“See what you did?” Quinn demanded of Gemma. “My sister never called monks religious fanatics before. But now she does. And it’s probably because of you.”

“The first firepit I find,” Gemma promised when they arrived at two large double doors deeply inscribed with her god’s rune, “I’m setting you on fire.”

“That is it!” Laila snapped. “I swear by the eight legs of Ofydd Naw, if you two don’t stop it right now—”

The two doors swung open to reveal three older monks standing inside. But they weren’t the only ones. The room was fairly stuffed with white tunic–clad monks. All waiting to see what would befall Gemma in the next few minutes.

“Brother Gemma,” one of the monks greeted as he smoothly moved up next to her.

“Brother Thomassin.”

“Starting shit as usual, I see,” he quietly teased.

“He started it.”

“I did not,” Quinn replied.

“Later, children.” He looked directly into Gemma’s face. “Listen to me. You say ‘yes’ to whatever is said to you. Understand? ‘Yes, yes, and more yes.’ We’ll take it from there. I promise it will work out for you in the end.”

“But—”

“What part of that did you not understand?”

“All of it.”

“For once, Gemma, follow directions.”

“Fine.”

“Good. Thank you. And tell your friends to keep calm. If everyone is rational, this should go exactly as Joshua wanted it to. Now let’s go.”

It was clear that last mention of her old mentor had filled Gemma with questions, but she didn’t have a chance to ask anything before Brother Thomassin motioned her and the rest of them into the chamber. Monks lined the path that led to a five-pointed star in the middle of the floor. Gemma stood in the center, facing the raised dais and her nemesis. Grand Master Sprenger.

Quinn and the others moved off to the side. Laila stood on his right, her gaze searching the crowd for any signs of trouble. She trusted few humans, so this whole thing had her very uncomfortable. If she were in her natural form, her tail and ears would be constantly twitching with worry.

But while his sister studied everyone, Quinn studied Sprenger. He couldn’t help it. Amazing the damage one human male could do to so many. Although his tunic and chainmail hid any scars on his body, Quinn could see the scar on his face well enough. Gemma really had fucked up that jaw of his. A double-sided scar stretched from his right ear, down along his jaw and across to about three inches from his left ear. There were no mirrors in this monastery, so Sprenger couldn’t see that scar every day, but he must be able to feel it. Every time he touched his face. Every time he washed it. Every time he attempted to grow a beard and realized that hair wouldn’t grow along those scars. Maybe even worse, when he talked or chewed or when it was extremely cold and the bone hurt or didn’t sit right in the socket. Each time those things happened . . . he must remember what Gemma had done to him.

And the thought of his continued suffering did nothing but make Quinn smile.

* * *

Gemma didn’t know what was going to happen but she was ready. She was ready for manipulation or lies or an outright assassination attempt by Sprenger and his minions. She’d never been so ready before. Not only had her training as a war monk prepared her for anything that bastard had to throw at her, but also her training as a Smythe. She had one sister who’d attempted to kill the other just so she could wear a stupid crown. An uncle who kept telling the children to be ready to kill each other should they be invaded by the enemy. And another sister who insisted on frolicking with demon dogs.

Gemma was more than ready for anything Sprenger could think of tossing at her.

So she lowered her gaze and she waited. Like a good little monk. For the false grand master to do what he planned to do.

“Brother Gemma, it’s so good to have you back,” he began, and Gemma was glad that she had her gaze lowered because she rolled her eyes so hard. “We have missed having you here among us. But I think all of us can admit things have changed since you last graced our humble monastery. And decisions have been made that affect your relationship to the order directly.”

Under her lashes she glanced at Thomassin, now sitting on the dais behind Sprenger. He gave a very small nod, urging her to remain calm and just remember, “yes, yes, yes.”

“Yes,” she replied.

Sprenger smiled as if that was exactly what he wanted to hear, which annoyed her greatly, but she’d promised.

“And after much thoughtful and painful consideration, a decision has been made. Since you are now a princess of Queen Keeley’s court, while the Order of Righteous Valor will be falling under the banner of King Marius . . . it is impossible for you to continue as one of our order.”

Gemma would admit that it took her a considerable amount of time to understand what Sprenger was actually saying to her.

