“I, young man, am here to bring healing and peace among all the different factions,” Vicar Ferdinand explained to Quinn.

“That seems helpful.”

“It’s not,” Gemma muttered, putting her sword back in its sheath.

“The war lovers among us,” Ferdinand went on, “feel I get in the way of their glorious deaths.”

“Do you?”

“If I’m lucky! Because the work of a truce vicar is to stop all this unnecessary killing! That’s why I’m here. To help Cyrus see the many wrongs of his ways.”

“Good luck with that,” Father Aubin told him. “You should go find him and start talking.”

“I think it would be better to meet with the great Queen Keeley first. I’ve heard wonderful things about her. So let us be off!”

“We’re not staying here for the night?” one of the witches complained, looking at the pub longingly.

“No,” Gemma said without an ounce of pity. “So get what supplies you need. We leave in ten minutes.”

“Fine,” another witch said. “Have my bags brought along, War Monk.”

Quinn saw Gemma reaching for her sword again, but he caught her arm. She didn’t fight him this time and instead said to the witch, “I’m not your servant, Adela. You want your bags, you fucking carry them yourself. That goes for all of you.”

After Gemma went to get supplies, the truce vicar slapped Quinn on the back. “You’d make a good truce vicar, my boy. You have a knack for keeping the peace.”

“Does it matter that I actually have four legs?” The vicar frowned. “I’m a centaur.”

“Ahh. No. Not to the truce vicars. We welcome all!”

“That’s nice.”

“Except for those evil divine assassins who should burn for eternity in the pits of all the hells.”

Quinn stopped and let out a sigh. “Seriously?”

That laughter exploded again. “I’m just joking, my four-legged friend! Truce vicars deal with all! I promise.” He again patted Quinn’s back. “And that includes even those we find to be pure evil like the divine assassins.”

* * *

The entire group rode for a few hours until it was late in the evening. Then Gemma led them into the trees and found a relatively safe spot for them to camp for the night. Quinn built a fire and one of the priests returned with a few rabbits they could roast over the fire.

Gemma had also picked up some fresh bread from the baker in town and handed out loaves to everyone. As they ate, no one spoke. And, once they finished eating . . . no one spoke. Not even Quinn.

Quinn always had something to say. Of course, he probably wasn’t used to this much silent animosity. He was used to sisterly fights about past bullshit. He was used to two brothers arguing over Gemma’s mother. What no one was used to was sitting with members of religious sects that loathed one another and, on more than one occasion, had attempted to destroy the other’s sect over the centuries.

And, of course, when the silence was finally broken, it was in the worst way possible.

“So,” Father Aubin finally asked a silent Quinn, “do you feel unholy?”

Quinn shook his head. “No. I do not.”

“Unclean?”

“No. I feel blessed.”

“Huh. Interesting.”

“Do you feel like a dick?” Gemma asked the priest. “Because, you know, you are.”

“Do you have something to say to me, War Monk?”

“I think I just said it.”

“Now, now, my friends!” the truce vicar cut in, making everyone but Quinn roll their eyes. “Why must we argue and bicker and make the unholy one feel uncomfortable?”

Quinn dropped his head but Gemma could see he was grinning, because the centaur had no sense.

“First off, he’s not unholy. He’s a centaur. He’s annoying and a pain in my ass, but he’s not unholy.”

Adela the witch lifted her head and asked, “Are you looking at me, War Monk?”

“I guess I’m just wondering why you’re here?”

“Fear of Cyrus the Honored?”

“Oh, please. Try again.”

“She’s right,” Balla agreed. “I can’t think of any reason why you would be here, witch.”

“Shut up, virgin. What do you know anyway?”

“Yes, I’m sure I’ve missed much in my life because I haven’t had a cock in my mouth.”

“Ladies!” the truce vicar exploded. “Can we all please remember our manners?”

“The vicar’s absolutely right,” the divine assassin Tadesse chimed in. “You don’t want to disturb the priests by talking about sex they will never have.”

“It’s a sacrifice we are willing to make for our god,” Father Léandre snapped. “What sacrifice are you willing to make?”

“Our god never asked us to make that particular sacrifice,” Faraji of the Low Mountains calmly replied. “Because our god actually likes us.”

