We’re going to need it. Marcus drew up short, and Raesinia skidded to a halt beside him. Feor stopped, too, with Justin trailing behind her like a kite.

“Did you catch that?” Marcus said to Raesinia.

“Most of it.” She wasn’t even winded. “It’s a good plan.”

“You two should go with Giforte—” Marcus began, turning to Feor.

At that moment, though, the Penitent burst through the hedge, enormous strides devouring the distance between them. Too late. Raesinia gave him a cheery wave and ducked through the nearest open gate, onto the elaborately landscaped grounds of the elderly manor house. Marcus, Feor, and Justin went after her.

“We’ll never outrun him,” Marcus said. The giant’s head was visible over the hedge, coming closer preposterously fast. “If you take Feor and stay hidden while I run the other way—”

“What did I tell you?” Raesinia said, turning and planting herself in plain view. “I’ll draw him off, you hide.”

“But—”

“I can’t fucking die, Marcus.”

“They can stuff you in a barrel and ship you off to Elysium,” Marcus said. “I can’t let that happen.”

Raesinia looked up at him, then at Feor, jaw set. “I—”

The hedge gate was ripped from its hinges, and the giant stepped through, turning sideways to fit between the close-set plants. He’d been hit by so many rifle balls that his black clothes were in tatters, and blood dripped from his fingers. Marcus couldn’t tell if it was his or his victims’.

I can’t leave her. That was what it came down to. She’s the queen, and I’m a soldier. And—

He drew his saber, setting himself in front of Raesinia.

“He’s bleeding,” he said. “That means he can be killed.”

“Marcus!”

The Penitent Damned nodded, as though acknowledging a challenge, and lumbered into a run. Marcus raised his blade, ready to throw himself to one side. He didn’t seriously expect to survive the first few moments of the confrontation, but he wasn’t going to make it easy.

Raesinia . . .

Wind, sudden and hot, hissed through the manicured garden. It had a smell that Marcus knew, taking him across thousands of miles in an instant. It was the sandy, dry scent of air that had been baked under the sun of the Great Desol, the smell of the east wind in Ashe-Katarion, blowing sand and grit off the desert through the streets of the city. And there was sand in the air now, impossibly, whipping against Marcus’ skin and lodging in his beard. He closed his eyes for a moment against the stinging onslaught and took a step backward.