Erida
Even covered in burgundy velvet, the throne of Madrence was uncomfortable, the stone cold through the fabric, the high back maddeningly straight. After a long morning of sitting in council, Erida was eager to walk off the ache.
With a forced smile, she left Thornwall and Harrsing in the throne room and swept out to join her retinue of waiting ladies. She wished she could dismiss the various girls and women outright. They served little purpose on the campaign, besides making her presentable for the day. And spying for their families or husbands. But appearances were important, maddeningly so, and therefore the ladies remained. They followed at a respectable distance, murmuring among themselves, their voices a low hum.
The Lionguard trailed her, silent but for their clanking armor, ever present as she stalked the unfamiliar halls of the palace. As they walked, Erida took stock of the oaths again, going over the many Madrentine nobles who pledged fealty to her yesterday. She spent hours listening to simpering praise and veiled insults. Young, most of the nobles called her, bowing their heads to their bold conqueror. Erida knew better than to think it a compliment. They saw her as a child, a girl, barely old enough to rule herself, let alone two kingdoms with the making of empire.
They are wrong, and soon they will know it, she thought.
In the windows, clouds rolled in across the bay, darkening the afternoon, with only a beam of gold on the western horizon. The once-brilliant halls went dull, the pearl tiles losing their luster. Robart’s palace felt suddenly small and unimpressive, a pittance compared to Erida’s home many hundreds of miles away.
She had not expected to miss the New Palace, but a small ache crept up inside her. She missed the gardens, the cathedral, the stained-glass windows filled with mighty Syrek and the many gods. Her peerless city, overwhelming in its size, filled with her many thousands of loyal people. They cheered even for a glimpse of their queen. Not like the people of Rouleine and Partepalas, who spat at her feet and spilled blood for spite.
Erida wandered with no real direction, but her feet led her out into the magnificent palace gardens. Trees and flowers bloomed, the air perfumed with all scents, and a fountain rippled somewhere, undercut with birdsong. Small ponies picked their way among the grasses, their round bellies like shiny golden coins. Part of Erida wanted to expel them from the palace. They were, after all, Prince Orleon’s pets, and she didn’t need any more reminders of the dead.
She glanced at the darkening sky, weighing the threat of rain. Against everything else, a storm felt like nothing at all.
The city is yours. The kingdom is yours, she thought. The many nerves in her body began to uncoil, releasing slowly. The next will fall, and the next. Until all the map is your own.
She smiled to herself, trying to picture Allward in her mind. From the Nironese rain forest to the Jydi snows. The sweltering Tiger Gulf to the glens of Calidon. Ascal, the jewel in her crown, to the steppes of the Temurijon and Emperor Bhur. So many thrones, so many kingdoms. Some would kneel, stricken by her rampage through Madrence. Many would not.
Erida’s jaw clenched, her teeth grinding together. Whatever relief she felt moments ago disappeared, fading as she listed the great obstacles in her way. The many dangers on the road to her destiny.
“Twice Queen,” a deep voice said, and Erida’s toes curled.
The Lionguard knew to let Taristan approach.
He appeared from somewhere down the path, stepping out from a line of poplar trees. Erida felt her ladies react behind her, some of them whispering. A few knew better, going silent. With a single wave of her hand, she dismissed them all, sending them scurrying back into the palace.
The Lionguard remained, a loose ring around their queen.
“I thought you were still helping Ronin in the archives,” Erida called down the path to him. He walked toward her at an easy pace. “Reaching high shelves and the like.”
The corner of his mouth twitched, betraying the urge to smile. “I’m wasted in the pages.”
Taristan fidgeted in the garden, out of place, as always. He wore no cloak or armor, leaving only his fine red tunic, a rose embroidered over his heart.
“It suits you,” she said, indicating the heraldry on his clothing. “You look a true prince of Old Cor.”
“It does not matter what I look like, only what I can do.”
“Both matter. And you should look like what you are. A prince of the old bloodlines, a rare descendant of ancient emperors.”
“The proof of that is in my blood and my steel, not my clothing.”
Erida knew that more than anyone else. No other man could tear a Spindle or wield a Spindleblade. No other man could be what he had become.
The collar of his tunic was unlaced, showing the white veins rippling over his skin. Erida was seized by the odd urge to touch the branch-like lines and trace their paths across his skin. She chalked it up to fascination. My husband carries a god in his flesh. Who wouldn’t want to see it?
Taristan closed the distance between them. The temperature seemed to rise with every inch, her skin prickling with warmth beneath her ornate gown. The fabric felt heavy and too close. Erida wanted to tear it off. Instead she watched Taristan without blinking, never breaking his gaze.
“Twice a queen,” she echoed. “And thrice a prince.” His titles flashed in her mind. Old Cor, Galland, and now Madrence. “Quite the journey for a Treckish mercenary.”
He didn’t blink either, and her eyes began to burn.
