“We’ve rounded up the last of the guests,” the Signifer said. “Not counting servant staff, that puts the total number of traitors at forty.”

“Take them to the castle dungeon,” Magus said. “Drag them down the thoroughfare, and do it slowly. I want the whole city to know who we’ve captured.”

No, Magus did not need to chase the Vagrant. Forty members of his insurgence were now in his custody. The Imperator cracked his knuckles. One of them would know the Vagrant’s true identity.

And if the God-Incarnate smiled upon him, that one person would talk.

CHAPTER 39

CYRUS

Thorda’s home was wrapped in a fog of curses and barely contained anger when Cyrus arrived, Stasia at his side. Rayan was the calmest of the lot, and both he and Arn were busy explaining to Thorda what had happened. As for the younger Ahlai sister, she had beaten them home with her long, feline strides and, after reverting form, had come downstairs in a simple green dress.

“Are you all right?” she asked, rushing to embrace them both upon their return. “I worried when you fell behind.”

“As well as can be,” Cyrus answered softly.

Stasia didn’t answer. She pushed past Mari, wandering deeper into the home. Her entire body trembled like a volcano about to erupt. She looked left, then right, as if lost. Cyrus had not spoken with her since fleeing the mansion. She’d seemed trapped in her own mind, but he hadn’t understood the reason. Her panic and anger had grown with every step, and now it demanded release.

“Fuck!” she shouted. She slammed her fists atop a table, rattling the decorative vase atop it. Cyrus reached for her, then let his hand fall. What might he say to her? What hope could he give that would not be a lie he himself did not believe? The others stared silently. It seemed no one else had any comfort to offer, either. Stasia fumed at the table, her arms and fists trembling, before she suddenly spun.

“I’m going,” she announced to no one. She did not get far. Her father blocked the doorway, his arms crossed over his chest.

“And where is it you go?” he asked.

“Clarissa’s,” she answered. Her hands dropped to the axes buckled to her waist. “I have to know, if she was—if she’s caught, if she was there like she was supposed to be…”

Cyrus’s stomach dropped. Of course. Clarissa, she was at every meeting, one of Thorda’s several go-betweens to keep himself hidden from the public. The idea of her chained in a prison cell sickened him, and no doubt Stasia felt a thousand times worse.

“Calm yourself,” Thorda interrupted, and he showed no sign of budging. “Clarissa wasn’t there, for I sent her on an errand. Twenty men arrived earlier tonight to join our resistance, come by boat pretending to be fishers. I had Clarissa finding them homes.”