Her voice trailed off.
“I’m so sorry,” I said inadequately. I wished I knew what to say. I wished I’d had other friends before, so that I would know the right words in the right order to tell her how a pit opened in my stomach at the very thought, and how grateful I was that she had told me, and how useless I felt for being unable to help her in any way.
“It’s all right,” she said. “It was a long time ago. But I started working for Patrick not long after that because Dad didn’t leave me much, and I take any opportunity to screw over the Temple when I can. I’m careful, though. Not like he was.”
“And Zlata …?”
“She has her own story. Worse than mine. She understands.” Mieka looked up at me for the first time. “She’s a mage, too. Nails.”
I couldn’t suppress a shiver, remembering Milady. I thought back to the night I had last seen Zlata. I couldn’t remember if she had worn gloves inside—although perhaps she had nothing to conceal if she didn’t use her magic as often as Milady.
“She keeps it quiet,” said Mieka. “She spent a few years as mage to a rich family. She doesn’t talk about it much, but it wasn’t a good time. Unless you’re noble-born yourself, or high up in the Temple, it rarely is.”
“I wouldn’t have guessed. She seems so …”
“Seems so what?” said Mieka fiercely. “She’s the strongest person I know, and she would do anything—anything—for me, or for anyone she cares about.”
Chastened, I said, “I was just going to say that she seemed to hate mages.”
“Oh, she does. If she could rip out her nails and be done with them, she would. She tried that once, she told me. They grew right back. She keeps them painted with this colored polish she buys in the Undermarket, which helps to suppress them, so she doesn’t use them by accident.” She sighed. “Zlata thinks I am foolish. She thinks the time of the old, free magicis gone for good, and we need to survive in a world where power is bought and sold.”
“And you don’t?”
She let out a long breath. “I would like to believe those days will come back. Eventually. Magic is more powerful than the Temple, or the king, or any one person who imagines they can control it. They might put a bridle on it for a time, but it will throw them off its back sooner or later.”
We sat there for a time, contemplating the stones, then wandered back to rejoin the Followers.
“Where’s Baldbeak?” wondered Mieka.
“I think he’s just enjoying being able to fly around freely for a while,” I said. But then Baldbeak came careening into the camp like a winged demon, cawing coarsely and flying so low overhead that many of the Followers had to duck.
They are coming!I heard his silent words between his harsh raven-cries.They are coming!
“They?” I called up to him. “How many?”
Many humans. A flock.
I had expected stealthy assassins in the dark, not an open attack. I had not thought Ban Morin would dare to openly defy the Temple’s edict. I ran to the Priest and opened my mouth to warn them, but just as I grabbed their arm, the first man stepped out of the shadows—clad in red leather, sword glinting. More followed, all heavily armed. They fanned out, circling the camp. Baldbeak landed heavily on my shoulder, and Mieka came up behind us, so close that I could feel the heat of her.
“We’re just here for the girl, Old One,” said the first man. I gathered he was the leader—the others hung back and looked to him as he spoke. I tried to stand tall, but my legs felt as substantial as two river reeds.
“Let me go to him,” I whispered.
The Priest placed their hand over mine. Where mine was sweating, theirs was smooth and dry. “They will not hurt us,”they said in a low voice. They patted my hand a little, comfortingly, then took a step forward.
“You know the Temple’s laws,” they said, their voice heavy with authority despite its softness. “And you know also that none may interfere with the Followers’ passage.”
“We don’t answer to the Temple,” said the big man in leather. “We answer to Ban Morin, and he wants the girl.”
“And does your master not answer to the Temple?”
“Not anymore.”
My knees buckled, and I nearly fell. Mieka held my shoulders from behind. “He’s bluffing,” she whispered. “No one has ever attacked the Followers. Ever. He would be hanged. We are safe so long as we stay with them.”
The Followers stood very still and straight around us, aside from a couple who started calling to the children in low voices and pulling them aside, into the trees. It made sense that they would be careful, even though no one wouldreallyviolate a Temple edict in front of an audience of dozens … Would they?
The Priest stepped between the men and the Followers. “This is not a matter for armed men. You risk bringing war upon yourselves and your master.”
