With only a quarter-candlemark to assemble the honor guard, Shirin raced down the stairs herself instead of ordering the door guard, Prita, to do it, as would have been the usual protocol. She rang the bell that was bolted into the wall next to the archway leading from the Citadel’s garden twice. She waited three beats and rang it twice more.

  Blades were assigned to Sábria’s guard on a rotating basis. The schedule was maintained assiduously by Prime Osstendler, who assigned women based on their shifts. Each day had three rotations of guards standing by coinciding with the three patrol shifts: Dawning, Gloaming, and Deadnight.

  Shirin stood quietly next to the bell as the Blades arrived. Some ran from the dormitory, others from the dining hall, and still more from various other places or activities within the Temple. All were adjusting clothing or weapons or running their hands through hair mussed from sleep. Waiting gave her the time needed to compose her thoughts and come up with a tactful way to tell the Blades that Sábria was on the warpath, and they’d all better mind their thoughts and words around her.

  Once they were all assembled, she pulled them in close and spoke quietly. “Something has happened that has upset the Arch Priestess. Mind yourselves.” She looked directly at Marne, one of the weapons masters with a prickly personality who quite often voiced inappropriate opinions concerning some of Sábria’s decisions. “Understood?”

  There was a chorus of “Aye, Commander,” which Marne didn’t join. Shirin was just about to dismiss her and have someone take her place when Marne got a hard, determined look in her eyes and nodded once.

  Sábria strode beneath the archway and immediately turned left, heading for the main gate. She neither acknowledged Shirin, who silently took up her place to her right, nor her guards, who fell into two lines behind her. Most days, when Sábria walked down the main road heading into the center of the city, she’d acknowledge the nobles and merchants who stepped aside and bowed or curtseyed as she walked past.

  Today, it was Shirin who nodded at the people staring at their Arch Priestess, hoping for her usual kind word or gesture. Shirin had no idea where they were going, only that Sábria obviously had a destination in mind and was single-mindedly heading to wherever that might be. When they turned down Alder Street on the way to the Clayborn district, she closed her eyes and silently thought, Oh no.

  There were no Primes in the guard that day, and when they passed the Dawning shift’s Prime, Osstendler, on her way back to the Temple after her shift, Shirin pointed to her and signaled she was to join them.

  There was no mistaking the dark clouds surrounding Sábria, and Osstendler nodded once and, without comment, fell in slightly in front of and to the right of the two lines of guards.

  They stopped in front of the Farryn residence, and Sábria barked, “Marne. To me.”

  Shirin caught and held Marne’s gaze as the Blade hurried forward, hoping to convey the fact that even though it might not seem like it if she were to judge by Sábria’s demeanor, tact would be required in this instance. Once again, Marne dipped her chin before presenting herself to Sábria. “Milady?”

  Sábria’s barely controlled anger seeped out as she spoke to Marne. “Get Lady Farryn. Bring her out here. Make sure she’s wearing shoes she can walk in.”

  Marne nodded, stepped between the hip-high statues of maidens carrying overflowing pots on their shoulder and rapped on the door. When a trim-waisted older woman opened the door and saw Sábria waiting on the sidewalk with her guards and Marne standing on the stoop glaring at her, the woman, who was no fool, stepped aside and motioned Marne inside.

  Marne stepped into the foyer and, true to form, wasted no time on pleasantries. “The Arch Priestess requests the company of Lady Farryn immediately. Please see that she’s wearing shoes she can walk a distance in.”

  “Bella? Who was at the—” Lady Farryn stepped out of a side parlor and stopped mid-sentence when she saw Marne. “Yes?”

  Marne repeated herself and held her temper while the lady blinked at her with momentary confusion.

  “May I ask why?”

  “No, My Lady. You can’t. Please don’t keep the Arch Priestess waiting.”

  When Lady Farryn moved toward the door, Marne stepped in front of her. All of the Blades had extensive training in manners and protocol, and Marne simply said, “My Lady. The Arch Priestess has requested your presence, not your questions. Are those the shoes you wish to wear while you accompany her on her errand?”

