Sábria leaned down and quietly said, “Get your people out of here, now, Barta. And keep out of sight for the next several days. Do you understand me?”

  “Aye, Milady. We’re right glad yer okay. I wisht we could’a done more.”

  Sábria pulled her money pouch from her belt, turned Shadowfoot so his bulk blocked the view of the nobles who’d been herded into a large group, and handed it to Barta. “Take this and give it out as you see fit. Tell no one it’s from me.”

  Barta accepted the purse and quickly tucked it into a pocket. She turned and, with some kind of silent street code, signaled all of the civilians to melt away. The Blades moved aside and let them pass one by one until the only people left were either from the Temple or the noblemen themselves.

  Sábria watched as several Blades were carried by the medics back to the Temple healers. The bodies of three Blades were laid out, and with a heavy heart, she dismounted and went to them.

  Emlyn and Killian followed behind, and when Shirin realized most of Sábria’s guard had been sent elsewhere, she quickly assigned eight Blades to fill in the gaps.

  Two of the three dead warriors had come from other Temples, but the third, Leonor, was a senior Blade assigned to the Deadnight shift. Geller was kneeling next to her holding her lifeless hand in both of hers. When Sábria knelt beside her, Geller spoke without looking up. “Looks like she took a sword to th’ lower part of her stomach. Don’t know how many times I told her to watch a low jab on her weak side. Th’ blasted wench never—” Her voice caught, and she quickly swiped away a tear that had escaped and was running down her cheek.

  Even though she knew Geller wouldn’t appreciate her sympathy in front of so many Blades, Sábria gently placed her hand on her shoulder. She squeezed once and then moved to each of the other two women, asking Elyon’s protection on each as they moved from this realm into the Goddess’s loving arms. When she was finished, she returned to the Prime. “Ursuna, we’re all grieving for Leonor, but right now I need you to take charge of getting the Codpiece back to some semblance of order once we remove the dead and wounded.”

  Geller gently placed Leonor’s hand on her chest and stood. “Aye, Milady.”

  Sábria finished her prayers and strode back to Shadowfoot. Before she mounted, she looked to the side and saw her old Prime, Meisul Rúsola, seated on a stoop, holding a green baker’s cloth to a wound in her shoulder.

  Sábria hurried over and fell onto her knees. “What are you doing here, Rúsola?” She caught herself before she added, ‘You old fool.’ “Let me see.”

  Rúsola brushed away her hand. “Ach. Ain’t nothin’. I don’t duck as fast as I used to, that’s all.” She grinned at her Arch Priestess. “All Blades run when th’ bell tolls, Milady.” Her grin widened. “Most fun I’ve had in turns, though, Sprite.”

  Sábria quickly glanced around. “Don’t call me that here. My Lady will do just fine in front of all these poxy nobles.” She grinned when she realized she was channeling Ailith. Concern returned, and she asked, “Are you sure you’re okay? Please, let me see.” She gently took hold of Rúsola’s hand and pulled it away. She also had to pry the older woman’s tunic out of the blood to get a better look. When she was satisfied it wasn’t a life-threatening injury, she looked around to see who was available. “Prita. To me.”

  The young Blade’s eyes grew wide, and she hurried over. “Yes, My Lady?”

  “Prita. This is Prime Rúsola. This woman means everything to me. I’m entrusting her to you, do you understand? Take her to the healer hall in the Temple and stay with her until I relieve you.”

  Pride rolled off Prita in nearly palpable waves when she brought her fist to her chest and hit it hard enough for both Sábria and Rúsola to hear what had to be a painful thump.

  Rúsola managed to keep a straight face as she looked at the youngster and held up her good arm. “Here. Grab me up, and we can head there now, Youngling. But ye’ll have to skip along fast to keep up with these old bones.”

  Remounting, Sábria motioned Shirin over.

  Shirin walked up and rested a hand on Shadowfoot’s neck. Arlin followed and waited to hear what Sábria had to say. The two had been lovers for a while now, and seeing them together at the Temple wasn’t unusual. What was unusual, though, was seeing Arlin dripping with sweat after she’d joined the Blades in an all-out fight.

  Sábria acknowledged her presence with a nod and then turned to Shirin. I want every noble here arrested and taken to the detention cells in Magistrate’s Court. You, personally, will see to their detention. They aren’t to be mixed in with the general population.”

