Rayan’s hand itched for the sword strapped to his thigh. Come Magus’s appointment as regent after Gordian’s death, he had announced new additions to what were now being openly referred to as the Joining Laws. The presence of soldiers on the streets had increased tenfold. Marriages were being annulled for the flimsiest of reasons, the crossed and twice-born were forced into hiding, and as for the shopkeeper and her stall? Women weren’t allowed to own a business, and it seemed she mistakenly thought stubbornness might prevail over hate-filled law.

“Stay strong,” Rayan whispered to her when he offered her his hand. She looked at up him, face bruised and dirt on her clothing.

“Don’t need ‘strong,’” she said. “Need a damn army.”

Bootheels smashed the last of the stall and its seashell jewelry. Rayan glanced at the soldiers, then back to her.

“Soon,” he promised. “Hope springs anew.”

He led the woman safely away, her arm tucked into his as if they were partners for a dance. Whatever fight she’d raised when the soldiers first came for her withered as they walked.

“Let not your hearts cling to the heathen old ways,” a priest on the street corner bellowed to a crowd mostly ignoring him. “The dead will not answer your prayers. The slain will give no blessings. You were fooled into worshiping faulty beings from the moment of your birth, but an awakening has arrived upon Thanet! Lift your voices to the God-Incarnate. Confess your sins, and be reborn in both heart and flesh! There is joy in the worship, and freedom in the obedience.”

Priests lecturing in public were commonplace ever since the Everlorn Empire arrived, but they were particularly fervent with the arrival of the Joining Laws. No doubt the Anointed One was pressuring them immensely to make better progress, given the rising insurgence. Rayan refused to look at him, and with his free hand he touched the ten winter jasmines in his pocket. Today was a special day. No matter the horrors the empire inflicted, he was determined to find solace in its celebration.

“They never shut up, do they?” the woman said. Despite the bite in her words, she clutched his arm tighter.

“We will silence them,” Rayan said. “Every day, we work to free our shores of their poison.”

“It seems you need to work faster.” She released his arm. A panicked man was running toward her, the relief on his face clear as daylight. The two embraced, and the woman who had been iron when facing the soldiers wilted now with family. Rayan left her, and he tried to soothe his guilty heart with reminders of their deeds.