“I think on it every day,” he said, stopping in front of her, still holding her gaze as a snare holds a rabbit. Erida finally broke, allowing herself to blink. He responded with a satisfied smirk. “A port orphan, to this.”
“A prince of silk and steel,” she said, looking him over.
The right hand of a queen and a demon god.
“What do you see?” he asked, still unblinking. His stare was nearly unbearable, boring through her, inhuman in its focus. She felt speared by it.
“I see you, Taristan.” She swallowed around the lump in her throat. He was close enough to touch, but she laced her fingers together instead. “I wonder which parts of your face belong to your mother. Your father. Which parts are Corblood, which parts Wardborn.”
She tried to remember Corayne, the mouse of a girl at the root of all their troubles. Black hair, olive skin. Different coloring, but the same eyes and face. The same distant manner, as if they were somehow set apart from other mortals. Could Corayne feel that difference within her? Can Taristan?
“No one alive can answer that question,” he murmured, finally looking away. The edge of the gardens ran up against the bay, the gentle waves lapping at stone. The blue waters were dark, reflecting the lights of the city in pinpricks of wavering gold. “For you or me.”
Erida felt her breath catch, the city lights like brilliant stars in his black eyes. For once she felt as if she could fathom their depths.
“What else do you think on?”
He shrugged, rubbing his hands together. His long, pale fingers were clean, but Erida remembered how much blood they shed. “My destiny, mostly.”
“No small thing,” she replied.
“It was once. To die in a ditch somewhere. No longer. Not after Ronin found me, and What Waits raised me to what I am.”
Erida clucked her tongue. She felt bold. “Give yourself some credit at least. Neither wizard nor god taught you how to survive.”
His stare returned, locking back into place. It felt like the blow from a hammer. “The same can be said of you.”
She shook her head slowly. “I learned because I had to. Especially after my parents died. No one would protect a girl who could not protect herself.”
He nodded stoically. To her surprise, she saw understanding in his eyes. “In a palace or the gutter, the rats are still the same.”
Rats.
Her teeth set on edge. “I’ve had enough of vermin to last a lifetime,” Erida sneered. “First Corayne an-Amarat and her meddlesome pack. I hope she’s dead in a sand dune somewhere, her bones bleached by the desert sun.”
She swallowed back a wave of revulsion. “And then Konegin, still evading capture. Gods know where my treasonous cousin is, or who aids him. No matter how many cities we topple, somehow these two remain beyond our grasp.”
Heat curled in her belly, not from the heavy dress or Taristan’s presence. But from rage.
“Anger suits you,” Taristan muttered, eyeing her face. “It feeds that fire you keep burning.”
Erida flushed and she looked away, working her jaw. She felt her own thrumming pulse, born of frustration as much as Taristan’s attention.
“I want Konegin’s head,” she hissed.
“He’ll make another mistake soon enough,” Taristan said, oddly calming. “Or another noble will make it for him.”
“I’m already working on that. The Madrentine treasury is vast, and Robart’s wealth is already being divided up among my supporters.”
Taristan huffed out a scoff, his face falling. He eyed the Lionguard around them, silent and unyielding. “Pay the soldiers, not the preening nobles.”
“Many of my soldiers follow those preening nobles,” Erida answered coolly. “And coin makes for the strongest allegiances. Konegin cannot buy what is already mine.”
“Konegin is nothing in this world.” His low hiss filled the gardens. “One day you’ll see that.”
She could only sigh, rolling her shoulders. Her ceremonial armor was so heavy, and beginning to dig into her ribs. “One day you’ll be right. But for now he’s still a threat. Just like your niece.”
“Indeed she is.” His lip curled.
Exasperated as she was, Erida couldn’t help but find quiet amusement in her own circumstance—and Corayne’s. So much of the world rests on the shoulders of two young women, with men squawking at our edges. She tried to take heart in it and sink back into the woman she was an hour ago, a queen of all she surveyed.
Instead she felt small, dull as the shrinking palace, a pearl without light to make it shine. I am a conqueror today. Why don’t I feel it?
Taristan’s voice deepened, so low it reverberated through the air, finding home in her chest. “Is it everything you dreamed of?”
She clenched her teeth, fighting the sudden rush of sadness. Her eyes fell shut for a long second. The birdsong and the fountain washed over her, enveloping her in soft noise.
“I wish my father were here to see this,” she finally said, forcing her eyes open again. The fire Taristan spoke of licked up inside her, consuming her pain, turning it into something she could use instead. Anger. Fear. Anything but sorrow. “I wish Konegin were here to see it. Chained to the floor, gagged, forced to watch as I become everything he ever tried to take from me.”
Taristan laughed openly, his teeth flashing.
“You are ruthless, Erida,” he said, moving so his shadow fell over her. “It’s why you were chosen.”
Erida’s stomach twisted. Her breath caught in her throat. “Chosen by who?” she gasped out, knowing the answer already.
“What Waits, of course.”
