The man wiped his tears. “Yes. You are her sister.”

“Yes. I am. Now that we know the truth of my words, what’s your name?”

“Agathon.”

“But you have an official title. At least that’s what I was told.”

“I am the Queen’s Follower of Her Word. I used to be the Old King’s but now I am the queen’s. And you’re right. She still hides things in plain sight.”

“Do you think you can help me find out about that tunnel?”

“I’ll do my best. Then will you kill me?”

“Or,” Gemma said, putting her arm around his shoulders, “we will come up with another option that doesn’t involve your untimely death.”

* * *

Ima climbed to the top of the hill that looked down onto the Old King’s castle. She rested her hands on her hips and tried to get her breath back.

“Is your whole body so weak?” Balla asked.

She wanted to make a rude reply to the temple virgin, but she was still trying to catch her breath, so Ima let it go. At least they weren’t trapped inside the castle along with everyone else. She hadn’t been in there herself, but she’d never heard anything good happening to the witches who ended up in that place.

She and Balla weren’t merely waiting for everyone to come out. When the time was right, the witches and temple virgins had tasks and they were the only ones who could perform them. And if they hoped to be ready then, they would have to start their work now.

Wassa opened her ingredient bag and took out what they would need to begin. The temple virgins, not too far away, did the same. All four women would be using nature, but it was strange to be doing such work with a temple virgin so close. Unlike the war monks, the temple virgins had never attempted to burn her coven-sisters at the stake. Of course, Ima couldn’t say that her sect had never used temple virgins as sacrifices back when they did that sort of thing more openly.

Yet here they were. Not exactly working together, but combining their powers to help other onetime enemies.

Ima had to stop for a moment.

“What’s wrong?” Wassa asked.

“This is strange, isn’t it? What we’re doing?”

“Not as strange as that,” Wassa replied, nodding toward the bottom of the hill, where they’d left all the horses.

Thankfully, the team’s horses were just fine. All of them safe. But the war monk’s half-dead horse had taken hold of a grazing elk by the neck and was swinging it around and slapping it against the ground like a dog playing with a dead cat it had found. It beat the poor elk against the ground until it stopped trying to fight and then the horse began to feed. Tearing flesh from the animal’s neck and stomach, tearing out the ribs so it could devour the organs.

Ima, now sitting on the ground and preparing to create a power circle, nodded at Wassa. “No, no. You’re right. That’s definitely stranger.”

* * *

Tadesse eased his way behind merchant stalls, doing his best to avoid the castle guards. He waited until they’d passed, then moved on until he caught up with Faraji. They slid into a group of religious travelers making their way into a section of the castle. He had no idea where this line led and wasn’t too worried until he realized there was some kind of entrance process, which seemed strange. In Queen Keeley’s queendom, the religious sects simply had to show up and she took them in. They didn’t have to sign anything or give anyone their name or information.

The last thing two divine assassins wanted to do was put their names on any list. Unlike assassin guild members, divine assassins didn’t become grand masters of disguise. They blended into their surroundings and hid their physical identities, but they didn’t hide their religious affiliation.

That meant they had to get out of this line before they reached the front of it and caught the attention of the castle guards.

Tadesse touched the tips of his fingers to his silk robe and unleashed his magick. He felt it slither down his clothing and slip into the ground, separating out into several tendrils.

When he heard the first screamed “Snake!” he and Faraji stepped out of line and quickly moved away. They made their way around the castle walls and attempted to get to one of the hidden doorways they’d seen on the maps. But when they were only a few feet away, they were surrounded by castle guards and a guard captain, all aiming spears at them.

“Halt, monsters!” the captain ordered. “And raise those hands.”

Tadesse gritted his teeth but did as ordered. The divine assassins were tethered to the ground. They needed their fingers and palms to touch inanimate objects. Dirt, wood, even steel. With a touch of his fingers, Tadesse could send his poisons or his “pets” to do his bidding. But with his hands in the air . . . he could do nothing but wait until they speared him and Faraji through like meat on a spit.

“Hold, good gentlemen!” Tadesse heard behind him, shocked how relieved he was to hear that particular voice.

