with a pained frown. With unsteady motion, he slipped from the saddle, landing hard in the dirt of the road. “I think I’ll walk for a bit,” he grumbled, stumbling on uneasy legs to put some distance between them.

  Sigil let him fall back.

  “That was unkind,” Sorasa said in a flat voice, without judgment. A simple statement of fact.

  Sigil shrugged. “No one pays me to be kind.”

  At Corayne’s shoulder, Andry leaned, closing the distance between them. “She might be harsher than Sorasa,” he said out of the corner of his mouth.

  At the rear of their line, Dom scoffed. “I did not realize there was a competition for worst personality,” he crowed.

  Sorasa didn’t hesitate. “It’s not a competition with you around, Elder.”

  On the road, Charlie jabbed a thumb over his shoulder, his discomfort forgotten. “Do all immortals have sticks up their asses or just him?”

  Their joined laughter carried through the Larsian fields, rustling the tall grass. To Corayne’s delight, even Dom’s lips twitched, betraying a smile.

  “Get up.”

  Corayne opened her eyes with a jolt of terror, expecting her uncle, or the red wizard, maybe even What Waits himself, a looming shadow set to rip her apart. Instead she found Sorasa bending over her sprawled form, the weak fire dancing in her copper eyes.

  Shaky, Corayne rose up on her elbows, looking around their camp. Embers glowed in a ring of stones. Charlie sat over it, his cloak wrapped around his body as he poked the flames, barely awake. Sigil watched over him, alert as a hawk. The moon was gone, but the stars still hung in the sky. The eastern horizon was barely tinged in blue.

  “Sorasa, it’s still dark,” she protested, scrubbing at her face. “I’m not on watch—”

  But the assassin took her by the shoulder, hauling her to her feet. The night air bit cold when her cloak fell away.

  “Hurry up. We don’t have much time until they come back,” Sorasa said, half marching her toward the fire, where Sigil loomed. Corayne stumbled along, trying to get her bearings as sleep faded away. “I should’ve done this a long time ago.”

  Done what? Corayne wondered, her mind snapping awake. She opened her eyes fully to Sigil, whose attention shifted from the fugitive priest to Corayne’s own face. Doubt bled through her, its edges tinged with fear. With a jolt, she realized Dom and Andry were gone, their sleeping spaces empty.

  “Where’s Dom?” she asked, uneasy and wary. As much as her protectors chafed, she felt bare without them, too vulnerable. “And Andry?”

  Sorasa let go of her arm, planting them both in the center of the camp. She crossed her arms over her chest and settled back, tapping one boot. “The walking scowl and the noble squire are hunting for breakfast.”

  Co
rayne nearly jumped when Sigil began circling her like she was a horse at auction. With a gulp, Corayne shifted to keep her in sight, turning steadily. “Can I help you with something, Sigil?”

  “The Spindleblade is too big for her to ever use properly,” Sigil finally said, taking Corayne by the shoulders. She balked, surprised, as the bounty hunter gave her a shake. “She doesn’t have enough heft for an ax either. What about finger blades?”

  It took Corayne a second to realize Sigil wasn’t speaking to her at all.

  “She’s too slow,” Sorasa answered, also sizing her up. “Archery is out of the question too.”

  Corayne squinted between them, at a loss for once. Then the pieces slotted together, all at once. “Are—are you going to teach me to fight?”

  Firelight gleamed on Sorasa’s teeth. “If I had a year, yes. I could make you passable,” she answered, smirking. Then she shook her head, looking Corayne up and down. “If I ever meet your mother, I’ll certainly have words for her. What a lesson to neglect.”

  My fighting skills are not the only thing she neglected, Corayne thought bitterly.

  “Even when it isn’t the end of the world, the realm is a dangerous place for women,” Sorasa added, gesturing between herself and the bounty hunter.

  Sigil grinned broadly. “And so we became dangerous.”

  “Care to dance with us?” Sorasa extended a hand, gesturing like a partner at a ball. “We who belong nowhere?”