  “And what errand would that be?”

  Swallowing her knee-jerk rude retort, Marne leveled a steady gaze on the woman. “I wouldn’t know, and if I were you, I wouldn’t ask. Now, please, My Lady. Your shoes?”

  The practiced sigh of someone born into the highest echelons of society conveyed just how inconvenient this summons was. Lady Farryn pursed her lips and walked into a room toward the end of the foyer. She returned wearing a tunic, leggings, and knee-high leather boots.

  Marne nodded once, opened the door, and waved to indicate Lady Farryn should precede her.

  Lady Farryn, or Farry as she was known to her friends, immediately started toward Sábria with her mouth open, ready to complain about the peremptory summons.

  Without saying a word, Sábria turned and headed down the street.

  Shirin dropped back a bit and whispered into Osstendler’s ear. “If we’re going where I think we’re going, I want you and Marne guarding Lady Farryn.”

  With a nod, Osstendler dropped to the rear of the columns where Lady Farryn was hurrying to catch up with the group. She fell into place behind her, and when Marne turned to see what she was doing, she used hand signals to tell her that the two of them would be solely responsible for Lady Farryn’s safety.

  Osstendler realized that Sábria sending Marne in for the lady hadn’t been a random coincidence. Of all of the Blades in this detail, other than Sábria, Shirin, and possibly herself, Marne was the most qualified to guard Lady Farryn. She was equally deadly with knife and sword, and while she didn’t come close to Prime Geller in her hand-to-hand expertise, no one did. However, again, Commander Shirin aside, Marne, Soirin and Sela were perhaps the next on the list of experts in that discipline and thus singularly qualified to protect a lady of the realm.

  They turned onto Chersternola Way and continued to follow Sábria, whose fast-paced march was a direct result of her black mood. Three blocks later, another turn onto Sacred Way brought them to the lower market district bordering the Codpiece.

  Unable to keep up the pace, Lady Farryn had slowed, along with Marne and Osstendler. Farry turned to the Prime and, between heavy breaths, asked, “What are we doing down here?”

  “I don’t know, My Lady.”

  When they passed a shabby alehouse called the Broken Tooth, Lady Farryn stopped in her tracks. “I insist on knowing what we’re doing down here, or I’ll not take a single step further. I never set foot in this filthy, disgusting part of town, and I resent being dragged down here now.”

  Osstendler pulled in an impatient breath and waved for the lady to follow Sábria and her guards. “My Lady, I don’t know why we’re here. I do know the Commander said that Blade Marne and I are personally responsible for your safety. As such, it’s not a good idea for us to become separated from the rest of the guard contingent.” She raised her brows, hoping to impress upon her just how important it was for them to stick together.

  Farry might have gotten the message, but she chose to ignore it. Crossing her arms, she steadfastly refused to continue.

  Osstendler sighed and whistled the Commander’s personal call.

  They were now perhaps a full block ahead, and Shirin turned to see what the problem was. When she saw Farry stubbornly refusing to move, she made a quick decision. They were in a dangerous part of the city now, and with Sábria’s safety her direct responsibility, she didn’t want to leave her side. On the other hand, they were putting more and more distance between her two Blades who’d remained with Farry. Sighing, she moved up beside Sábria. “My Lady?”

  Sábria turned her head in Shirin’s direction.

  “It appears Lady Farryn no longer wishes to accompany you.”

  Their steps slowed, and Sábria eventually came to a complete stop. Without turning, she spoke in a calm, controlled tone. “Go inform Lady Farryn that if she doesn’t keep up, I’ll order Marne to throw her over her shoulder and carry her into the Codpiece.”

  Shirin stared at the side of Sábria’s face. She knew there would be no discussion about her orders, but she wanted to give her Priestess time to reconsider her words. When nothing was forthcoming, she quietly ordered, “Surround and protect.” The remaining nine guards surrounded Sábria and faced outward while they waited for Shirin to return.