That’s when poor Quinn lost it, laughing so hard he had to get up and leave. He walked off into the surrounding trees, his laughter echoing back to them for a very long time before it finally tapered off.

“What was that all about?” Aubin finally asked.

Gemma shrugged. “I’m guessing he found all of you fucking ridiculous.”

“But not you?” Balla asked.

“No,” Gemma answered in all seriousness. “Not me.”

CHAPTER 16

The first day of travel and already Balla was annoyed by . . . well . . . everyone. Absolutely everyone. The witches. The priests. The divine assassins. And that truce vicar. She wanted to stab him in the throat if only to shut him the fuck up. Goddess, the price she paid for her powers. She didn’t mind keeping her virginity. For her, sex wasn’t really that big a loss. Men in general annoyed her and she found offensive the way many of them insisted on waving their cocks around. But being forced to leave her precious temple, where she’d been in complete control for the last decade, to travel not only with whorish witches; overbearing priests; dangerous assassins; a disgusting, foul-mouthed war monk; and a never quiet truce vicar was her goddess asking entirely too much of her.

All she could hope was that they arrived at Queen Keeley’s castle sooner rather than later. Balla longed for a bath and a few minutes of silence.

The centaur, who traveled with a horse he did not ride, suddenly stopped, his head moving one way then another, before galloping off; the war monk chased after him. Balla was more than happy to let them go but everyone else went after them so she felt she had to as well. Of course, Priska waited for her to make the decision for both of them as she should.

She followed the others and ended up at a ledge that overlooked a drop of at least sixty feet. The others had dismounted from their animals and were staring down at something, so Balla also dismounted and went to the edge to see what they were looking at.

It was a fairly large company of soldiers surrounding a woman. It seemed an excessive number of soldiers to guard one lone woman or one lone man until she noticed the soldiers’ colors. Cyrus’s green and gray.

“All that for one woman?” the centaur asked.

“A nun,” the war monk pointed out.

“One for you to pick up?”

“No. There were no nuns on the list.”

“Excellent,” Balla said. “Then we should be off.”

She turned to go but when she had nearly reached her horse she realized she was walking alone. With a sigh, she faced the others. “Do we really have time for this? She’s just a nun. Don’t you agree, War Monk? Don’t we need to go?”

The monk looked at the centaur and together, the pair began to walk toward Balla. But when they drew near her, they pulled their swords, turned, and charged toward the ledge. When they reached the edge, they both jumped.

Balla stomped her foot. “This is why I hate war monks!” she bellowed.

* * *

Gemma landed hard on the back of a soldier, slamming her blade into his spine and using his body to break her landing. When he hit the ground, she rolled off him, dragging her sword out of his back at the same time, and got to her feet.

She quickly moved until she was on the nun’s left and Quinn was on her right.

“War Monk,” the nun greeted, holding tightly onto a steel walking stick. “I have to say I’m most heartened to see you.”

“Sister.”

“Stay behind us, Sister,” Quinn said, his long sword out.

“Unholy four-legged thing!” one of the soldiers cursed at Quinn even though Quinn had quickly shifted back into his human form, and the nun seemed confused by the insult.

In response, Quinn dramatically pointed his sword at the man and promised, “I’m going to shit on you.”

The expression on the soldier’s face was so horrified that Gemma started to laugh and then she charged, killing the soldier closest to her. It was the last thing anyone was expecting from her, which was why it worked so well. She’d hacked her way through nearly ten soldiers when she noticed that Quinn was just standing there.

“What the fuck are you doing?” she demanded, but he didn’t answer her. He just continued to stand there, staring . . .

She turned and . . .

The nun tore through soldiers. One after another after another. Gemma could not say she’d never seen such a thing before. She had. But never from a nun. And this was definitely a nun. Not a war monk dressed as a nun, but a true nun.

And yet . . . she ripped through those soldiers like they were nothing. It wasn’t a steel walking stick she’d held but a steel battle staff. A battle staff that was designed so the nun could easily pull it into two pieces, each of those pieces equipped with a spike on the end. She used those spikes to rip open throats, abdomens, inner thighs, spines, and to tear out eyes. She never said a word, she never made a sound as she did her brutal work. There were no war cries, no curses, no spells cast. She just decimated.