CHAPTER 24

Gemma took Dagger’s reins from Samuel and told him again, “You’re not coming.”

“But—”

“Not this time. Not where I’m going.” She smiled at him. “But thank you.”

She led Dagger toward the stable doors, stopping when Ima and Wassa stepped in front of her.

“Well?” Ima asked.

“Well what?”

“Well—oh, gods!”

A seemingly normal-looking Kriegszorn rammed into Dagger, slamming him against the stable door with her front hooves and roaring at the poor horse.

“Kriegszorn, no!” Gemma bellowed.

Fangs out, ready to tear out Dagger’s throat, the horse looked at Gemma over her shoulder.

“Let him go. Right now. Let him go.”

She moved away from Dagger and dropped her front legs onto the ground.

“Samuel!”

Cautiously, Gemma’s onetime squire eased up to them and took Dagger’s reins back from Gemma. He clicked his tongue against his teeth and poor Dagger limped off.

Ima cleared her throat. “Uh . . . well, we did our best. As you can see, we managed to cover her dead side pretty well.”

“How?”

“Used some of the skin from her other side. We noticed it restores dead flowers and grass around the ring so we thought it might work with her skin too. So far, so good. Um . . . it does not work on her attitude, however. As we all can see.”

“She’s just jealous,” Gemma guessed. “She used to get that way sometimes when she was . . . normal. I’ll ride her on this mission.”

Wassa grimaced a bit. “Sure that’s a good idea?”

“No, but you’ll be coming with us. So if it’s a mistake, you’ll be there to experience it with me.” She gave them a smile that she could tell neither liked, which she completely understood.

“Samuel!” she called out again. “Bring me my saddle. I want to see how it looks on Kriegszorn.”

* * *

Keeley and her army rode out three hours before dawn. Gemma’s team rode with them, each member discreetly splitting off from the main force when each person could do so without being noticed. They rode through a nearby forest until they could regroup behind a hill line without being seen.

As planned, Gemma’s team was made up of the two priests, Balla and her assistant, the two remaining witches—who seemed grateful no one appeared to be holding Adela’s actions against them—the divine assassins, the Abbess, and Quinn himself.

And, to the great annoyance of absolutely everyone . . . the truce vicar. He’d insisted.

“I will be of great benefit to you! I promise!”

No one truly believed him, but they decided not to argue the point. Besides, the vicar had earned a bit of respect as the one who’d put the blade into Adela’s back.

The vicar managed to earn even more respect after their third day of hard riding, when all any of them wanted was some food and a good night’s sleep. That evening they passed a city known for its great library. None of them had much interest in going into that library, great or not. But the vicar insisted they ride toward it. So they did.

When the library came into sight, Quinn was surprised that Cyrus hadn’t already burned it down. It resembled a church. A church dedicated to books.

They rode past it, though, until they reached a very large house behind the library.

They dismounted from their horses and handed them off to the stable hands, then followed the vicar to the front door. He briefly spoke to a servant, and a few minutes later another man came to the door. As soon as the two men saw each other, they began hugging and speaking so loudly that Quinn knew immediately this was another vicar.

“Ferdinand, my good friend! I am so glad to see you!”

“And you, Gregorio! You look so well!”

“What are you doing here?”

“Any chance my friends and I can spend the night?”

“Of course! Of course! Come in! All of you!”

Without question or complaint, Vicar Gregorio invited them all inside his home.

“What an interesting group you have with you, my old friend. Divine assassins, war priests, a war monk, a nun, temple virgins, and even witches! The holy and the unholy all mixing together! You will make our fellow brethren proud when they hear about this.”

“Oh, thank you, my friend!”

“Oy! Oy! Oy!” Gemma finally snapped, clapping her hands together. “I appreciate the meeting of the vicars. But I’m tired, hungry, and thirsty. So if you’re not in the mood to help us out, I am more than happy to go to the pub we passed on the way here.”

Vicar Gregorio smiled widely at Vicar Ferdinand. “War monks are the absolute worst, aren’t they?” He crowed. “I forgot how much I love that!”

“I know. They really are! I’ve been with a whole army of them the past few days and they are miserable bastards. But how can you not love them for their miserable ways?”

