“I have said I will not be argued with,” the Potentate stated sharply. “This is my judgment. If you wish to feel bad about what you’ve done, then it seems to be the simple lack of a formal penance is going to eat at you like nothing else.”

“Your Potence, I killed—”

“Please believe that I am well aware of your actions. And yes, they are deserving of all manner of punishment, probably even your being cast from the service of the church, stripped of the powers of the Light. As though that hasn’t been the preeminent way of manufacturing evil magicians for the last century. But we need you, Dion. It’s that simple. We need hope, and you’re it. I’m going to put it about that Abnasio was corrupted by the Dark.”

“But that’s not true. He was misguided, surely, but he was—”

“No doubt when the time comes I shall do such penance as you cannot imagine for abusing my office, but nonetheless. Now get out of my city and do your job.”

There was still something of a crowd willing to pitch up and cheer them out of the gates of Armesion, seeing the heroes on their way. It was all Dion could do not to scream at them, to try and hammer the truth into their heads like a fistful of nails. Their faces were so open and worshipful, full of faith and trust. She was a criminal, and still they cheered. Perhaps they cheered all the more.

Even the horse beneath her seemed to chide her with its presence, a gift of the church for its least deserving daughter.

Penthos seemed happy, anyway. He never had understood the vicissitudes of a conscience, and Harathes had the smug look of a schoolboy who has escaped a whipping. She took no consolation from either of them.

Then Lief kicked his mount until it was close beside her, and leant in to tell her, “I just wanted to thank you.”

“There’s no need.”

“You saved my life.”

She should take some solace from that, she knew. If she had not acted as she had, he would be dead now. But he was a thief and a reprobate, and Abnasio had been a servant of the Light.

“Dion…”—Lief shifted awkwardly in the saddle—“tell me what it cost.”

“You don’t want to know.”

“I always want to know what I owe. Doesn’t mean I ever pay it back, but I like to keep score.” He mustered the ghost of a smile.