  This was so entirely out of character for what typically happened to noblemen who had broken the law that Shirin stared up at her with a shocked expression. She straightened and then slowly nodded. “Yes, My Lady.”

  Sábria turned her attention to Arlin. “I need you to return to the Temple to ensure Ty is okay. I can only guess what she thought when the whole place emptied out with only the civilians remaining inside.”

  Arlin nodded. “Understood.”

  There was a slew of details to work through, and Sábria dismissed those two from her mind. She rode to where Calit was organizing the dead. “Calit.” The Sub-Commander had been so preoccupied that it wasn’t until she saw Shadowfoot’s forelegs next to her that she realized Sábria was there. Rising from where she crouched next to the body of a Tuvistian nobleman, she came to attention and asked, “My Lady?”

  “How many dead? I mean, how many noblemen? Not the others.”

  “Blades are still bringing in bodies from around the Codpiece, but my guess is roughly thirty noblemen died tonight. I believe many were killed by the peasants and merchants who seemed to go wild when the nobles attacked our Blades. I was here for it, and at first, I thought they were attacking us, but no. The nobles ran down a few peasants with their horses, and one swung his broadsword so hard he bashed in the head of a lollie who got in his way. The people, they went mad, My Lady.”

  “I want you to spread the word. No one, and I mean no one, is to talk about what the peasants and merchants did today except among yourselves within the Temple walls. Do I make myself clear?”

  “Yes, My Lady. I’ll spread the word.”

  Sábria pointed toward the port. “Send someone who knows how to drive a wagon to the port and have them conscript one of the long wagons and a pair of horses. Then you’ll put the dead nobles in the wagon. I don’t care if you have to stack them like cordwood. When you’re finished, come and find me. I’ll be somewhere in the Codpiece.”

  “Yes, My Lady.”

  “Terro.” Sábria moved to the next item on her mental list.

  “Milady?”

  “Take Ghost back to the Temple and make sure she stays. Then wait outside the Temple gates for me. Ailith will stay here with my guard.” Once Terro was on her way, Sábria motioned to Ailith. “Off your horse.” She pointed at Sela. “You’re in charge of my guard. Take Ailith’s horse.” She glanced at the remainder of the women Shirin had chosen to fill in the gaps of her dwindling guards. “Marne, you’re Ailith’s handler for the rest of the night.”

  Marne, a taciturn Blade with no grey to her thinking nor any vestige of humor, merely nodded.

  Ailith went Ghost white and swallowed hard. She dismounted and handed the reins to Sela. When Marne slowly turned her head to glare at her, Ailith hurried to her side and stared at the ground.

  “You’re a sweiven’ guard fer th’ Arch Priestess, Shiv. This is yer warnin’. If I catch ya starin’ at yer skezzi feet instead of watchin’ fer trouble, I’ll beat ya senseless in front of th’ Goddess and th’ whole fowkin’ city. Now get yer eyes up where ya can see somethin’ before I take yer skezzie head off yer shoulders.”

  Not needing to be told twice, Ailith immediately took up a guard position and began surveying their surroundings. She didn’t see Sábria catch Marne’s attention and nod her approval.

  Over the next candlemark, Sábria rode from one end of the Codpiece to the other, surveying the damage, making sure her injured Blades were taken to the Healer Hall, and checking to ensure none of her remaining Blades were badly hurt.

  When Calit presented herself and said the wagon with the bodies was ready, Sábria started back the way they’d come. Isobel, Killian, Emlyn, and Sela rode beside her. The rest of her guard surrounded her and marched along on foot. A third of the Blades marched with Sábria, a third accompanied Shirin, Osstendler, and the prisoners to Magistrate’s Court, and a third stayed with Geller, keeping the peace throughout the city and arranging for healers to tend to those noblemen too injured to immediately go with Shirin.

  Ailith walked beside Marne, making sure to keep her head on a swivel. If she’d been assigned to any other handler, she might have discounted the threats as just being over-the-top warnings to a shiv. Unfortunately, she had no doubt Marne would do precisely as she’d said if that’s what it took to get her shiv’s undivided attention.

