"Her Majesty, Anne I of Crotheny," he said.

Praecum hesitated, then went down on his knee, followed by his men. Harriot followed suit.

"Rise," Anne said. Her gaze wandered over the tortured souls on the rooftop.

"Release these people," she said. "See that they are treated for their sufferings."

Several of her men broke away from her group and began to do that.

"Majesty-"

"Sacritor," Anne said. "These people are my subjects. Mine. My subjects are not detained, tortured, or murdered without my consent. I do not remember you asking my consent."

"Majesty, my instructions come from z'Irbina and the Fratrex Prismo, as you must know."

"Z'Irbina is in Vitellio," she replied. "This is Hornladh, in the Empire of Crotheny, and I am its empress."

"Surely, Majesty, the holy Church is above temporal rulers."

"Not in Crotheny," she said. "Not according to my father, not according to me."

The sacritor lowered his head. "I am a servant of the Church, Majesty."

"That's immaterial to me. You are accused of torture, murder, and treason. We will try you tomorrow."

"As you tried the sacritors of Plinse, Nurthwys, and Saeham?"

Her gaze switched to him, and he felt another, deeper chill. There was still something of a girl in there, but there was something else, too, something very dangerous.

"Who are you?" she demanded.

"Sir Roger Harriot," he replied. "Knight of the Church, in service to His Grace Supernnirus Abullo."

"I see. Sent by z'Irbina to aid in this butchery?"

"No, Majesty," he replied. "That's not my business here."

"What is your business, then?"

"I and forty-nine other knights of the Church were called to aid His Majesty Robert in keeping the peace."

"Yes," Anne said. "I remember now. We were wondering what happened to you."