“The flatland army has overrun the estates in the mountains to the south,” Fiona said. “They are—they have captured many of the gifted, and they…” She swallowed hard. “They burned them alive,” she whispered. “They’ve brought a speaker with them who burns any wizard who won’t accept a collar.”

Han could guess what priest they’d brought along. “How many?” he asked.

“A dozen, so far. Except for those on Gray Lady, most of the gifted are holed up in their fortified country homes, or fleeing to the east, hoping to take ship. They are reluctant to challenge an army of that size without more and better weapons.”

And that’s where I come in, Han thought.

“So you can see why it is more important than ever that we find the armory. Otherwise, the Fells will become a vassal state of Arden, and the gifted will be enslaved or destroyed.”

Han made sure he’d finished the meat pie and another cup of water. Then he said what was on his mind. “Why should I believe you? And if I did believe you, why should I care?”

“What do you mean?” Fiona stammered. “They are burning the gifted, Alister! They are overrunning the country. We’ll be under the heels of the zealots of Malthus.”

I won’t be there to see it, Han wanted to say. Knowing that you Bayars will burn makes it all worthwhile.

But the thing was, Han did care. He’d seen the look on Gerard Montaigne’s face when Raisa had publicly rejected his marriage proposal. He knew that if she fell into southern hands, she would pay dearly for that humiliation. Han might be doomed, but he might be able to save her.

If he gave up the armory, would that do the trick?

A seed of an idea flowered in his head. Not a great idea, but beggars can’t be choosers.

“All right,” he said. “I’ll tell you what you want to know.”

Triumph kindled in Fiona’s eyes. “I’ll fetch my father,” she said, scrambling to her feet.

Han shook his head. “No. I want to make a deal. I want to tell you. Just…you. If I can convince you, then you can talk to your father and convince him to—to spare my life.”

Fiona eased back into a kneeling position. “Of course,” she said, stroking her braid. “I’m sure we can work something out.”

Now she’s lying for sure, Han thought.

“You’ve been right all along—the key to the armory is in the Waterlow amulet,” he said.

“Go on,” Fiona urged, lips parted.

“The armory is here in the tunnels, like your father suspected. Waterlow hid a map in the amulet that shows where it is.”

“You’ve been there,” Fiona said. “Just tell us. If you need pen and paper, I’ll—”