  A half-candlemark later, they turned onto Providence Way. As was proper, Isobel rode Trax a pace behind Shadowfoot but she moved up when Sábria motioned for her to move even with her. Sábria spoke without taking her eyes off the cobblestone street stretching before them. “I’ll leave it up to you, but as a representative of your King Prather, you might not want to accompany us where we’re going now.”

  Isobel considered for only a moment. Sábria’s body language conveyed power and authority, but her fierce gaze, clenched jaw, and strong posture left little doubt as to her intentions. “I know my King very well, My Lady. He considers your Emperor—” She checked what she’d been about to say. “Well, let’s just say he doesn’t think highly of Emperor Aloric. He would have me stand with the Voice of Elyon and let the political machinations fall where they may.” At Sábria’s nod, Isobel pulled Trax back that half-step and kept a wary eye on the crowd that had grown larger with every block they rode through.

  Confused, Ailith couldn’t help but glance at Sábria when they passed the Temple gates and continued to the Emperor’s palace. Even with Sábria’s face and her royal blue tunic splattered with blood, her regal bearing and the angry set to her shoulders sent a small frisson of fear down Ailith’s spine. It was seeing her like this that reminded her exactly who Sábria was.

  Terro, who’d been waiting as instructed, smoothly inserted herself into Sábria’s guard.

  Ailith watched her a moment before glancing over her shoulder to where the two shaggy horses pulled the unusually long wagon filled with bodies. Over one hundred Blades marched behind the wagon, and men, women, and children were pouring onto the streets to witness the unusual spectacle taking place before them.

  Ailith whipped her head around when Marne growled, “Stop yer gawkin’, Shiv, and look sharp. If that poxy Emperor says anythin’ to ya, ya keep yer temper locked tight, ya ken?”

  “Yes, weapons master.”

  Sábria spoke to Sela, who listened intently before trotting back and delivering her instructions to Calit before returning and placing her horse just to the right and slightly behind Shadowfoot. The black Senior Guardian was nearly as deadly as Prime Geller, and with Calit in charge of the large contingent of Blades, in Shirin’s absence, Sela was the perfect choice to lead the honor guard.

  The Arch Priestess and her people rode beneath the palace’s arched gate and into the outer bailey. She didn’t wait to be escorted inside by the palace guard as was protocol. She continued beneath the portcullis, and then the shod hooves of all five horses rang against the marble steps leading up into the palace itself.

  Sábria and her honor guard rode or marched into the throne room, where an elaborate feast had been prepared for members of the nobility and their wives. She stopped Shadowfoot a mere twenty paces in front of Aloric, who sat frozen in place with a drumstick lifted halfway to his mouth. Bewildered at Sábria’s unusual, dramatic entrance, the diners sat in silence until Blades began carrying the bodies of the dead inside and laying them on the ground in front of Shadowfoot.

  Only then did the room erupt in screams and shouts, with the loudest coming from Emperor Aloric himself, who stood and angrily pointed a fat finger at the growing pile of bodies. “What is the meaning of this outrage? How dare you bring—” It was only then that he realized she was bringing the bodies of noblemen into the throne room. His mouth gaped wide as he stared at the grisly bodies seeping blood onto his polished marble floor.

  Several women fainted while others, men and women alike, turned and spewed up what they’d just eaten moments before.

  After the last body was deposited, all one hundred Blades filed into the room, and Sábria broke her silence. Her voice was deceptively calm as she addressed the Emperor. “Could you not hear the watch bell, Aloric? Or perhaps your Seneschal, Lord Dunham, was unable to interpret the emergency sequence? Otherwise, I’m sure you would have sent your palace guards to assist my Blades after Cibían and foreign nobles who came as guests to our Empire rode en masse to the Codpiece, where they tried to overwhelm my Blades and kidnap children to rape and murder for their perverted entertainment.”

  The Empress, who had turned a sickly shade of grey, gasped aloud. “Rape the children? Surely, Sábria, you’re mistaken.”

  Sábria tilted her head to the side as she looked quizzically at Aloric’s wife. “Surely, Demena, Aloric told you that his guests were running down children in the Codpiece and raping them brutally before leaving them for dead.” Her voice took on a harder edge. “No? He didn’t mention the thirty children thrown on the midden heap in the sevendays since his foreign guests arrived? Didn’t he tell you that he permitted them to do as they wished while here in our beautiful Sarlogne?”

