What would it be like to be with Raisa constantly for the rest of his life, as her captain and counselor, to see her married, always within reach, knowing he could never have her?

Like his father and Queen Marianna.

But what if he said no, and something happened to Raisa? How could he forgive himself?

His father said he had a choice, and he did. The right thing and the wrong thing.

Amon reached across the table and gripped his father’s callused hands. “I’ll do it,” Amon said.

His father looked down at their joined hands. “You’re sure?”

Amon nodded. “I’m sure.”

“Then let’s go to temple,” Edon Byrne said, rising from his chair.

Although it was now four in the morning, Speaker Jemson was waiting for them in his study, dressed for ceremony.

His father had told the speaker they were coming. His father had known what his decision would be.

So much for choices.

“Captain Byrne,” the speaker said gravely. “And Corporal Byrne. This is most unusual, to preside over the binding of both father and son. Usually one captain passes on before the next is named.”

“These are dangerous times,” Edon Byrne said. “Still, the line must be protected.”

“Yes, it must,” Jemson said. He looked at Amon. “You have agreed to be bound to Hanalea’s line?”

“Yes.” Amon nodded. He found himself wishing he’d been able to bathe before coming here. He felt filthy and unworthy in his stained uniform, after a night patrolling Ragmarket.

As if Jemson had heard his thoughts, he extended a bundle of cloth toward Amon. “Remove your clothing and put these on. Then join us in the Lady Chapel.” Jemson and his father left him alone in the study.

Remove all of his clothing? Or just his uniform? Amon didn’t want to get it wrong. He debated, then stripped completely. The robes were rough-spun cotton, undyed, of the sort acolytes wore. He felt rather strange and airy under the voluminous tent of fabric—as if he were still naked.

Amon padded barefoot across the cavernous sanctuary to the intimate Lady Chapel to the right of the altar. It was dedicated to Althea, