“We have no idea who’s taken charge of the fort,” Jude had said. “We don’t know if they’re loyal to Pallas, and if they are we can’t let them know you’re here.”

“And I can’t let you face them alone,” Anton had argued. “I’m the reason you walked away from the Order, and if they want to punish you for it—”

“Then I’m sure you can storm in dramatically the way you did at my Tribunal sentencing,” Jude had said, a blush threatening to creep up his neck when he thought back to the Tribunal. It was, looking back, the moment he’d realized that the magnetic pull he’d felt toward Anton had begun to grow into something more.

“I don’t like this,” Anton had replied, glowering.

“You don’t have to.”

Strangely, arguing with Anton felt like safe ground. They’d been tiptoeing around each other since that first conversation after Jude woke up, fumbling through being together again after months apart. Jude sometimes caught himself longing for that first, unguarded night they’d spent together on the road to Behezda, after abandoning the Guard, when Anton had asked him what do you want, like it was that simple.

Now, returning to Kerameikos after all this time, with Hector of all people at his side, things had never felt more complicated and Jude had never felt less certain. They didn’t even know who it was that waited for them in the fort. Whether they were friend or foe.

“Ready?” Hector asked as they pulled up to the dock.

Jude lifted a shoulder. “As I’ll ever be, I suppose.”

They stepped out onto the dock, where four sword-wielding Paladin waited to greet them.

“You are not authorized to dock here,” said the Paladin in front. Jude recognized her vaguely—she had short, dark hair and a smattering of freckles on her cheeks. “Take one more step, and we’ll draw our swords.”

Jude and Hector exchanged glances. They couldn’t surrender themselves, in case these Paladin were working for Pallas. But neither did they want to risk a fight, in case they weren’t.

“Under whose command is Kerameikos?” Jude asked.

“That is no business of yours,” another one of the Paladin, a younger man, said acidly. Then his eyes widened as he took Jude in. “You’re … you’re the Weatherbourne heir.”

The dark-haired Paladin glanced at her companion sharply, and then looked back at Jude, her eyes flinty. “Oathbreaker.”

The fury in her voice stole the breath from Jude’s lungs.

“Both of them,” said another Paladin. This one Jude did know—as did Hector. His name was Ariel, and Hector had once started a fight with him over something Jude could no longer remember. The fight had ended when Jude had broken it up. “That’s Hector Navarro.”

The dark-haired Paladin’s eyes narrowed. “Go get the captain. Now.”