“Well, come on, you lot,” Gregorio said, motioning them deeper into the house. When he reached a set of stairs, they found a large staff patiently waiting for them. “My servants will be more than happy to help all of you. Even the rude and unholy ones!”

“By the gods,” Gemma muttered to Quinn, “if I wasn’t so hungry, I’d burn this fucking house down.”

“See? Just like the vicar said,” Quinn joked. “Rude.”

* * *

After taking a hot bath and changing into a fresh set of plain white leggings and a white cotton shirt, Gemma was ready for some sleep but she still hadn’t eaten. She dreaded the idea of sitting through dinner with her travel companions. She remembered the first night they’d set out together and how they’d almost come to blows. But she was so very hungry, she decided to just put up with the insults.

Gemma headed down the stairs where she was met by a servant who happily led her to the dining room. Why were the servants all so happy? she wondered. She didn’t think she’d be happy as a servant. True, she was the servant of a god, but that was different. To be the servant of an actual human being . . . She’d do her job to the best of her ability to put food on the table and take care of her family, but she doubted that she’d do it with a smile.

They reached the dining room and Gemma paused outside when she heard laughter coming from her companions instead of the usual insults concerning unholiness, abominations, and whor-ishness.

Taking a step inside, Gemma was greeted with cheers that almost had her turning around and walking back out.

“Is everything okay?” she asked, sitting down in a chair next to Quinn.

“Excellent wine,” Quinn said. “That they’ve all been enjoying.”

Gemma studied the glass carafes of wine across the table. Her eyes narrowed a bit and she immediately covered her chalice when another servant offered her some.

“You should try some,” Father Aubin urged. “It’s the best I’ve had in a long while.”

Remembering her night of dwarven wine excess, Gemma shook her head and said, “No, thank you, Father. And don’t anyone forget that we ride early tomorrow. So don’t get too . . .” She sighed and said to Quinn, “No one is listening to me, are they?”

“They are not.”

Gemma glanced around the table. “Where are the vicars?”

“At the library.”

“What?”

“That’s what they said. Vicar Gregorio has the keys, so they packed up some food and off they went.”

Gemma leaned back in her chair and watched as the servants continued to fill her companions’ wineglasses. No food was on the table except loaves of warm bread. And the two vicars never seemed to return. And all the while her companions—except for Quinn, of course—seemed to get more and more unaware of their surroundings and out of control.

“Where’s the kitchen?” she finally asked Quinn.

He lifted his head, sniffed the air, and pointed.

“I’ll be back.”

* * *

Quinn watched Gemma slip out of the dining room.

“You don’t hide your feelings very well, centaur.”

Balla sat at his right, a chalice of half-drunk wine in her hand and a rather adorable half-drunken smile on her face.

“Maybe you should have some bread.”

“You wouldn’t believe how many people who come to our temple want to consult about love. The fact that we’re virgins . . . they don’t care. They still want us to fix their shitty relationships for them.”

Quinn let out a startled laugh. “Balla.”

“Don’t get me wrong. It brings in a lot of gold, which we all appreciate. But the majority of those relationships are doomed. Still, I’ve seen enough to know . . .”

“What?”

“You two . . .” She giggled and sipped more wine.

“Us two what?”

“You’re meant for each other.”

“How do you figure?”

“Let’s see. How do I put this?” She looked off a moment before hitting him with “Both of you are too annoying to be with anyone else.” She quickly put her hand on his forearm. “But I mean that in the best way possible!”

“How could you seriously mean that in the best way possible?”

Before the priestess could reply, Quinn heard the front door open, then a hysterical scream from the kitchen. He was reaching for the dagger he had tucked into his boot when he saw that all his traveling companions were not as drunk as he’d first thought. Those with weapons already had them out, those who used magicks were already in their combat stances. The truce vicars rushed into the room, carrying multiple scrolls under their arms.

“What’s happening?” Gregorio asked, his eyes wide and his face red from worry. “Is everyone all right?”

Gemma returned from the kitchen. She placed a large cooking knife down on the table and announced, “In case anyone was wondering. . . no one is poisoning the food. Or wine. If anyone sees any red flakes in the stew, it’s simply red pepper.” She caught sight of the vicars. “Oh. You two are back.” She motioned to the scrolls. “And those are . . . ?”