She backed away and down five steps to join their squad leader. If I follow them, I put them in danger, he thought, though it took everything he had not to seek the comfort of a group. Every cell of his body remembered running from the London lions outside of St. Paul’s. Those had a stone look to them, more muscular and brutal; these Roman lions had a leaner, sleeker build, and a bronze gleam that made their manes shimmer in the sun. Beautiful . . . and deadly.

I could turn it off. If the switch is in the same place.

He desperately didn’t want to have to try.

“More coming up!” called someone from below, and Jess risked a glance to see that the pride of lions that had been down in the square was returning to the steps, flowing up in leaps and bounds past the other soldiers.

Coming toward him. Surrounding him.

This is it, he thought. This is how I die. Somehow that felt like a fate he’d always known was coming.

The lion facing him deepened its low, rumbling growl, and he felt rather than saw the others of the pride moving in around him. He heard Glain shouting something, but she was somewhere outside the closing circle. Jess felt the hot burn of air from the lion’s nostrils as it moved forward and nudged his chest.

It wanted him to run. Of course. If he reacted, if he ran, then there’d be an excuse for the slaughter. They were on high alert during the Burner attack. Unfortunate miscalculation; if only the recruit hadn’t lost his nerve . . .

This was the Artifex’s doing, just like the Egyptian gods outside the High Commander’s office. Jess realized in a blinding flash, like a bottle of Greek fire dropping on his brain, that if he ran, it would all be over.

And the Artifex wanted him to panic.

He leaned down and stared into the lion’s savage eyes and said, “Come on, then, if you’re coming. Take a bite. But if you do, everybody will know it wasn’t an accident.”

He heard Glain’s shocked intake of breath and felt that hot, brassy stench of the lion’s insides wash over him as the creature opened its wide jaws to display bloody teeth . . . in a yawn.

It closed its mouth, stared at Jess for another long, horrible second, and then turned and padded away to stroll restlessly up and down the steps.

Guarding the building as if nothing had happened.

Jess straightened. He didn’t say anything because, in truth, he wasn’t sure he could at the moment. Better to look strong and silent than have his voice go as unsteady as his legs.

Troll stared at him as if he couldn’t quite believe what he was seeing. “I don’t know if you’re mad or lucky,” he said, “but you’ve got brass guts—I’ll give you that.”

Jess nodded and took up his post. One by one the other lions broke off and went about their business. When the last left him, he finally felt a sweet, cold wave of relief.