Page 41 of Blade Breaker (Realm Breaker 2)

Harrsing laughed openly. “Even the Madrentines would not surrender a city without a fight. Their king may be wine-blind, but he isn’t stupid.”

“On the contrary, he is incredibly stupid.” Erida tightened hergrip on her reins, the leather soft and worn to her fingers. The autumn chill was less in the Madrentine lands, and she did not need her gloves in daylight. “I have twenty thousand men at my command, with more coming. King Robart would do well to ride out of his fine palace and kneel before me this very day.”

A smirk twisted Harrsing’s thin mouth. “You’re starting to sound like that husband of yours.”

Warmth crept over Erida’s cheeks.

“Or is he starting to sound like me?” she wondered aloud, giving Harrsing something else to chew on.

“That’s one way to look at it,” Bella said with a sigh.

Other nobles rode with them, knotted behind the Queen. Erida glanced back, watching them as they marched south in a parade of fine horseflesh and gleaming armor. There were many lords and a few ruling ladies, commanders and generals of thousands of men ahead and behind. She knew every face. Their names, their families, their own intricate alliances, and, most importantly, their loyalty to Erida of Galland.

Bella followed her gaze. “What are you thinking, Your Majesty?”

“Too many things,” Erida answered, pursing her lips. She dropped her voice a little. “Who knelt at my coronation, pledging to serve a fifteen-year-old queen? Who rode to the Madrentine front when I called the first muster, summoning legion and personal army alike? Who waited? Who whispers? Who spies for my vile cousin Konegin, still hiding somewhere, safe even as I hunt for him? Who will put him on the throne if I fall, and who will send me to that lethal ending himself?”

On her horse, Bella paled. “So heavy a burden on such young shoulders,” she muttered.

Erida could only shrug, as if buckling beneath the weight. She shook her head. “And who looks on Taristan with fear? Or jealousy? Who will ruin all we seek to build?”

To that, Bella had no answer, and Erida did not expect one. The aging woman was too deft a courtier. She knew when she was well out of her depth.

Erida cleared her throat. “Thornwall, what’s the latest report?”

Lord Thornwall reined his horse, and the stallion trotted to the Queen, joining her side. The commander looked taller on horseback, but most men did. Unlike the other lords, he did not wear armor for the march. He did not need to play at war. He commanded the entire army, and spent too much time riding the length of the column, meeting with his scouts and lieutenants, to bother with full plate.

Thornwall nodded at the Queen, his red beard fierce against his green tunic. There was a lion embroidered on his breast, surrounded by curling vines and thorns to mark his own great family.

“Scouts say the Madrentine army across the river is three thousand strong. Maybe,” he said.

Two squires rode at his side, their tunics matching Thornwall’s. Erida tried to remember their names, once so easy to recall. One had ugly yellow hair, the other a kind expression. She did know one thing—who they used to squire for, before Thornwall took them on.

Their tunics used to be bright red and silver, a falcon across their chests.

The Norths,Erida thought, all warmth receding from her face.Sir Edgar and Sir Raymon. Lionguard knights sworn to serve.

They lay dead in the foothills, their bones swallowed up by mud. Her loyal guardians were Taristan’s first victory.

But for one, still alive.Her lip curled, remembering Andry Trelland. A noble son of Ascal, a squire raised for knighthood.And a traitor to his kingdom,Erida thought, seething as she remembered her last glimpse of him. Escaping through a door, the great hall destroyed behind him, with Corayne of Old Cor and her Spindleblade ahead.

Thornwall kept on blathering, and she blinked, forgetting the squires and their dead knights.

“But more soldiers arrive every day, in dribs and drabs,” the commander said, rocking with the motion of his horse. The road suited him better than the council chamber did: his cheeks were filled with color, his gray eyes bright. “There are rumors Prince Orleon is with the army across the river, leading a hundred armored knights and twice as many men-at-arms.”

Erida smirked. “I think he’s figured out I’m not going to marry him,” she said, laughing with Harrsing. The crown prince of Madrence was one of her many disappointed suitors, kept dangling on a hook for as long as possible.

The Queen had met the prince only once, at the wedding of Konegin’s daughter to some Siscarian duke. He was tall and fair, a minstrel’s version of a prince. But dull, without any wit or ambition. Most of their conversation had revolved around his collection of miniature ponies, which he kept in the garden of his father’s palace of Partepalas.

“If he’s captured, give him quarter,” Erida said, her laughter trailing away. Her voice turned hard. “He’ll fetch a fine ransom from his king.”

On her other side, Harrsing hemmed low in her throat. “Perhaps. Everyone knows Robart is wildly jealous of his golden heir, a foolish thing for any father to be.”

“I care little for their family squabbles,” Erida sighed, still watching Thornwall. “What of theotherscouts?” One dark eyebrow arched with meaning.

Thornwall shook his head. He pulled at his red beard, frustrated. “No sign of Konegin. It’s as if he disappeared into the hills.”

“Or was hidden,” Erida mused, watching his face, noting every pull and tick of his muscles.

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