Another ranker, a big woman with her arm bound up in bandages, tugged on Winter’s sleeve for attention. She gestured at one wall, where a man in a black obsidian mask lay slumped over. He was sitting up now, groggy, flexing his fingers. His nails were an inch long, and sheathed in blood, as though he’d dipped his fingers in red paint.

Winter reached down and pulled the mask off while the ranker kept her bayonet leveled at the man’s throat. Underneath, the Penitent Damned looked ordinary enough, an older man with thinning hair and an angular Murnskai cast to his features. He blinked, looked up at them, and sighed.

“What’s your name?” Winter said. “I know you speak Vordanai.”

He nodded. “In Elysium, they called me the Liar.”

Raesinia raised an eyebrow. “They must not have liked you very much.”

“What were you doing here?” Winter said.

“The Lord’s business,” the Liar said. “Retrieving the Thousand Names. Killing Ihernglass and his master for the crime of sorcery, and bringing you back to Elysium for the same reason.”

“Sorcery,” Raesinia said bitterly. “You say that like I made a choice.”

“Sin is always a choice.” The Liar leaned his head back against the wall. “I chose it because I knew it was how I could do the most good for my fellow men, even if it meant an eternity of damnation for me. All the Penitent Damned—”

“Save your self-flagellating theology for someone who cares,” Raesinia snapped. “Where is Ionkovo?” At a glance from Winter, she said, “He’s the leader, or seemed to be. I didn’t see him out there.”

“Shade is furthering the cause of the Almighty in his own way.” The Liar looked from one of them to the other. “You think you’ve won, don’t you? Because you defeated us in this little battle. The game is larger than that. Your precious general will not save Vordan, not if you persist in this madness. What will you have left when he falls? Only surrender to the Almighty can save you in the end.”

“Janus will want to speak with him,” Raesinia said. “We’ll have to tie his hands—”

“I think not.” The Liar took a deep breath and said in a clear voice, “Ahdon ivahnt vi, ignahta sempria.”

Then, before anyone could make a move to stop him, he brought his hand up, long nails slashing cleanly through the skin of his own throat. Blood gushed forth, and his next breath was a choking gurgle. His head slumped back against the wall, eyes wide and staring at something beyond the walls.

“This,” Winter said to the world in general, “is why I hate fanatics. First the Redeemers, now these lunatics. What is wrong with people?”

“You should get back to Janus,” Raesinia said. “He needs to know what happened here.”

Winter looked at the dead Penitent Damned, and gave a slow nod.

Chapter Twenty-eight

WINTER