Realm Breaker (Realm Breaker, #1)

by Victoria Aveyard

“Better men and women than me died for nothing,” he said. “It’s only fair I do the same.”

added quickly. “I’ve met you twice and I’ve already lost count of how many times you’ve apologized to me, Domacridhan of Iona,” Corayne said, crossing her arms over her chest. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Sorasa’s lips twitch.

“So how do we . . . save the realm?” she said. It sounded ridiculous out loud. Dom smiled truly. His grin was a force to be reckoned with, white and wide, his teeth unsettlingly straight. Corayne wondered if all Elders were so offensively handsome. It felt unnatural.

She nodded, pleased. Her eyes were still black, even in the sun of high noon. She has Cortael’s eyes.

stern face. She was black-haired and small, as far from Cortael as a person could be. She will not share her father’s fate. That was a promise, to the Ward, to Glorian Lost, to Corayne—and to himself.

Soon Corayne drooped in the saddle, her breath slowing to a deep and steady rhythm. With a nudge, Dom urged his horse alongside hers, ready to catch her should she fall from the saddle. Once or twice her lids fluttered, her eyes twitching through a dream.

“They are whole while I am not.” “We have that in common, I guess,” Corayne said softly. She drew up her knees and wrapped her arms around herself, though the air was still warm, even for mortals.

“Don’t worry, I won’t tell Dom what you called him.” Behind them, Dom huffed along, his boots calamitous on the docks. “I do not care for a murderer’s opinion,” he said, a clear lie. Corayne suspected he would care very much. After all, Sorasa had called him a stupid, stubborn ass. Although, she thought, my translation might not be accurate. The Ibalet words for stupid and handsome are quite similar.

He paused before a shield on the wall. It was old, notched at the edges, the face painted gray with a blue star cut in two by a long slash. The squire stared up at it, as a priest might look upon his icons and altars. With a sinking feeling, Corayne realized she saw no signs of his father in these rooms. She looked at the ruined shield again, and at the boy before it. We have something in common.

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.

Sorasa Sarn was the last through the door, barring it behind her, shutting out the great hall. Her eyes were wide, manic, as she took them in, looking from Dom’s wound to Corayne to Andry’s flushed and panting face. The dagger in her hand dripped scarlet. “Do I have to do everything around here?” she snarled.

match. She reached out with a tentative hand. Without thought, Andry took it, her fingers warm in his own. “It’s nothing,” he said, his breath coming in uneasy pants. “I’m fine.”

“And what would you call yourself, Gaeda?” Corayne said, easing herself to her knees next to the witch. Andry tensed, as if he wanted to pull her back from the old woman. But Corayne was unafraid, looking intently into her eyes.

among the roots, tucked into their cloaks. For once, Corayne was still, her face smooth, her mouth slightly parted. Her black hair fanned out around her like a dark halo. Andry’s cheeks warmed against the cool night and he glanced away, turning to the great hulk that was an Elder.

The Elder sucked in a breath, chest rising and falling. He glanced at the willow where their great hope slept, small beneath her cloak. “Cortael never told me about Corayne.” Andry followed his gaze. “To keep her safe?” Dom shook his head. “I think he was ashamed.” The squire felt his teeth gnash together, both in anger and to bite back a curse. I will not insult a dead man. “Then he never knew her,” he replied instead, eyes still leveled on the willow. A wind rustled the branches, revealing Corayne nestled among the roots. Brilliant, brave Corayne. “No parent could be ashamed of a daughter like that.”

Andry retreated into his hood, showing only the hard set of his jaw. Despite his unease, he seemed less a squire and more a traveler, weary but unafraid. Still, his fingers twisted on the reins. Corayne was struck by the very odd impulse to grab his hand. She blinked, startled, and pushed it away. Warmth flushed in her face, and she willed her cheeks not to turn red.

Andry nodded. “And I hope we get it over with quickly.” “Maybe not too quickly,” Corayne shot back. He glanced at her, an eyebrow raised in question. She bit her lip, chewing the moment. “It’s nice to see you worry about something that isn’t the end of the world,” she finally said, almost too softly for mortal ears. Beneath his hood, Andry smiled, his face brightening. “Likewise, Corayne.”

Now she knew fear for that galley and its crew. Under the table, her knuckles went white. Until there was not the bench beneath her fingers, but skin, darker than her own, warm where her flesh went numb. She squeezed Andry’s hand gratefully.

“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.”

Someone dabbed at her lip and Corayne turned to find Andry standing close, a kerchief in hand, the edge of it stained red. She took it gratefully, holding the cloth to her bleeding mouth.

While the rest set to cooking breakfast, Andry hesitated, remaining close. Corayne checked her lip with her fingers, then realized she was probably covered in dirt. She felt oddly self-conscious in front of him, though Andry Trelland had seen her in all states by now. “Your horsemanship could use some work as well,” he mumbled, scuffing a boot. When she struck his shoulder, she was careful to keep her thumb untucked.

Corayne was certainly trying. She stood as close as she dared, halfway down the long, flat deck of the galley, hidden behind a pile of crates netted to the ship. She smiled when Andry sidled up to her, leaning against the rail. “Honorable squire, are you joining me to eavesdrop?” she said, nudging him with her elbow. His arm buzzed at her touch. “I think they’d skin me alive if I tried,” he answered, and he meant it. “What about you? Have you figured it out yet?”

“It’s the geyser!” she heard Sigil shout, the bounty hunter’s big hands going to Corayne’s hips. With a groan she all but tossed her into the air and Andry’s waiting arms. He took her weight in stride, shoving her into the saddle in front of him, his arms around her. “We need the sword,” Corayne gasped, knotting her hands in the mare’s mane.

Andry spotted the flash of gold before Corayne could, pulling the horse down an abandoned lane and back into deeper water. The mare tried to fight but he kicked her on, cursing colorfully under his breath. “If we survive this, remind me to scold you for that unseemly language,” Corayne said wearily. His chest moved against her back, rising and falling with stilted laughter. The warmth of him took her by surprise. “I certainly will.”

All over the oasis, hissing echoed, the serpents wailing a lament for their lost realm. Corayne slumped, leaning hard on the sword. She expected the sting of a fang at any moment. It never came. Her head lolled against a warm shoulder, and arms tightened around her body, holding her steady. She glimpsed dark amber eyes, a kind mouth, a gentle face.

Andry felt closer, a hand brushing her arm. His body was warm against hers. She tried to cling to him, her grip too weak. “With me, Corayne. Stay with me.”