  They were close to the invisible demarcation line separating the brothels, gaming houses, and disreputable ale houses of the Lower Quarter from the filthy, stinking, murky underbelly of Sarlogne known as the Codpiece. Shirin strode back to where her Blades waited with Lady Farryn. Shirin recognized the stubborn, haughty look of a woman exercising her rights as a lady of the Realm and, with a look, told Marne and Osstendler to give them privacy.

  When the two stepped away, Shirin leaned in. “Lady Farryn. I was instructed to tell you that either you join Lady Sábria and the rest of the Blades, or I’m to have Marne,” she indicated the glowering guard with an open palm, “throw you over her shoulders and carry you to our destination.”

  Farry’s eyes widened as they stared at Sábria’s shoulders. “She’d never.…”

  Shirin nodded. “She would.”

  While Marne wasn’t as tall as Shirin, she was certainly taller than Farry, who turned her way and seemed to consider whether the woman could, indeed, throw her over her shoulder and carry her any distance.

  Interpreting the look correctly, Shirin sighed and ran a hand over her brow before trying again. “My Lady. Marne once carried a drunken sailor from the Broken Tooth Tavern,” she pointed to the Alehouse, “to his ship in the harbor because she’d had to knock him unconscious to get him to stop fighting. You are much lighter than the man and wouldn’t be a problem for her.”

  With a tsk, Farry lowered her arms and angrily strode up to Sábria. “I don’t know what you think you’re doing, but this is putting a definite strain on our friendship, Sábria.”

  Sábria turned those livid blue eyes on the noblewoman and said in a quiet yet menacing tone, “That horse has already left the stable, Lady Farryn.”

  While Farryn’s threat had been an idle one, the implication that she’d done something so egregious as to actually put her lifelong friendship with the Arch Priestess of the Daughters of Elyon into jeopardy clearly shook Farry to the core. When Sábria started forward again, Farry shook off her affronted cloak of nobility and followed.

  Shirin motioned to Marne and Osstendler, who resumed their places on either side of their charge. They crossed into the Codpiece and began to see the vicious, violent dregs of society standing, sitting, or lying in the filthy streets. Most wore little more than rags and followed the procession with eyes dulled from poverty, Rukilla dust, or starvation.

  Sábria stopped in the middle of the road, took hold of Farry’s arm, and pulled her close. “Look around, Lady Farryn. What do you see?”

  A shiver passed through the lady when she looked into the hollow-eyed, dangerous men and women watching them. All were armed, if not with a sword, then with long knives, hatchets, or any kind of wooden or metal implements they’d sharpened and shoved into their belts. “They’re little more than filthy beasts. Why, in the name of the Goddess, would you bring me here?”

  “Do they look well-fed to you?”

  Farry hadn’t noticed before, but as she looked closer, she saw bony wrists and hands sticking out of too-large sleeves, skeletal faces with eyes sunk deep in their sockets, and shoulders with barely enough meat on them to properly hold up their ragged tunics. She whispered, “No.” Sábria’s grip tightened, and Farry tried to pull her arm out of her grip. “You’re hurting me.”

  Shirin moved into Sábria’s line of sight and raised her brows, reminding Sábria whom she was dealing with.

  The grip eased somewhat, and Sábria growled, “And yet you see fit to send a shiv, my shiv, into the Codpiece with two full bags of bread and fruit, alone into this mass of starving humanity.” Her voice became louder with each word. “With a bag in each hand so she can’t even move quickly to defend herself should a mob attack her for the food you asked her to deliver.”

  She turned to Shirin. “Get a torch and light it.”

  Shirin realized what Sábria intended and knew she at least had to try to forestall the danger she knew her Priestess was going to subject herself to. “My Lady.”

  “Do it.”

  There were several torches in sconces on a nearby wall, but Shirin didn’t want to be that far away from Sábria to retrieve them. She pointed at Caitir and Faylin, who immediately drew their swords and approached a group of thugs and roughs and ordered them to step aside.

  One man crossed his arms over his chest and sneered.

  That lasted until Caitir began a slashing pattern that would have taken his head off if he hadn’t fallen back and dived to the side. Farry gasped at the brutality of the move, and the remaining nobs and pidges scattered, allowing Faylin to grab two torches while Caitir stood holding her sword at the ready in a two-handed grip.

