Nina threw herself on her knees. The tears were already spilling down her face. Already, they had soaked her gray robe and novice collar. Her frizzy red hair spilled in tangles from beneath her gray head cover from when she screamed and tore at herself in the bunkroom.

  There were no mirrors for her to shatter her image. There were no belongings to throw and thrash through. Just her. And she had clawed at herself. She scraped her fingernails across her back and shoulder-blades. Raked them across her scalp. Pulled and thrashed about in the humble room at herself while she cried and stumbled. Alone. Only, not alone. Because the rosary on her belt spilt its beads to the floor around her in a splash when she tore it, not because she was angry at God—because she was unworthy to wear it.

  Mother Superior Felicia loomed over her as she trembled with sobs. Her nose and eyes were spilling as she waited for the Mother Superior to say something, anything.

  With each soft step the older woman took around her, on that dark wood floor of the nunnery, Nina felt herself collapsing. She couldn’t kneel far enough. She couldn’t fall far enough into the hell she belonged. A child. She caused a child to be killed. Innocents on the streets were butchered. Everything she did had caused slaughter. Their deaths were her fault. Her whispers, her games, her ploys, her ideas, her little schemes, and dead. So many dead.

  Mother Felicia stopped beside her and heaved a loud, deep sigh. Then tore the head covering from her head and threw it to the ground in front of her.

  “You’re lucky I don’t have you excommunicated for this.”

  Nina started to lift her head, barely able to see the office that was dimly lit by the single candle Mother Felicia had on her plain wooden desk. She hesitated. All she could see was the head covering on the ground in front of her, crumpled, tossed to the side as if it meant nothing. As if she had never given it any real thought. But she had. It was what she had wanted. Up to this very moment, it was her path, her life, the blood in her veins, the fire in her heart. The reason for everything she had done. Or was it? As she looked at the gray fabric, she wondered. Who’s plan did she follow? Was it God’s or her own? Or worse? The thought made her even more sick than she was.

  She couldn’t help but look down again, her red hair falling over her in frizzy strands that tickled the tops of her hands that had pressed to the floor. She knew they were clean, she knew they had blood on them. Too much blood to ever clean. Too much blood to wash away. She curled her fingers against the grains of the wood floor.

  The Mother Superior’s feet shifted, turning away from her. She knew. As all of it finally came to her through prickles in her spine and a nauseating weightlessness in her head, she knew. She pushed herself to her bare feet.

  She didn’t brush her hair from her face before she looked up to see the back of the Mother Superior. She didn’t look at the head covering again. She turned around and softly opened the door out into the hall of dormitories, knowing precisely what it meant the moment she slid her foot past it.

  She slid her foot past it.

  As she walked, she didn’t brush her hair from her face. She didn’t look up from the boards her feet were falling on with each step toward the archway out of the nunnery. She didn’t look up to the other nuns who now turned their backs to her as she passed, one after another.

  “The last cohort is accounted for,” Enya met Draka in the inner courtyard.

  He was watching the Cleric Artificers assembling a massive structure of interconnected scaffolding and braces. It had been a long time since he had seen one this close. Nearly a decade, if he was honest with himself. In less than a few hours, it would be higher than the buttresses and take up most of the courtyard. Pipes as wide as a man and nearly as long were already being piled beside it. When the time came, those pipes would be all spun together and raised to the top of the finished structure.

  “They said that the Baron’s Men are getting attacked all across the city,” Enya shook her head at him. Closer, into his ear, “They murdered some boy. Turned the whole city against anyone in armor, including us. It was like a hornets’ nest getting back here.”

  Draka sank. So, it begins.

  He gave her another nod. Like everyone else of the Paladinate, he was in his armor, his helmet hanging on his sword by its strap. He bit the side of his lip. The structure will be done long before ten. It will be done just before sundown. He’ll need it finished before the fighting starts so they have time to load the piping, load that shot. One good shot might be all it takes. A second, if they must.

  He turned back toward the Cathedral doors. That was when he noticed the nuns turning their backs to a disheveled, barefoot Nina skulking across the courtyard lawn. He turned back to Enya, giving her the signals that indicated to continue prep as ordered, and hurried to reach her.

  Nina stopped in front of him, her eyes in a haze. Draka tipped his head at her.

  She slowly looked up to him. “I’m no longer a novice,” She drew in a breath with a wince and a sideways glance. “I guess I should be thankful I didn’t get excommunicated. I deserve far worse for what I did.”

  Draka held his hands out quizzically.

  She swiped her frizzy red hair from one side of her face to finally look up at him with a glare. “I got them killed. I caused this. They were only supposed to—” She threw her hands. “It wasn’t supposed to escalate like this. It was just supposed to be—they killed—I knew the boy, alright, I knew him. I hired him, with your money, for your cause, for God’s cause—or what I thought was God’s cause.”

