The cave disappeared. I was not Ragan. I was Jovis, sitting at a table in a drinking hall, my hands shaking and my breath coming in ragged gasps. “He didn’t get to choose,” I said, and it felt like something made even more awful by saying the truth out loud. I ran a hand through my hair, relieved to find it loose and curly and not shorn short.

I downed the rest of the wine in one gulp, trying to steady myself. The monastery hadn’t sent Ragan. He’d stolen from them, he’d taken the knowledge they’d deemed forbidden, and he’d used that knowledge to coerce his ossalen into bonding with him.

“Ragan isn’t who he says he is,” I managed. I reached for my plate, but Mephi had already eaten what remained. His head swiveled toward the palace.

“Lin and Thrana are in danger.”

I rubbed at my temples. “She doesn’t want me there.” But she didn’t know about Ragan, either.

Mephi put a paw on my knee, and I couldn’t help but feel the echo of Ragan’s memory. “What was your oath when you became Captain of the Imperial Guard?”

I remembered that day, the crowd singing the folk song about me, the solemnity of Lin’s face, the feel of the uniform around my shoulders. “She had me swear my loyalty. To her… and to the people.” I’d lied about my loyalty to her, but I’d gone to Imperial intending to help the citizens of the Empire. That was an oath I could still keep, and until Lin, I’d always kept my promises.

She might want to have me executed, but she’d risked everything to tell me the truth. The least I could do was return the favor.

I picked up my pack and tossed some money on the table to pay the proprietor. “Shut the doors and lock the windows,” I told him. “It’ll be a busy morning.”

43

Ranami

Nephilanu Island

“I have to go.” Phalue had spoken the words into the darkness, late at night.

Ranami had been awake, though, and she reached over to draw her wife close. She didn’t need to ask where Phalue meant to go, or what she meant to do. “I know.” And then they’d both drifted back to sleep.

Now, in the harsh light of day, the words didn’t seem quite so noble. Now, they filled her with dread. Phalue sat with her sword on her lap, her armor strapped on, sharpening the blade with a whetstone. She’d always liked seeing to her own weapons and armor. It helped to ground her, she’d said. And Ranami had always watched, half-indulgent, half filled with wonder that this woman was her wife.