Taking advantage of Makrov’s sudden descent into apoplexy, Viktor embraced Josiri.

“My brother. I’m glad to see you unharmed.” He dropped his voice to a whisper. “Forgive me. I can conjure no other solution.”

Josiri returned the embrace, if stiffly. Over his shoulder, Viktor made eye contact with Anastacia, who gave the slightest of nods.

“And where is the Lady Trelan . . . forgive me, the Lady Akadra?” asked Makrov.

“Missing.” Sorrow tugged on Viktor’s heart as he spoke. “No other fought harder for the Republic than she.”

“And the priest who married you?”

“Dead.” Viktor shrugged. “He didn’t fight so hard. But what can one expect of a priest?”

Laughter rippled around the camp. Makrov scowled.

“If you don’t believe me,” said Viktor, “you need only ask around. We made no secret of our betrothal.”

Makrov shot a glance at Keldrov. She nodded without hesitation.

“I’m taking this man,” he snapped.

Viktor folded his arms. “No, eminence, you are not. The sins of the kith do not jump family to family, and your warrant is quite clear. Josiri Trelan is yours to claim. Josiri Akadra is not. This is the will of the Council, Arzro. It is not for you or I to break.”

Makrov scowled at the repetition of his own admonishment. “And if I choose otherwise?”

“You’ve known my father long enough to know better than to come between an Akadra and his kin.”

Makrov fell silent, his face thunderous as the sky. He clicked his fingers. “Bring her.”

He trotted away, entourage of soldiers and proctors in his wake. Anastacia, her wrists bound on a silver leash, strode in their midst, shoulders back and head held high.

Viktor watched them go, partly to ensure Makrov made no attempt to take others to whom he was not entitled. Mostly because he couldn’t face Josiri.

At last, the gate cleared. Weary, worn and still abuzz with a fury he dared not express, Viktor beckoned to Keldrov. “Major? I have a task for you, if you’re feeling bold.”

She limped over, eyes wary. “Sir?”

He set Makrov’s precious document in her hand. “Armund af Garna you’ll find on the field, beside his sister’s pyre. Korsov and Drenn, I don’t know. Find them. Warn them. Carefully. The archimandrite’s wrath is not to be taken lightly.”

Her lips pursed, then relaxed. “At once, my lord.”

He watched her go, glad and proud. Perhaps there was hope for the Republic after all.

And then the moment could be put off no longer. Josiri had to be faced. Viktor strode through the mud with a certainty he scarcely felt, not wanting to be thought diffident or reluctant.

Josiri met him with bleak stare. “A fine token your friendship bought, Viktor.”