“Mena, the goddess of rage who is also so kind, with her sword and wings … how can I not love her and want her free to be who she is? And Dariel. I don’t know what’s become of him, but I love him, and I wouldn’t want him to be anything other than what he is either. Even Aliver, if he were still among us, I’d welcome with all his ideals and plans. I might have to fight with him, but they are my family. My blood.”

She thought of Hanish for a moment, but not in the way she wanted to. She pushed it back and calmed her voice and said, “You’re not my blood. So I don’t care what is in your heart. I care what comes out of your mouth, and I think only of how it will help me protect the Known World. You, Barad, are going to be one of my staunchest allies.”

“Never.”

Corinn launched herself at him. Big, gangly as he was, she smashed into him, grasping his head in her arms. “Your mind is mine!” The man fought against her for a moment. He drew back a mallet of a fist, cocked, and began to bring it forward, until she slipped her thumbs around and pressed them against his stone eyes. The fist froze. His body went limp, as if she held the center of him and he could do nothing.

“Your mind is mine,” Corinn repeated. “Listen, and don’t deny it.”

Early that evening Corinn went to the gardens of Mena’s region of the palace. Though she felt the fatigue of the song she had sung for Barad, Corinn knew there was more left in her. And there were two more things she had to do before she rested. Tonight was the night for it. She felt full of resolve, powered by a measure of certainty, and she planned to see it through.

She walked cautiously, her eyes often flicking up to the bluing sky. Elya was far away, flying behind Mena, and though she had many guards looking up at the sky to spot the creature’s returning and pipe a warning, Corinn still moved fast. She wove her way through the tables and benches and chairs that seemed to absurdly crowd Mena’s balcony.

Delivegu had given her no specific information on where the eggs might be. In the gardens, yes, but it was no small space. It could take hours to find them; and this assumed they were real, which was not something she could be sure of. The night was crisp, the moon lighting the stones and plants and furniture well enough. She had dismissed Mena’s staff, but still, still she felt a tingling urgency to—