Revive whom? Hassan wondered. But this was not a time for more questions. He whirled back to the encroaching Paladin, flinging himself into the fray to help Jude and Hector defend their position.

But if Hassan had struggled against the newly Graced Witnesses, he was no match for experienced Paladin. They were on Hassan before he’d even realized what had happened, three Paladin surrounding him. Hassan dodged one strike, spinning to parry another—leaving him completely open to his third opponent.

“Hassan!”

Before he could blink, Jude was there, blocking the blow. Heart thumping wildly, Hassan felt someone seize the back of his coat, tossing him to the ground with ease. He hit the stones hard, and with a sharp grunt he swung wildly, desperate to defend himself. The Paladin kicked the sword from Hassan’s hand, and then all Hassan could see was the swordsman’s dark blue cloak and his menacing eyes as he drove the point of his blade toward Hassan’s chest.

“Stop!” a cold, authoritative voice echoed through the courtyard. The Hierophant’s voice.

Hassan let out a shaking breath as the Paladin’s sword stopped inches from Hassan’s chest.

He followed the voice up to the perimeter wall and saw the Hierophant flanked by six Witnesses, including the one who had burned out his own Grace.

“Lower your weapons,” the Hierophant commanded.

To Hassan’s surprise, it was the Paladin who obeyed, stopping where they were and turning to face their master.

Hassan’s head pounded. What was the Hierophant up to? He glanced at Jude and Hector, who held themselves taut, ready to fight or run.

“You have foolishly tried to defy me,” the Hierophant said, his tone seeping with disappointment rather than outright anger. “You will surrender now, or your friends will pay the price.”

From behind the Hierophant, more Witnesses arrived, dragging prisoners with them. They shoved the first of them up against the parapet. It was a boy who looked even younger than Hassan, his dark hair mussed and his face bloodied. Hassan didn’t recognize him, but he heard Jude’s sharp intake of breath.

The second prisoner was shoved against the parapet, and Hassan felt the blood drain from his face. He knew those eyes, deep golden brown and shining with defiance. Those slender fingers had touched him, those bloodied lips had kissed him.

“No,” he heard himself say. “No, no.”

It wasn’t possible. Khepri was—She was in Nazirah. She couldn’t be here.

But the truth was in front of him. Khepri had never escaped the ruins of the lighthouse. When the Hierophant had taken Hassan and Arash, he must’ve taken Khepri, too.

This whole time she’d been a prisoner. And Hassan hadn’t even known.

His shock sharpened into terror as he noticed the blade against Khepri’s throat.

“Surrender,” the Hierophant commanded again. “Or they die.”