  Draka reached out to touch her shoulder, she brushed it off with a sidestep. Her hair stayed over one side of her face. It cast a shadow over all but the curve of her cheek and edge of her brow on the side where it was tucked behind her ear so that the torchlight reflected in her green-eyed glare from near darkness.

  “Not everyone is like you, you know. You have it so easy. You know when you’re doing God’s work. You know when you’re doing His Will. We have to guess. We have to hope that we get it right. We have to beg and plead and pray and do and fight and think and wonder and…” the green of her eyes glistened as they filled with water, “…choose and follow and find out that all of it was wrong and hear nothing!” She balled her fists at him, bearing her gritted teeth at him, “And you all do! And what happens when we try? When we actually try to fight the good fight? To do what we can with what we have? People get—hurt. People—children—innocent stupid plowing children—get themselves killed.”

  Her glare returned to the haze, staring at nothing again as tears reflecting the torchlights dripped down her face. She shook her head. “And now? Now, it all has gone to shit. And I can say that,” they regained focus on him as he stood still, gaping at her, “because I’m no longer a novice. I have been shunned for what I’ve done. And I should be. I’m not excommunicated, but I should be. I’m. Not. Worthy. Not of God. Not of saving Alice.” She looked up at Draka with a grin through the sobs, “They have it too sealed up. We wouldn’t be able to get her from the canal access anymore. Not the way I planned. Everything is…damned. Because I am. And it was my idea.”

  Draka brushed her hair from the other side of her face, drawing her gaze into his and grinned. He jabbed a finger on his cuirass, watching her brows slowly press together. Then he pointed at the many Monastic Knights and Clerics rushing about with their weapons and supplies. Then to the flag that he had tied to the tower rod. Then he jabbed it into her collar.

  She chuckled, shaking her head. “I’m not a member of the Church anymore. And I’m not a knight. Now, I’m just a street rat with a few pretty knives and a very—very—oblivious Prince as a former employer.”

  Draka raised a brow. He swatted the back of her head. She gasped. He snapped his fingers at a monk who was carrying a bible.

  “Did you just…?” She blinked. “Your majesty. I never meant to offend you.” She began to bow, but he caught her chin with a curled finger while grabbing the bible from the monk, who looked just as confused.

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  Draka flipped the pages and pointed. She read. ‘Not…yet. Go…do…your…works. You…are…worthy, or…God…would…never…have…put…you…in…my…way.’ He handed the bible back to the monk and waved him to go back to whatever he was doing.

  Nina nodded. “I can’t get them in, though. The whole thing is off. The people are going to be here any minute. He’ll slaughter them and then you’ll have your whole kingdom against you, too, even if you win against him after. And while you have him under siege, he’ll clean out the dungeons. You took his food!”

  Enya came to Draka, “Majesty, we have sight of checker’s patrols coming in from the slums. They’re fleeing. I think we may have an hour, less, maybe.” Then, to Nina, “I thought you were going with Marion and the others to get Reneaux. What happened?”

  “I’m…disavowed,” Nina lifted her chin, gritting her teeth to hold back the tears again.

  “And?” Enya shrugged at her.

  Nina was taken aback. She blinked, shaking her head frantically, “I can’t get them in the way I marked. Not anymore. It’s too open. Everything is happening before the shifts change, and the numbers are…”

  Enya stepped between Draka and Nina, towering over Nina by nearly two hands, “Then think of another way. Take a look around you, little girl. This, this is war. You know what war is like? Looks all pretty when you have your maps and your little plans and schemes and then, the moment it starts, it gets messy, fast, and it stays messy until long after it finishes.”

  “But…”

  “No,” Enya lifted her head back at her, “But what?”

  “They died because of me and now I…”

  “Still have a war to fight. We’re relying on you,” Enya crossed her arms at Nina. Over her shoulder to Draka, “Can you believe this woman?” Then, back to Nina, jabbing a finger, “If they can’t get to Reneaux, then you figure out how to get that women to them! That’s your place in this fight. It’s bigger than you. You understand?”

  Nina blinked at her. Draka could see the wheels turning. For the first time since he met the woman, he could actually tell when she was thinking. Really thinking.

  “That woman must survive. She must be seen as being supported by the Prince when this is over to regain control of the city. You didn’t do all this. Don’t even start,” Enya held a hand out, “I was over there, I heard your speech. ‘Woe is me’ and all that. Welcome to command. Look around. You think everyone here is going to survive the night? Who’s fault will it be when they don’t? And many of them won’t. Is it mine, for giving the order? Is it the Baron’s for all that he’s done? Yours, because you gave a city already on the edge a little push? God decides who is worthy. Not you. Now, stop wasting our time. Cleric Marion is getting his team ready in the armory. Go!”

