“Illya tells me this isn’t your first time in my city,” the Hierophant went on. “You killed a priest here not long ago, didn’t you?”

Not long ago. Had it been four, five months since then? It felt like a lifetime.

“You had quite the reputation, didn’t you?” the Hierophant asked. “In this city and others. The Pale Hand. Killer of the wicked.”

Ephyra eyed him, wondering what he was after. A confession?

“What do you want?” Ephyra asked, irritated.

The Hierophant didn’t seem angered by Ephyra’s outburst. He let the silence linger, let it punish Ephyra as she waited to see how he would react.

“I want you,” he said slowly, “to continue your work here.”

“My work?”

“The Archon Basileus is currently in the citadel, awaiting his death,” the Hierophant said. “I would like for you to be the one to deliver it to him.”

Ephyra was stunned silent for a moment. The Hierophant wanted her to kill for him?

“Why me?” she said at last. “You have a pet god, don’t you?”

The Hierophant did not reply. He didn’t even look away. His expression was as unreadably placid as ever, betraying nothing.

But Ephyra knew. She knew because she was Beru’s sister. And no matter how much power Pallas had over Beru, there were some things he couldn’t threaten her into doing. Not even to protect Ephyra.

“I felt you would be best suited for this role,” the Hierophant replied at last.

It was a deflection, but he was right, in more ways than one. He’d referenced her reputation, the mystique of the Pale Hand and the fear it inspired, especially in this city, where she’d killed not just an average scammer or brute, but a priest, someone meant to be untouchable. And now she was under the Hierophant’s control, just like Beru. To him, she was an untapped source of power—her actual power, yes, but also the power of showing the world that someone like her was under his control.

“Perhaps I should give you time to think it over,” the Hierophant suggested. “Tonight, in solitude.”

She saw the game now. He would keep her from seeing Beru until she said yes. Each sister the perfect pawn to use against the other.

Ephyra had never had much of a mind for tactics, but even she knew they were helplessly outflanked.

“Or perhaps … Illya,” the Hierophant said, without taking his unsettling gaze off Ephyra. “You’ve spent quite a bit of time with our murderess, haven’t you?”

Ephyra had been doing a good job of pretending he wasn’t in the room, but now her gaze darted toward him unbidden. He rapped his fingers against the desk, looking bored, like he had much better things to do.