“At the moment, I want nothing from your war monks.” She refocused on everyone else. “I plan to focus on finding Cyrus the Honored.”

“Finding him?” Gemma asked. “Finding him for what?”

Keeley tossed her hands out in frustration. “Why do you think I’m looking for him? So we can become best of friends and start braiding each other’s hair?”

“Is the tone absolutely necessary?”

“Clearly it is. I’m going to find him, Gemma, so we can kill him. Why else would I be looking for him?”

“Fine. I just wanted to make sure.”

“I do have a concern.”

“And you are?” Keeley asked.

“Father Aubin.”

“And your concern is?”

Aubin looked across the room directly at Ludolf. “That you would trust him. The warlock.”

Keeley looked back and forth between the two men several times before asking Aubin, “And you don’t think I should trust him?”

“Absolutely not.”

“And what exactly is the difference between you two?”

Léandre caught his associate’s arm and held him tight as the other travel companions quietly laughed and Gemma grimaced and lowered her head.

“What?” Keeley asked. “No offense but I don’t really know the difference between warlocks and priests and monks and witches and . . . and . . . virgins? Why are there virgins? No. None of my business. Personal choice. Anyway, other than color scheme in robe choice, I have yet to see differences between any of you. And I promised I wasn’t going to judge. Besides”—she smiled at Ludolf—“my wolves love him.”

Again, Gemma shook her head and muttered, “That is not helpful.”

“Anyway, I have something else I need all of you to do for me while we’re searching for Cyrus. If you’re up to it.”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Gemma said, quickly stepping forward.

Quinn rubbed his eyes. Gemma just couldn’t help herself, could she?

“Keeley, what are you doing?”

“Asking your friends for their assistance.”

“They are not my friends.”

“That’s hurtful!” the truce vicar announced. “And we’ve all been getting along so well, I thought!”

Gemma crossed her eyes but she kept her focus on her sister.

“Perhaps we should discuss this privately.”

“Why?”

“Yes, why?”

“Balla . . . what are you doing?”

“I have no idea, but I am fascinated by this entire thing.”

“I’d like to know what the queen wants from us.”

Gemma folded her arms over her chest and faced Adela the witch.

“You? You want to know what the queen wants from us? You?”

“Yes. Anything you want from us, Queen Keeley. Please. Just ask.”

Gemma and Balla exchanged openmouthed glances, but Quinn didn’t blame them. Adela hadn’t shown any interest in helping anyone at all since they’d met her. But here she was . . . offering the services of not only herself but all her travel companions to a queen she did not know.

It was strange. Shocked expressions were to be expected.

“I’ve been told by Lord Ludolf that all of you are very good at the stealth arts.”

“Well,” one of the assassins noted, looking directly at the truce vicar, “most of us are.”

“Then, if you’re interested, I need you to do something very dangerous for me.” Keeley looked at each of those who’d traveled with Gemma. “I need you to find a way into the Old King’s castle and discover exactly what my sister Beatrix is up to.”

“What are you doing?” Caid asked Quinn.

“Counting down to one.”

“For what?”

“You’ll see,” Quinn said. “Four, three, two, and—”

Gemma lifted two wooden chairs and threw them against the wall, shattering them into pieces before facing her sister and screaming, “Have you lost your bloody mind?”

“One,” he told his brother. “That was one.”

* * *

Gemma knew she was supposed to let her sister lead but lead where? To hell? Was she supposed to let her sister lead them all to hell?

“I liked those chairs,” Keeley complained.

“Fuck the chairs!”

“All right,” their mother said, “that’s it. You lot upstairs.”

“Mum, I’m too old for you to send me upstairs because I upset you,” Gemma said.

“I’m not talking to you.”

Gemma looked at the stairs and realized that all her much younger siblings were sitting on the stairs, watching.

“Isadora,” Keeley said. “Please.”

Isadora led the kids to their bedrooms. Gemma waited until she heard the children’s doors close before turning back to her sister.

“All right, what did this . . .” She gestured to the warlock. “. . . this . . .”

“Friend?” Ludolf offered.

“Shut up.”

