“Damn it,” he said, tossing the scroll to his desk. It had never been an option. The result had never been in doubt. In time, Luther would have had his way.

Once more he felt the power of the priesthood arrayed against him, and knew how helpless he was before it. His only consolation was knowing that that same power had turned its focus to Darius. Deep down, he believed Luther would find him, and bring him back to the Stronghold in chains. It would only be a matter of time.

V alessa stood naked before the door of the farmhouse. She wanted to barge in, but knew she had to find out for certain. She had to know how much was left of her humanity. Her knuckles rapped against the wood, its solidity against her touch reassuring. At least there was that. As the door opened, she tried her best to act the poor, wounded girl. She held her daggers behind her back.

“Bandits,” she stammered to the heavyset farmer and his wife.

Her body shivered like she was cold, yet her red hair was singed in places as if by fire. The husband set aside the dagger he’d been holding while the wife reached for her, sympathy in her eyes.

“You poor dear,” said the woman. “Come in, please. Cale, go see what you can find for her to wear.”

The ceiling was low, but the house was large enough for several rooms. The walls were old wood, but clean, as the floor was meticulously swept. A fire burned in the hearth, and she fought an urge to sit beside it. As Valessa stepped inside, the woman reached for her. Both flinched at the contact, the woman’s fingers touching her shoulders only briefly.