The truce vicar and the Abbess came to the captain’s side.

“What’s happening?” the vicar demanded. “These men are with us!”

“They are divine assassins. We cannot allow them on royal lands to put our king and queen at risk.”

“But they’re our protectors.” The vicar stepped in front of the spears aimed at Tadesse and Faraji.

“Assassins are protecting you? You expect us to believe that?”

“How do you think we made it this far, good lord? Without their help, we would have met our tragic ends on the sword tips of Cyrus’s men.”

“Sister?” The captain focused on the Abbess. “Is this true?”

Slowly, the Abbess lifted her head, dark eyes filled with such pain and fear that Tadesse wanted nothing more than to push all these men away and take her somewhere safe, where she could never be harmed again. By anyone. Which was, of course, ridiculous, because he’d seen this woman fight. He’d seen her strip the flesh off her victims as if she was skinning a chicken for dinner. She needed no one really.

“If it had not been for these men,” the Abbess said in the softest voice humanly possible, “I would not be alive at this moment. They saved me from Cyrus’s men. Those villains had me trapped in a valley many leagues from here and these honorable men not only rescued me, but gave me their protection all the way here. I never had to worry about my safety or my . . .” She gently cleared her throat. “Purity,” she whispered. “Something I can assure you I would have lost had Cyrus’s soldiers had their way.”

She covered her face, barely heard sobs coming from behind her hands, and turned toward the vicar.

“Good sirs,” the vicar said, “you cannot take these honorable men away from us. Not now, when we rely on them so much.”

The captain swung his finger and the soldiers brought their spears up so they weren’t pointing directly at Tadesse and Faraji, but the men didn’t move away.

“Stay here. I’ll be back,” he ordered.

Once the captain was gone, the vicar patted Tadesse and Faraji, calmly telling them to put their arms down, even as the soldiers immediately grew tense again.

“It’s all right, lads,” the vicar soothed. “Everything will be all right.”

The captain returned and motioned toward them. “Come on then.”

“Come where?” the vicar asked.

“Queen Beatrix would like to meet with you, Vicar.” He smiled. “And all your . . . friends.”

Uh-oh.

* * *

Quinn and Gemma searched through Her Majesty’s room but found nothing. They’d also searched the king’s study, his privy chamber, her privy chamber, the queen’s study. Thankfully the rooms had been close by and they’d been able to avoid most of the castle guards. Not easy. They were as numerous as the rats in the walls. Keeley’s castle didn’t have any rats . . . Quinn was sure that was due to the demon wolves.

For the first time ever . . . he loved those demon wolves. Because he hated rats.

“What about the library?” Quinn asked, which got him nothing but matching looks of disdain from Gemma and the Follower of Her Word.

“What?”

“That’s a little obvious, isn’t it?” Gemma asked.

“I thought obvious was the point.”

“Not that obvious.”

“Her husband has the library searched thrice weekly,” the Follower—er. . . uh . . . Agathon—informed them.

“There is not a lot of trust between them, is there?” Quinn noticed. What a sad marriage. It seemed the pair went out of their way to spend as little time together as they could manage. There were even rooms, apparently, just for the king’s women. Women who had been handpicked by the queen, according to Agathon. Women she allowed him to use for his “sexual needs but who knew their place.”

Quinn couldn’t imagine living like that.

After all these years and despite all the bickering, his parents still slept together and still found things to laugh about. Mostly others’ misfortune, but they still laughed. What they didn’t do was search each other’s things like Marius and Beatrix.

“Does Marius search himself or just have servants do it all?” Gemma asked.

“Well, since King Marius cannot . . .”

Gemma stopped searching and turned to Agathon. “Cannot . . . what?”

The Follower cleared his throat. “Read.”

She sneered. “My sister must be making full use of that.”

“She is, I’m afraid. But he uses his mother to assist him.”

Gemma began to pace. “Where else can we look? Some place obvious but not too obvious.”

“And where her husband doesn’t obsessively look,” Quinn said, sitting on the bed.

Gemma jerked to a stop, her arms swinging wildly. Her reaction was so exaggerated that both males leaned away from her.

“Agathon, is Marius like his father?”

“In what way?”