Her eyes were dark brown and constantly scanned her surroundings. Whether they were searching for misbehavior or attacking enemies, Quinn couldn’t tell. She wore the white tunic of high rank and a constant scowl of disappointment, but other than that . . . she seemed no different than the rest of her brethren.

She stopped behind Gemma and stared down at her as Gemma’s battle-cohorts gawked up at the woman with something akin to fear. Strange since the three of them didn’t seem to fear much of anything but more Kir-tears.

“And so it’s true,” the newcomer finally said to the top of Gemma’s head, and Quinn saw Gemma cringe as if she’d just been caught stealing money by a town magistrate. “You really are back.”

Katla opened her mouth to speak but the monk stopped her without doing more than glancing at her. Literally, that’s all she did. She lifted her gaze to Katla and the words died in Katla’s throat. Then the monk moved her gaze back to the top of Gemma’s head.

“I hear you’re a princess now. How nice for you.”

There was a beat . . . two . . . and then . . .

“So are you just going to sit there and not greet me properly, Brother Gemma?”

Gemma scrambled to her feet at the snapped question and faced the woman.

“Master General Ragna.” Gemma briefly bowed her head. “How nice to see you again.”

Hands behind her back, Master General Ragna began to walk around Gemma in a tight circle, looking her over as one might a prize bull. “I see you’ve been letting yourself go a bit. Not quite training like you used to.”

“I actually have been training . . . Sir.”

“Not like you should be.” She slapped at Gemma’s side. “Look at that flab.”

Gemma’s mouth dropped open but then she just as quickly closed it again.

“Your hair is ridiculously long too.” It didn’t even reach her shoulders.

“And what are you wearing?” she asked, feeling the chainmail between her fingers.

“I—”

“Have you taken a vow of poverty?”

“My mother made this chainmail.”

“You’re taking hand-me-downs from your mother now. That’s pathetic.”

“Master General—”

“Don’t speak. I didn’t give you leave to speak.”

Impressive. Even Keeley—a queen!—couldn’t get Gemma to shut up that easily.

The master general stopped in front of Gemma and stared her down again.

“So why are you back here?”

“I bring word from the queen.”

“A princess bringing messages from the queen? Doesn’t she have actual messengers for that sort of useless duty?”

“She does, but since I have a past relationship—”

Eyebrow peaking, the master general repeated, “Past relationship? So you no longer consider yourself one of our order?”

“I . . . wouldn’t say . . . I . . .”

“I asked you a question that should be easy enough for you to answer.”

“It’s complicated.”

“Is it? Because the commitment you made was for life.”

“I know but—”

“Are your commitments as weak as your back kick?”

“What’s wrong with my back kick?”

“You know, Brother Gemma—”

“I feel like you’re making a statement by calling me that.”

“—there are some here that I’d let go without even a backward glance.”

Shona frowned. “What are you looking at me for?”

“But there are others, like you, where I do believe . . . that would be a mistake.”

Now Gemma frowned. “Once you asked me if my parents knew when I was still in my crib if they’d created a disaster. Then you asked if they were closely related.”

The master general pointed at the monastery. “You do know that right now, there are men, up there, making decisions about your life?”

“I’m aware.”

“Because they seem to think that you’ve turned your back on our gods.”

“That’s not true. I just . . . just . . .”

“You just . . . just . . . just . . . what? Tell me, Brother Gemma, what’s more important than the commitment you swore to?” She stepped close to Gemma, standing over her, looking down at her.

“My family,” Gemma finally said.

“Ahhh, yes,” the master general said. “Your precious family. So important to you that you walked away from them all those years ago.”

From the corner of his eye, Quinn saw Keran shoot past him, but Farlan was quick enough to catch her before she could tackle the master general to the ground and start pummeling.

“Is there something you want to say to me, Master General?” Gemma asked. “If not, I’d like to get back to my meal.”

The master general grinned but Quinn took no solace from that grin. None at all.

“Actually, dear Brother Gemma, I’d like to show you something.”

“Show me what?”

“You’ll see.” She glanced at each of them. “You’ll all see.”