“Now, now, friends,” the vicar immediately jumped in. “Perhaps we should all calm down. Talk about this rationally.”

Gemma ignored the vicar. “Is the warlock the one telling you to go sneaking into Beatrix’s castle? Does that really sound like a good idea to you? Or does that sound more like a trap? Because to me it sounds like a trap.”

“Because any time it involves Beatrix, you assume I’m stupid and it’s a trap.”

“That’s not true.”

“You did it just now!”

“I just want you to think! Instead of listening to the first warlock you meet! Whose face you’ve never even seen.”

“I did see his face.”

Gemma was stunned. “You saw his face?”

“Yes.” Keeley looked around. “Why is everyone staring at me?”

“You saw his face?” Gemma asked again.

“Yes.”

“All of it?”

“Did I see all of his face? As opposed to what? Exactly?”

Gemma moved across the room, pointing a finger at Ludolf. “What did you do to my sister?”

The warlock immediately raised his gloved hands, palms out. “Nothing. I wouldn’t dare.”

Gemma slowed to a stop. “You wouldn’t dare? Why not?”

He glanced down at the wolves resting at his feet.

“I thought they liked you.”

“They tolerate me. They tolerate us all. Some more than others. And some extremely less.”

They all discreetly glanced at Ragna but without even lifting her head, she replied, “I am aware.”

“So,” the warlock went on, “I can assure you. I have not discussed Beatrix with the queen other than to say I met her.”

“But you have discussed Beatrix with someone. Haven’t you?”

“My fellow warlocks and I were very curious about Queen Beatrix. About where our ultimate loyalties should lie. We knew we could never side with Cyrus. His fanaticism is tiresome. But we knew nothing about either queen. Some of my brothers have already aligned themselves with Beatrix.”

“But not you.”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“That’s obvious, isn’t it?” a voice chimed in.

Gemma briefly closed her eyes. “No one asked you, Ragna.”

“Come now, don’t you see? The warlock is here because he knows that here he can manipulate. He can control. Here he can do what he likes and the queen with the hell beasts that she seems to think are friends will let him. The question, Brother Gemma, is whether you are going to let her get away with it?”

Gemma turned from the warlock and looked up at the table her sister still stood upon. In silence, they gazed at each other as Ragna continued.

“Let’s be honest here, my friends—”

“You have no friends,” the Abbess reminded Ragna.

“—the Order of Righteous Valor can secure the crown for Queen Keeley, and this territory for all the sects.”

“Are you mad?” Balla demanded. “Do you really think any of us would trust you to be in charge?”

“If that happened,” Aubin admitted, “I would just climb up on the pyre right now.”

“You just fear our structure.”

“No, Ragna. We fear your insanity.”

“But it’s our order that can ensure this reign. Can any of you say the same? Anyone?”

Keeley gave her sister the smallest nod and Gemma held her hand out. Their mother yanked the battle axe off the back of one of the queen’s soldiers standing guard in the hall. She tossed the weapon to Gemma, who tossed it to Keeley.

Keeley caught it easily, turned, and threw it. It slammed blade first into the stone floor right between Ragna’s feet.

“Did . . . did you just throw an axe at me?” Ragna asked Keeley with a surprised smile.

Keeley took several steps across the table, her gaze locked on Ragna.

“I need you, War Monk, to find your vow of silence and to lock it into place. Or the next time I throw an axe at you . . . I won’t miss.”

“And my girl never misses unless she wants to.” Gemma’s mother dropped into her chair and put her feet up into her husband’s lap. “Ain’t that right, Gemma?”

“That’s right, Mum.”

“And that’s why,” the warlock said with great feeling, pointing at Keeley, “I pledged my loyalty to your sister.”

Frowning, Gemma asked, “Because she never misses when she throws an axe?”

“What? No . . .” The warlock shook his hooded head, sighed deeply. “Forget it.”

* * *

In order to keep Keeley from throwing any more axes across the room, Ragna left. So did Gemma’s parents, but only because they wanted to eat their dinner alone in their room. Apparently, seeing their daughters threaten others brought out their amorous side.