Amaris raised a hand from where it had rested on the saddle’s horn. “See?” She waved appreciatively. “A man with a plan. Thank you, Malik.”

“At your service, m’lady.”

Differentiating itself from the casual strides of townsfolk, a clattering of hooves was rounding a corner up ahead. The sources of the oncoming commotion hadn’t yet turned into their line of vision, but the horses were moving with purpose. The three had barely begun to pull on their reins and exchange looks when the constabulary cantered into view. Six men on horseback dressed in the queen’s seal urged their uniformly black mounts, cutting them off. The reevers weren’t given the opportunity to breathe a question before the Head Marshal took charge.

Clearly, they would no longer be needing a plan. Their fates had been decided without them.

A throaty, armored man boomed, “State your name and your business in Priory.”

The trio’s armed presence must have caused more concern amongst the citizens than they’d realized. Three travelers should have been able to filter in and out of the city without detection, but typical travelers wouldn’t need the kind of weaponry they boasted.

Okay. This was it. This was why she’d been sent.

Amaris steadied herself, focusing on the comforting truth that she’d been sent by Samael to be the mouthpiece for the reevers specifically because of her abilities. Perhaps she could use education and kindness before flexing persuasion. Before launching into demands, she attempted diplomacy.

For the barest of moments, her mind flitted to long-forgotten lessons under Farleigh’s roof. The matrons had forced her to read, to trace and retrace her letters, to sing, to practice her command of the room, and to perform in all the ways that might make her a marketable society lady. It had been an exercise in torture, but at the very least, it had readied her for impromptu speeches to those in authority.

“We’re reevers—peacekeepers from Uaimh Reev. We seek an audience with Queen Moirai.”

Despite having been told with the repetitive defensiveness of someone trying to convince themselves that reevers were an important and respectable stronghold for justice, the title was not received with any such reverence by this particular subsect of guards. The lawmen chuckled to themselves, and Amaris felt profoundly tired. She was exhausted from travel, emotionally drained from the trials, and taxed from the weight of the responsibilities that had revealed themselves with each new passing day. She didn’t have the energy to put up with their ignorant, stilted laughter.

Amaris had been reassured her gift was useful. She’d been promised it was morally neutral. That said, she still struggled to justify its use as she eyed the hostile men before her.