  Any anxiety or annoyance over her disrupted sleep quickly faded. Corayne nodded eagerly, thinking of the Spindleblade in its sheath, and the long dagger from Adira. We who belong nowhere.

  “Teach me,” she said, breathless.

  She tasted dirt before she knew what was happening, knocked over without so much as a warning. “What the f—” she wheezed, fighting to her feet.

  Only to get knocked down again, the assassin moving in a blur of limbs.

  Corayne fell, flat on her back, sputtering as the air rushed from her lungs. Huddled in his cloak, she heard Charlie laugh beneath his breath. Sigil did not join them, content to watch in silence.

  Sorasa bent over her, as she had some minutes before, a shit- eating grin on her face. With a wriggle of tattooed fingers, she put out her hand, offering it.

  “This is the easy way?” Corayne forced out, gasping for her lost breath.

  Pulling hard, Sorasa hauled her to her feet. “Absolutely,” she said. “Now shift your weight. Balls of your feet. You’ll balance better and have an easier time changing direction.”

  The assassin demonstrated, transitioning from a flat-footed stance to her toes, both knees bending slightly. She swayed back and forth, her shoulders square to her knees. Corayne did the same, mimicking Sorasa’s body as best she could. This time, when Sorasa lunged, she managed to keep standing for three whole seconds, until the assassin dropped her again.

  Corayne winced, her back beginning to ache. “Sorry,” she gritted out, feeling the embarrassed sting of failure.

  “Better” was all Sorasa said, tugging her up again.

  “Maybe I should just go back to sleep,” Corayne said, massaging her shoulder. Still, she kept on her toes, ready should Sorasa try her again. “Leave the fighting to the people who know how?”

  Sorasa pretended not to hear her.

  “I don’t think we have a sword light enough for her.” Sigil began to circle again. She wasn’t wearing her armor yet but seemed no less gigantic. “Unless you want to give her yours?”

  “I’d rather give her a limb,” Sorasa scoffed before turning back to Corayne. “The long knife you bought in Adira will have to do.” She drew the blade from Corayne’s saddlebags. It winked in the ember light, a plain thing, with a sharp edge and a leather-wrapped hilt. Sorasa gave it a testing swing and thrust. “Good weight—you can use one hand or both. I’d say both if you want to really make it hurt.”

  The blade continued to dance, sliding around her fingers in a blur of motion.

  “Show-off,” Charlie rumbled, taking a pull from a waterskin. No, that’s wine, Corayne realized, watching something black drip from his lips.

  “Here.” Sorasa snapped her back to attention, pressing the dagger into Corayne’s unsteady hands.

  She set her jaw, locking her teeth as she locked her fingers around the hilt. While the Spindleblade was too heavy for her, it felt familiar, at least. This was odd, a stranger in her grasp.

  Sorasa hardly gave her a moment to adjust, already fixing her grip. She rearranged Corayne’s hold on the dagger, wrapping her fingers one by one. “Tight but not too tight, see? Don’t lock your joints, in your hands or anywhere else.”

  Again Corayne flushed. She hated getting things wrong, and had little experience with it. At least I used to, until the realm decided to crash down on my head.

  “Good.” Sorasa nodded, eyeing her hand. Her own dagger, one of many, flashed before Corayne even knew it was drawn. She blanched, falling back a step. “Don’t worry,” Sorasa said, “You’re generations away from crossing blades with me. Just watch, mimic, memorize. You’re good at that, aren’t you?”

  I am, Corayne thought, her flush giving over to a tentative smile.

  The drills were not difficult, built on repetition and memorization. Draw, parry, stab, slice, twist, double-grip, backhand, switch. Corayne didn’t have the same strength behind her blows, and her form was nothing compared to an Amhara, fallen or otherwise. But it’s something where there was nothing before, she thought, wiping away a bead of sweat.

  “Excellent—at least I know how to hold a dagger now,” she said when Sorasa slowed, dropping her weapon back into her belt.

  The assassin smirked. “If only you knew how to hold your tongue.”

  Until now, Sigil had been content to watch, but no longer. She rolled her shoulders, waving Sorasa out of the way. “Let’s see if you know how to throw a punch, Corblood,” she said, dropping her guard and bending so that her face was within reach. “Go ahead.”

