Pain lanced through her, and her attention returned to her physical body with a lurch. The old man had two of his nails embedded in her arm, and he was bringing his other taloned hand toward her face. Winter released her grip on the Penitent, feeling the demons tear apart, the Infernivore’s hunger and frustrations hitting her like a punch to the gut. She collapsed to the floor, but instead of following her down the old man lurched backward, dragging his still-stricken companion. A moment later Jane came into view, the bayonet on her musket gleaming, standing in front of Winter like a growling attack dog.

The old man barked a word in a language Winter didn’t understand. He ran for the back door, dragging the young Penitent behind him. As they passed, the giant—as unhindered by the musket ball in his shoulder as he had been by the bayonet—tore free of Bobby’s grip and followed them, backing out through the door and around the corner. Bobby fell to her knees, breathing hard.

Winter struggled to her feet, clutching the deep cuts the old man’s nails had left in her arm. Jane, musket still raised, looked around the room and then back to her.

“What the fuck?” she said. “Holy Karis buggered with a bloody pike, what the fuck was that?”

Two soldiers were dead, Cyte was badly hurt, and Winter’s own pain was rapidly closing around her. But she couldn’t deny—even if it made her an awful person—a tiny bit of pleasure at the look of utter stupefaction on Jane’s face.

Chapter Thirteen

MARCUS

Standing in front of the polished dining room table of Twin Turrets, looking down at the hastily sketched map and deciding how best to deploy his forces, Marcus felt a powerful sense of coming home. It brought to mind memories of Khandar, which appeared increasingly attractive in retrospect; the situation had been desperate, but at least the sides had been clear and the enemies obvious. Until the very end.

He shied away from that thought, memories of his brief time with Jen Alhundt still too painful to touch, and returned his mind to the current problem. Desperate as Khandar had been, he didn’t think he’d ever led this small a contingent. His army consisted of six Mierantai riflemen, two half-trained rankers, one completely unblooded and the other female, plus himself and a teenage financier. Oh, and the Queen of Vordan.

On the other hand, it was unlikely that the enemy expected them. This was good, because if Marcus had his way the whole thing would go off without a shot being fired. The Patriot Guard might work for Maurisk, but they were still Vordanai, and for the most parts they were patriots. We can’t shoot them just for being in the way, not unless there’s no other choice.