Ramiel clasped his hands behind his back, his face grim. “There are some people, a very small number, maybe one in a thousand, that are entirely lacking in conscience or remorse. People who can lie so perfectly that it’s impossible to tell.”
Mathos turned to watch the older man, his brain racing as he tried to sort through the implications of some people being able to lie to a truth seeker. People that could lie to the justices of the assizes. Gods. “But I thought that the archangels whispered to you or something. I thought you all somehow knew for certain.”
Ramiel gave him an amused look. “I’m not saying that there are no angels involved”—he shrugged—“but there are those rare occasions where we have to rely on confessions or evidence, just like everyone else.”
But it did nothing to reassure Mathos. “Gods. If people knew….”
If people knew that there was a way to deceive the assizes, it could be a disaster. “Why are you telling me this?”
Ramiel scowled and ran a hand through his fiery hair. From so close, Mathos could see that it was shot through with fine silver strands. “Dornar is one of those few men and women. He could be lying through his teeth, and we still couldn’t be certain. Unless you had direct physical evidence, we weren’t able to hold him here. And I think you need to understand this about him.”
Mathos wanted to growl. His beast did growl, low and angry. Of course, there was no evidence.
“You genuinely are better with him gone,” Ramiel said again.
Mathos raised an eyebrow. “Even though he’ll go straight back to the palace and start hunting for Princess Lucilla?”
“Yes. First of all, he was a danger to you here. Secondly, it will take him time to get back and try to sway the council. Giving authority to the Lord High Chancellor is one thing; free rein to take over the king’s rooms and belongings to hunt down another royal is something else. They won’t like that kind of precedent.”
Ramiel gave Mathos a slow look. “Also, what Dornar never considered is that we’re more than just a temple. We have several substantial libraries and archives, you’re more likely to find something useful here than in the palace anyway.”
Mathos’s beast gave a pleased roll in his belly. Libraries and archives were exactly what they needed. The Nephilim were helping them yet again.
He put out a hand to shake Ramiel’s. “Thank you. For everything.”
Ramiel’s eyes glittered. “I was a soldier before I was a justice. And now, well, sometimes those archangels you mentioned do whisper in my ears.”
“And are they whispering now?”
“Maybe. Maybe something tells me that these are the decisions that will determine the future of our kingdom.” Ramiel smiled, despite the tension in his shoulders. “Or maybe it’s just gas.”
Mathos barked out a laugh. He liked Ramiel. He would have liked to serve under him.
“And speaking of truth….” Ramiel nodded toward Jeremiel, who was hurrying across the courtyard toward them. “Here comes your own justice.”
“Oh, no.” Jeremiel shook his head, having caught the end of the sentence. “Not a justice, just a soldier.” He shrugged. “Mercenary now, I guess. I was coming to get you—we need you in the infirmary.”
Mathos thanked Ramiel once more and then strode quickly beside his friend as they made their way to the hospital wards deep inside the complex.
“Rafe asked me to get you. It’s Reece.”
Mathos looked at Jeremiel’s worried expression. “Wouldn’t it have been better to get Tristan?”
Jeremiel snorted loudly. “Tristan has taken Nim back to his room so that he can ‘check her for injuries.’”
Mathos groaned. Nim hadn’t been anywhere she could possibly be injured. “And I guess that Val is busy ‘checking for injuries’ with Alanna too?”
“You’ve got it.” Jeremiel chuckled.
Gods. This was what came of having women in the squad. Disruption. That’s what he was telling himself this feeling was. He wasn’t jealous. Not at all. And he wasn’t even vaguely lonely. No, he was annoyed that he had to go and do everyone else’s work for them.
His beast flicked lazily in his belly.You just keep telling yourself that, Sergeant.
They stepped into the cool private room that had been allocated to Reece, to find Rafe leaning on the wall, arms crossed, his face set into a stony expression. Meanwhile Reece, still extremely pale and bruised, winced and struggled to pull on his leather jerkin.
“What’s this?” Mathos demanded, his blood pressure starting to climb.
“He insists that he’s well enough to be discharged,” Rafe answered, his voice dripping with frustration and disbelief. “He wants to leave.”