  All eyes turned to a young man who left the tables and cautiously approached one of the bodies. He knelt and placed a shaking hand on the man’s chest.

  Sela moved her horse forward to place herself between him and her Arch Priestess.

  Sábria recognized him, though, and placed a restraining hand on Sela’s arm.

  Sela pulled her grey mare back a few steps but remained alert.

  Sábria’s voice softened as she addressed the young man. “Count Bexley, I’m sorry for the loss of your father.”

  The young man glanced at her with a startled expression. It seemed he’d only now realized that with his father dead, he was the new Count. He stood and bowed low. “I’m sorry as well, Your Excellency.”

  Ailith’s brows pulled low over the use of a title she’d never heard Sábria claim.

  The Count continued in a voice that hadn’t yet dropped into the deeper registers of a full-grown man. “We, my mother and I,” he indicated a tall, aristocratic woman standing to the side, “tried to talk him out of going. You see, unlike my father, we worship Elyon, and after your warning when my father brought me to your office, I vowed to the Goddess that I would obey you and your commands. Please accept my apologies for my father’s behavior.”

  Sábria dismounted and strode to the dead man’s body, followed closely by Sela, who placed herself between her Arch Priestess and the young man.

  Isobel remained mounted as she could protect her friend more easily from the back of a trained battlemare than on the ground.

  Sábria knelt next to the dead Count, pulled the gold chain bearing the shield-shaped family crest from around the man’s throat, and wiped the blood away on the hem of his tunic. She stepped around Sela and slipped it over the young man’s head. “You and your mother may return to Kibrun with my blessing.”

  Isobel marveled at Sábria’s humanity while dealing with this fool of an Emperor’s debacle. She certainly wouldn’t have taken the time to comfort someone grieving over a man who’d ridden against her people. She supposed that was what made Sábria an exceedingly great Arch Priestess with such loyal, adoring followers.

  After the new Count Bexley knelt and kissed her ring, Sábria returned to Shadowfoot and remounted, followed by Sela, who expertly swung up into her saddle without the aid of stirrups.

  There was absolute silence as Sábria leveled an icy glare on Emperor Aloric. “Three of my Blades are dead because you and your cowardly palace guards couldn’t be bothered to come to our aid. Every foreign or Cibían noble who rode into the Codpiece today is either dead or imprisoned in the Goddess’s Court. They’ll remain there until they are tried and their families pay whatever fine Master Fiyori sets.”

  Shadowfoot grew restless, as if in anticipation of what was coming next. Sábria laid a calming hand on his mane. Her voice grew cold, and people gasped when the red, blue, and yellow colors of providence flowed from the crest above the throne reserved for Sábria and circled her, giving her an otherworldly appearance of strength and power. “Know this, Aloric Du Conreau. When foreign powers invade your court, not only will the Blades of the Daughters of Elyon repudiate you, but Elyon herself will forsake you. As you let my Blades suffer and die, so shall you and your people be crushed beneath the weight of your enemy. We will protect the citizenry of Cibía and leave your carcass to rot within your gilded walls. Any and all retribution you levy on the citizens of Sarlogne will return to you and your family tenfold. As you turned your back on her people, Elyon has turned her back on you.”

  With that, the Arch Priestess of the Daughters of Elyon turned her horse. In formation, the one hundred Blades created a lane down the middle of their rows through which Sábria and her honor guard rode. At Calit’s shouted orders, the Blades executed an impressive and perfectly coordinated exit from the throne room.

  Ailith marched behind Sábria as she rode into the Temple courtyard. The same hostlers who’d saddled the horses ran out to take charge of the mounts. The yard was a hive of activity, eerily similar to what she’d experienced after battles in Dreyutha. She wanted to roll up her sleeves and jump in to help, but her fear of Marne kept her rooted in place.

  Marne and the rest of the guard remained in formation, so Ailith shifted, pulled in an anxious breath, and forced down her need to act. She thought her glance at Marne went unnoticed, but the older woman growled, “Ya move yer feet one more time, Shiv.…” She left the consequence unspoken, but Ailith’s imagination was more than up to the task of filling in the blanks.