No, no, no! Quinn did not like this at all.

* * *

Master General Ragna was a brilliant soldier, a brilliant general, and a brilliant tactician. But she was a bitch and Gemma hated her.

She didn’t hate her for the same reason she hated Sprenger. How could she? Ragna had never once put her hands on any of the trainees inappropriately. But the monk was a ball-busting, cold-blooded, heartless female who had first been Gemma’s trainer, then Gemma’s first commanding officer. Those had been long, painful years.

It was clear to anyone with eyes that Ragna never liked Gemma nor had respect for her. The reasons why were plain. She thought that although Gemma was “fine” in battle, she did not truly uphold the dogma of their order. As far as Ragna was concerned, Gemma was vacuous, selfish, and—

“A complete chatterbox.”

Quinn glanced back at Gemma. “A chatterbox? Gemma?”

Ragna nodded. “Yes. She never shuts up. Haven’t you noticed? It shocks me that anyone talks as much as she does. She spends all day joking and distracting everyone from our true work and calling.”

Quinn again looked back at Gemma, the confused expression on his face making him appear to be another person.

“Gemma?”

“Why do you keep repeating her name?”

“Because I’ve known her for two years. I’ve been in battle with her. Eaten meals with her. Hunted with her. And take it from someone who knows . . . the woman has no sense of humor.”

“Perhaps you’re just not humorous,” Gemma noted.

“Perhaps you’re just mean-spirited,” Quinn guessed.

A mile or so later, Ragna silently called a stop with a raised fist.

Closing her eyes and clasping her hands together, she lowered her head and chanted a spell. A few seconds later, the air around them parted, revealing a large number of trees wound with twisted vines. She took out her sword and slashed at the vines until she’d opened up a small path.

She put her finger to her lips. “Shhhh,” she said softly, and motioned them to follow.

The path only allowed them to move in two at a time. They were just about to enter a sizable clearing when Ragna stopped them all again and motioned for just Gemma to advance with her.

Once Gemma was inside the clearing, she saw a large, beautiful, dapple-gray horse with a black mane and tail on the far side grazing on some grass.

It seemed strange that Ragna would use her magick skills to hide a horse from the view of the other monks. Each brother was given two horses when they made their vows. Horses weren’t something that war monks had to share with one another. Becoming one with the beast you rode into battle with was as important as learning how to use the sword strapped to your back. Meaning that there was no need to hide a horse you found if you took a true liking to it. And as a master general, Ragna could pick any horse she wanted. So why was this horse here?

The horse turned a little and Gemma saw the splotch of white on its hindquarter that almost looked like a hammer! She remembered when she’d first seen that marking and how she’d insisted that the horse had to be hers because “she’s wearing my sister’s hammer!”

“It’s Kriegszorn!” Gemma happily cheered. “It’s Kriegs—”

Ragna’s hand slapped over her mouth and she was dragged back into the woods with the others.

Gemma was pushed into Quinn’s arms and Ragna pulled out her sword. Then she silently waited. The horse moved around the clearing but eventually went back to grazing on the far side.

“What’s going on?” Gemma whispered. “It’s just Kriegszorn. My warhorse. She’d never hurt me. She . . . she . . . oh fuck.”

* * *

Quinn had known Gemma for a while now . . . that was not her good “oh fuck.”

“What?” he whispered.

Gemma faced him. “Kriegszorn’s dead.”

“When?”

“Couple of years ago.”

“Is that her offspring?”

“She didn’t have any offspring.”

“Sibling?”

“No.”

“Then that’s a problem.”

“How did she die?” Laila asked.

“In battle. A month or so before I left for home. A spear through the neck.”

“I remember,” Katla gasped, hands covering her mouth. “Oh, Gemma.”

“What?” Quinn demanded while still keeping his voice at a whisper. “What’s wrong?”

“Tell him, Brother Gemma,” the master general insisted.

Gemma let out a sigh and rolled her eyes, but she finally began. “This particular battle wasn’t going very well. We were getting pushed into a corner and it looked like we wouldn’t be able to get out.”