  Behind her, Charlie gestured a blow. “She’s not kidding.”

  “Don’t tuck your thumb, unless you want to break your hand,” Sorasa added, taking a seat next to him, leaning back on the grassy ground.

  Corayne blinked at them both, then at Sigil. The bounty hunter only stared back, expectant, the edge of her jaw like an anvil.

  “Is this how the Temur show affection?” Corayne said weakly, squaring her shoulders. Shift your weight, she thought, adjusting her stance.

  “We Temur are free with our love and free with our anger,” Sigil answered, matter of fact. She tipped her head, presenting her face for a blow.

  When her knuckles connected, Corayne realized what a very, very bad idea this was. She howled in pain, feeling fire in her hand, and nearly fell to the ground, clutching her wrist. “By the Spindles,” she cursed, shaking out her fingers. Her knuckles were already red, close to swelling. “Adalen’s tears,” she yelped, and continued to swear in every language she knew.

  Sigil chuckled, standing up straight.

  “Well?” Sorasa asked, an eyebrow raised.

  “Honestly, not as bad as I thought,” Sigil answered, sounding shocked.

  It didn’t lessen Corayne’s pain, but it did make it easier to bear. “You’re not the first person I’ve ever punched,” she hissed through her teeth, shaking her hand again. “Just the most painful.”

  Proud, Sigil slapped a hand against her jaw, then beat a fist on her broad chest. “The iron bones of the Countless will never be broken,” she boasted, a rally cry of the Temur.

  Charlie didn’t let her gloat long. He tipped his head, pretending to think. “Didn’t I break your arm in Pennaline?”

  “You did not break my arm; your paramour did,” Sigil snapped, flexing the arm in question. Corayne saw no evidence of injury. “And he had to use a hammer to do it.”

  “Ah yes. Such happy memories,” Charlie said, looking wistful.

  It felt wrong to laugh when so much hung in the balance, but Corayne la
ughed all the same. “Has anyone told you how strange you all are?”

  Sigil winked. “How strange we are, Cor girl. And you’re far from finished,” she said, gesturing for Corayne to start again. Reluctant, the girl did as told, squaring off with a bounty hunter twice her size.

  “Punch here. One,” Sigil said, raising her right hand, palm out. “Punch here. Two.” The left hand. “And keep those feet moving. Duck when I strike.”

  “I’d rather you didn’t strike,” Corayne mumbled, her hand still smarting.

  Sigil didn’t give her any more time to grumble, both hands dancing in succession. “One, two, two, one, two, one, one.” She raised each in succession, catching Corayne’s blows in her massive hands.

  When she yelled, “Duck!” Corayne was ready, dropping under a swipe from her long arm, with a grin.

  “Good!” Sigil cried out, her smile wide, showing big teeth. “Good concentration. You’ve got focus; you know where to keep your eyes. That’s something.” She tapped Corayne on the forehead. “Now duck,” she cackled.

  I suppose I should be used to the ground by now, Corayne thought, hitting the grass with a painful thud. She heaved a shaking breath. Sigil struck like a charging horse and her head spun. The corner of her mouth smarted, wet with a trickle of blood.

  “Are you afraid?” Sorasa’s face wheeled above her, crowned in dizzying stars.

  Corayne didn’t have the strength to lie. “Yes.”

  Judging by Sorasa’s smile, it was the right answer.

  “Fear is a well-honed instinct, useful as any steel edge,” she said. “It’s kept me alive more times than I care to count. So let that fear in, let it fill you up, let it whisper and guide. But do not let it rule.”

  Corayne shakily nodded her head. “I won’t let it rule.”

  The assassin looked satisfied. “There are no greater teachers than fear and pain.”

  “By the wings of Baleir, what are you doing?”

  A blur of golden hair and emerald-green eyes shouldered Sorasa out of the way, pulling Corayne to her feet. She wavered, unsteady, clutching an arm for support. There was pain, but she leaned into it. The pain means I learned something.