The name of his demon god sent a jolt through Erida’s body. Both a bucket of cold water and a bolt of lightning. She tried not to think of Him, and most days it was easy. The campaign had many distractions.
“He saw a weapon in you as he saw it in me. Something to treasure, and reward.” Taristan took her in, his eyes still dark, still empty of all but the fathomless black. “Does that discomfort you?”
She chewed her answer. “I don’t know,” she finally said. It was the truth.
Taristan remained, unwilling to step back—or move closer. He looked down at her, and Erida felt like a corpse on the battlefield, dead eyes open, staring up at her ending. She could not begin to know how many had seen her husband this way, in their last moments, bleeding and broken. Again she knew how foolish it felt to trust him, to follow him willingly down such a dark path. And yet it felt like the right choice still. The only one she could ever truly make.
“You chose me too,” he breathed. “You saw what I was, what I offered, and you said yes. Why?”
Erida took a steadying breath.
“Another man would have been my jailer, his leash woven through my crown,” she said, matter-of-fact. “I’ve known it all my life. But you are my equal, and you see me as your equal too. No other suitor upon the Ward can say the same.”
Her words stilled him somehow, his eyelids growing heavy. He seemed like a dragon entranced by a lullaby.
Then Erida shrugged. “No other suitor served an apocalyptic god of another realm either,” she said, half smirking. “But if this is the price for my own freedom, my own victory, I will continue to pay.”
His eyes remained black and staring.
Somewhere out at sea, thunder rolled in the clouds, and a single raindrop fell, shockingly cold on her face. But the air was hot between them. Suddenly she felt the heat of his cheek beneath her raised hand, smooth and warm, near to feverish, but without any sweat. Like a hot stone in the sun.
He didn’t flinch beneath her fingers. Again he would not blink, his wild eyes seeming to swallow the world around them.
“Is he always there, inside?” Erida murmured, brushing her fingertips over his sharp cheekbone. He inhaled sharply.
She studied his eyes, waiting for the telltale flash of red. It never came.
Another raindrop fell. Erida expected it to steam on his skin.
“No,” Taristan ground out, nostrils flaring.
Erida circled an ear, tucking back a lock of his dark red hair. A muscle in his cheek jumped, his pulse thrumming in his neck. “Can he control you?”
“No,” he said again, near to growling. Her hand trailed, finding the veins at the base of his neck. They were hotter even than his skin, jumping with the rhythm of his heart. “My will is my own.”
She pulled her hand away, dropping it to her side. Her own heartbeat roared in her ears, like the thunder rolling over and over again. All her nerves stood on end, until the air itself felt electrifying. Her toes curled in her boots, pulling away from the cliff she felt herself standing upon. One move in any direction and she would fall.
To her surprise, Taristan looked just as off-kilter. Twin spots of color bloomed on his cheeks, and his lips parted, inhaling again. The air hissed past his teeth.
“Prove it,” Erida breathed, her voice so soft she barely heard herself.
But Taristan certainly did.
His touch burned, his hands circling her neck, thumbs hard beneath her chin to tip her face. She gasped in surprise, but his lips swallowed the sound, closing over her mouth. It took only a moment and Erida went loose, all but collapsing in his grip. He held her up, bracing her tight against his own body, the silk of his tunic against the steel of her armor. Her palm went flat against his bare collarbone, pressing up against flaming skin, while her other hand gripped his wrist, fingers circling muscle and bone. His breath was her own, his heat was her own, the fire in Erida meeting the fire in Taristan, burning together. Erida was both the hurricane and the shore. She broke in his hands as he broke in hers. She nearly stumbled but kept her balance. Her nails dug into his skin, coaxing him on.
Then he pulled back, his breathing ragged, his eyes heavy-lidded.
Her eyes fluttered open to see Taristan still above her, only inches away, his hands clutching both her wrists. Rain glimmered between them, drenching them both to the skin. Erida felt nothing but the burning touch of his fingers, even as her gown soaked through. Her lips parted, sucking down a breath of air. The cold wet was bracing, bringing her back to herself.
She stepped back, using all her will.
He let her go without question.
Erida wanted more, wanted it so badly her body ached. Her heart ripped a ragged tattoo against her rib cage, so loud she feared Taristan might hear. She shivered at the shocking, sudden absence of his flesh. She drew another breath, rooting herself to the spot. Her mind warred, torn between royal duty and her own control. Certainly Harrsing would celebrate to know Erida had finally taken her husband to bed. Erida delighted in the thought as well.
But perhaps too much.
“I have business to attend to,” she forced out, her voice breaking.
“Certainly,” Taristan answered, his face blank again. But the flush remained, spotting his cheeks.
Her skirts wheeled as she turned, flashing green and golden, a mirror to the lush gardens in a rainstorm. Erida cursed herself as she walked away, the Lionguard in tow. But she commended herself too.
I am a ruling queen of two kingdoms. I cannot afford weakness, not now.
And as much as Taristan made her strong, he certainly made her weak too.