  Nina nodded. “Right, thank you, pally.” She winked and ran.

  “Pally?” Enya stared after her. She turned to Draka. “Did she just call me ‘Pally?”

  Draka nodded with a pat on her shoulder. He gave her a thumbs up for the speech. Much better than what he would have said if he could have said it. His would have been more along the lines of, ‘try not doing that.’ He liked Enya’s way. He’ll have to remember that for the future.

  Inside the Cathedral, the only priests were the ones sprinkling holy oil and blessing the kneeling knights and clerics that filled the nave from end to end. As Draka came in, they were finishing their blessing sacraments. One of them stopped in front of Draka and waited for him to kneel before doing the same for him. The holy oil was sprinkled on his shoulders then over his bowed head as the priest said the benediction of war.

  Draka stood and walked to the center of the nave. The inside was only lit by the candles of the estuaries so they could see when the torchlights of the coming mob lit up the square. Otherwise, it was mostly dark. But he could see. He could see his men and women, sitting with their backs against the wall or with their legs crossed or with their shields angled beneath them to rest comfortably. Some were speaking in low whispers, some conversations were met with chuckles and wide smiles. Some stared at their fingers or fiddled with the chains of their mail shirts. Others were wiping down their swords and maces one last time. A few were resting their eyes.

  Draka went to where his shield and spear had been set for him. If only this wasn’t happening in such a small space. He could use Vigora out there. But this wasn’t the sort of fight a horse was any use in. The square was too small. She would be left in the stables.

  It was unfortunate, and he hated himself for having them do it, but he had the stableman take her for a ride to a stable house in the hills north of the city. It was in the lands still held by the Kingdom of Utrecht, so she wouldn’t be caught in the fray, even if he fell. And if he did fall, she was to be given to Maud. He hid a note in her saddle that only Maud would find specifically for that possibility. He made certain that she and Aurie would be safe in the only way he could.

  His eyes moved to the large double doors of the Cathedral, the ones that will soon open into the square, into the battlefield they will make upon it. He can’t fall. He bounced his spear polearm on the stones. Faces looked up. He turned and walked a few paces back toward the crossing. Another bounce of the spear polearm on the stones. Other polearms bounced on stones. Draka reached the crossing steps and turned back to them. This time, he struck his shield with the spear.

  They cheered, polearms knocking shields and stones. After a few moments, the cheering faded into shuffles of bodies getting on their feet, shield straps being tightened, helmets getting lifted onto heads, and grips adjusting on their weapons.

  Draka felt a tap on his shoulder. He turned to find Nina behind him. She was in a cloak again, her hair pulled back into a tight pony tail that made her face much more arrow shaped than it was before. Her cheeks weren’t wet at least. She was grinning.

  “I wanted to let you know I figured it out,” Nina nodded at him. She had her confidence back.

  Good, Draka grinned at her.

  “They’re coming, though. Now. Just in case I’m wrong and I never get another chance,” she suddenly skipped forward and grabbed his face in her hands as she brought her soft lips to his.

  Draka was too stunned to pull back or push her away, even as her tongue tickled the edge of his lower lip.

  When she finally lowered herself from the kiss, she said, out of breath, “Don’t die.” She licked her lips, her eyes looking deep into his, then to the lips she had just tasted and back, “My Prince.”

  And she disappeared into the shadows of the chapel as the red glow of torches filled the tall narrow windows from the square.

  Draka was frozen. He touched his hand to his mouth. What just happened? He looked around in confusion even as the rest of the clerics and knights were turning to face the unopened doors. Did she just? He touched his lips again.

  Enya chuckled from the doorway to the courtyard, barely an arm’s reach away. “Oh. Now, I get it.” She made her way around Draka, saying under her breath, “I promise I won’t tell Portis and Tilly on you. Your secret’s safe with me.”

  Draka looked to the heavens with a long breath. Then he put his helmet on and tightened the strap before letting his head down to face the doors, spear in one hand, shield in the other.

  “On his command,” Enya called, walking down the line, “You will move into the crowd, you will not engage, you will stay low, you will make your lines and move to your positions. We will pierce them!”

  They howled.

  For my little princess.

  “We will cut them!”

  They howled.

  For my blue-eyed conscience.

  “We will break them!”

  Shields rattled as they howled a little louder than before.

  For my friends who are with me.

  “God’s Will Be Done!” Enya roared with her own sword in the air.

  For my friends who will never be with me again.

  “God’s Will Be Done!” Their roars echoed.

  Because I wasn’t asked.

  Draka nodded agreement, aching to join in the cadence.

  Because God said to go this way and now I’m here.

  He slammed his spear to his shield three times.

  The doors to the Cathedral were pulled open.