She couldn’t move. She couldn’t even breathe, but when the four riders hit the base of the ramp, she grabbed a stunned Volias and yanked him to one side as the winged horses paced up the stone walkway and the militiamen leaped out of their way.

Guardians!

Everyone knew the tales. She wept to see them, so bright and beautiful, come to save the city. Guardians of justice. The servants of the gods.

Men cowered, or dropped to their knees. Some wept, while others covered their faces.

A ghost rode in their midst.

“The demon,” said Pil, quite clearly, if not very loud.

A pallid face turned in their direction, and its gaze caught Nallo. Sheh! For shame! The rice she had stolen from a neighbor’s storehouse before she was married, and how she let her cousin take the blame and the whipping. That time she had slapped Jerad until he cried, and then bullied him into keeping quiet about it. How much she had resented her husband, although he’d only ever been kind, smiling gently sometimes as if he knew what a bad bargain he’d gotten but was determined to accept his fate gracefully. That was the worst of it, hating yourself and never being brave enough to change.

The demon released her, and she swayed, a sob convulsing her. The demon’s gaze snapped to Pil, fierce with challenge.

Yet he faced her. “I will not fear demons!”

She considered him with her flat demon gaze held over a shoulder until, passing upward and riding actually into the tower in the wake of the others, she vanished from sight.

“The hells!” said Volias. “Are those Guardians?”

Away across the square, an eagle shrieked in fury. A man screamed, the pitch ripping high, then cut off.

Volias heaved, staggered, and retched, although nothing came up. “Trouble,” he said hoarsely. “Aui!” He collapsed, sprawling limp on the ground.

In Justice Square, a stilling hand had turned the crowd as into stone while the city below sank further into chaos.

NOW THAT SHE was trapped, her purpose suspected, Marit felt a sense of peace. Let them do their worst!

She rode behind Lord Radas into a hall lined with benches. The Toskalan council sat in expectant assembly, everyone facing the woman cloaked in night who stood on the elevated speaker’s platform holding the lacquered speaker’s stick. They watched her as if she were holding their hearts in her hand and meant to decide whose she would crush.

The air in the room was sweat-drenched. The size and weight of the horses devoured space so the women and men seated on the benches shrank back to give room. Marit knew the trick of quick assessment: there, twelve reeves, experienced men and women; a pair of militia captains and another dozen prosperous-looking council members, some of whom shifted nervously while the rest sat very still. Guardsmen stood behind the benches on which the reeves sat. A cloaked man stood in the shadows behind the speaker’s platform, his face unfamiliar. Six Guardians assembled here. Kirit and her mare blocked the door; she watched the council through the reflection of her mirror, studying their faces.