  They walked to a barrel at the opening of an alley where at least ten more toughs stood watching. This time, when Caitir barked, “Move aside,” they all shuffled out of the way so Faylin could use the fire in the barrel to light her torches.

  Sábria pulled Farry to a frack and looked her in the eyes. “I realize, Farry, that you wanted to feed the starving nints and skellis during Festival since they can’t come out to find food.” She pointed to a group of mounted noblemen riding down the street. “Do you see those nobles? What do you think they’re doing down here? Enjoying the scenery?”

  Farry glared at her. “You don’t need to be sarcastic. And….” She couldn’t fathom why anyone would come into this foul-smelling cesspit. “I don’t know why they’re here.”

  “They hunt in packs. They’re looking for skellis and nints to play with. Their play usually ends when the skelli or nint dies if my Blades can’t get to them in time. They hunt lollies, too, and if they catch them, they gang rape them. Do you think the nobles from other kingdoms respect our Blades? What do you think would happen to my shiv if they were to catch her alone down here?”

  Tears shone in Farry’s eyes now. “She…she runs down here every day.”

  “Not during Festival, and not into the middle of the Codpiece. She runs the perimeter, fully armed, with nothing in her hands to keep her from drawing her weapons. Now, If you think these nobs and pidges are starving, let’s go look at the skellis and nints hiding in the sewers.”

  Farry pulled back. “Sábria. No. I understand your point.”

  “I don’t think you do.” Sábria took one of the torches and Shirin the other.

  Shirin went into the frack first, moving slowly down the stairs with Sábria, Farry and the other Blades following behind.

  Farry began seeing the haunted eyes of emaciated children illuminated in the torchlight. Their eyes appeared twice the size of a normal child, sunken into desperate faces covered with sores and scratches.

  Sábria pointed to one girl who sat on the shelf with her knees drawn up to her chest. The stillness of the child’s eyes combined with the way her head was canted against the block wall was chilling. “Do you know why there are scratches around her mouth?”

  The scratches were deep gouges that ran in lines from the sides of the child’s mouth to right below each ear. Farry stared at the skelli’s face. “No, I don’t. Is she dead?”

  “They would have thrown her down into the sewer if she were dead. When Ailith came down earlier and tossed her food, the skelli immediately shoved it in her mouth, but before she could swallow it, she was set upon by other skellis and nints who pried her jaws open and stole her food.” Sábria glared at her. “Now, Lady Farryn, by this time, all of these starving children know Ailith is carrying food in the bags she’s brought down.” She pointed to an older lad, maybe nine or ten turns, who was leaning against the smooth wall. “You. Step out onto the ledge.”

  Angry belligerence filled the boy’s glare, and he made no move to obey.

  Shirin pulled a copper out of her pocket and held it up.

  Squinting against the torchlight to see what she was holding, the boy moved out onto the walkway. He held out his hand, and Shirin shook her head. “You’ll get it when the…when we’re finished.” While most people, peasants, and nobles alike, instantly recognized the Arch Priestess, Shirin didn’t want to risk identifying Sábria and having the skellis and nints realize they could pay for a full turn of food by killing her and ripping off her weapons, rings, and clothing to sell on the black market.

  Not sure any of them would understand her, Sábria asked her question, wanting Farry to fully understand what she’d done. “Why didn’t you kill the Blade who brought the food?”

  The nint cocked his head and then growled, “Shepa.”

  A skelli, about the same age as the nint, stepped forward and said something in gutter cant.

  The nint replied, and the skelli translated, “Cut two nints bad, didn’t she when they went fer her? Said worse fer next to jump her. She be skezzy good with her blades.”

  Sábria clarified, “They attacked her? Why only two and not more?”

  “Aye more. Three ended in th’ muck, ain’t seen ‘em again.” She pointed down into the brackish muck flowing slowly along the channel.

  “Give him the copper, and one for her, too.” Sábria looked the skelli in the eye. “Why can you understand what I’m saying?”