Page 150 of Fate Breaker

It was enough to make Thornwall remember himself, and he dropped his eyes, demure again. A deep flush washed over his cheeks, giving him an even ruddier look. His shame was palpable, all but perfuming the air. Despite the gray beard, Thornwall looked like a scolded squire.

In it, Erida saw opportunity.

Thornwall blanched when he felt the Queen’s hand take his arm, her touch gentle despite her fierce disposition.

“You are not a hunter, Otto,” she murmured. She did her best to soothe, though she did not know how. Erida of Galland had never soothed anything in her life. “You are not a betrayer either.”

The commander flagged beneath her touch, heaving another sigh.

“It is not in you to think like usurpers and snakes,” Erida continued. With her free hand, she raised her veil, a look of compassion on her face. “I cannot fault you for this failure.”

Swiftly, Thornwall bowed, this time as low as he could. His knees creaked as he moved, his face aimed at the ground.

“Thank you, Your Majesty,” he murmured, rising to meet her gaze again.

She stared back. “I am the head of this army, but you are its heart. Keep beating for me.”

“I will, Your Majesty,” he answered, putting a hand to his heart in salute.

Erida smiled in return, the pull of her lips so painful she thought her mouth might split at the corners.

“What a war,” she murmured, echoing his own words from so longago in the council chamber. When they talked of the Temurijon, and their legions meeting the Countless on the open field.

Even now, beneath the exhaustion and the dirt of the road, Thornwall perked up.

“What a war,” he echoed, the memory warm in his eyes.

It was enough. Erida turned into the tent on her heel, retreating into the cool darkness.

The flap swished closed behind Taristan, plunging them both into half shadow. He set to lighting the candles laid out on the table, until the small space glowed.

“You are too soft with him,” he grumbled, glancing at her as she sat to remove her boots.

Erida gave a huff and a wave of her good hand.

“I am exactly what I must be,” she replied wearily. “He sees me as a daughter, no matter how many crowns I wear. If that is the role I must play to keep him loyal and obedient, so be it.”

In the candlelight, Taristan’s black eyes gleamed.

“You are a fearsome thing indeed,” he said, looking proud. “Even without Him.”

“I am exactly what I must be,” Erida said again, too gentle. Then she winced.I sound like a little girl.

The low bed sagged as Taristan sat next to her, his weight nearly bowing the mattress to the floor. Erida leaned into him, letting his arm prop her up.

He took her hand. “And who are you with me?”

“Myself,” she replied. “Whoever that is.”

Again, What Waits wove between them, tight as their clasped fingers. This time, Erida could not say if He meant to bind them closer or slide them apart.

Her brow furrowed, her eyelids drooping. She was too tired to contemplate which.

My mind is my own.

Taristan stiffened next to her, his shoulders going tense with some worry. Erida angled her head to look up at him, reading the stern line of his brow.

“I am sorry about Vergon,” she said again. In her heart, Erida knew she could not fathom what it felt like to lose a Spindle. And the gift with it.

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