Lifting her gaze, she first looked at Thomassin, Bartholemew, and Brín. Silently and with as little obvious movement as possible, they all frowned and nodded toward her. Wanting her to agree. But she was still a little confused, which horrified her. She’d always considered herself the “smart one” of her family.

She shifted her gaze to Sprenger and asked, “What?”

“What don’t you understand, dear?”

Dear? Did he just call her dear?

“All of it.”

“Oy,” he muttered under his breath. “I forgot about this part of dealing with you.” He cleared his throat and began again. “As of tonight, you will agree to no longer call yourself a monk of the Order of Righteous Valor. Instead, you will simply be Princess Gemma of Queen Keeley’s court. Or, if you’d like, you could find another war monk order somewhere closer to your sister’s queendom. I’m sure several of the elders will be more than happy to write you a glowing recommendation to help you secure a position. This has already been discussed with the grand elders and Master General Ragna. They all believe it is the best course. Now, if you agree, we can finish this conclave, and move on to a delightful evening of feasting—”

“And ale?” Keran called out, ever hopeful. When she realized that now everyone was gawking at her, she raised her hands, palms out, and said, “Sorry. Sorry. Forgot where I was. Sorry.”

“Do you agree to that . . . Your Highness?”

Again, Gemma looked at the three elders. They were no longer trying to be subtle. Instead, they were mouthing, Say yes! Now!

She looked at her travel companions. Quinn and Laila were loudly whispering, “Just say yes. What are you doing?” while Keran was begging, “Please say yes so I can get to a gods-damn pub, woman!” Poor Cadell and Farlan appeared overwhelmingly bored. Samuel said nothing; he appeared . . . terrified. She had no idea if he was afraid she’d say yes or no. He just seemed scared to death. Not that she blamed him.

Gemma glanced at her battle-cohorts and they shrugged, leaving the choice up to her. A decision this momentous had to come from her heart and soul.

Finally, she scanned the crowd for one more person and found her standing at the far side of the dais, simply watching Gemma.

Gemma stared at Ragna but all Ragna did was exactly what she used to do when Gemma was in training and was confused by a question. She just raised that damn eyebrow. Just the one. Her left one. That simple, single move used to irritate Gemma to her very being. To her very core!

And that’s what it did right now. Because that gesture always seemed to say the same thing to her. “Don’t you already know the answer to this question? Must I actually give you the answer? Are you really that worthless?”

She knew that was a lot for one eyebrow to say, but she knew that’s exactly what that one eyebrow was saying to her. And in that moment, in that second, Gemma had her answer.

She returned her gaze to Sprenger. Lifted her chin and with pride said loudly for everyone to hear . . .

“Fuck you!” she bellowed at the grand master of the Order of Righteous Valor. “Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you!”

* * *

“This is your fault!” his sister hissed at him.

“How is this my fault?”

“It just is!”

Quinn didn’t know how that was possible, but he was glad Laila had said something. Because if she hadn’t, he would have started laughing. Especially when he’d locked eyes with the master general across the room. He’d never really seen her shocked up to this point, and her shocked face was hilarious. She looked like a startled bird. Her body straightened, her head snapped up, her eyes widened, and she almost smiled. It was as if she’d expected something from Gemma, but not quite this.

Of course, none of them looked as if they’d expected this from Gemma. Even he hadn’t expected this from Gemma. Then again . . . it was just so Gemma, wasn’t it?

Sprenger sat forward in his big chair, hands gripping the arms, his rage barely contained.

“What did you say to me?” Did he really want her to repeat it? Because . . . that seemed a mistake. Quinn knew Gemma. She would definitely say it all again. Happily.

“I said fuck you!” See? “Want me to say it a few more times?”

By the unholiest of gods, this was going to get nasty. And to be honest, Quinn couldn’t wait.

“I was going to give you a chance—” Sprenger began.

“Give me a chance for what? I did nothing wrong. It was a grand master—a true grand master, by the way—who sent me out. I was following orders as I’ve always been trained to do. So there’s nothing to punish me for. And if you think Beatrix is really an ally, you’re a fool. She will take from you everything she can, and then she will destroy you.”

“You know nothing about her.”

“Very true. She’s just my sister,” Gemma said with great sarcasm, then tilted her head to the side and opened her eyes wide to illustrate how stupid Sprenger was being. A move he didn’t appreciate at all.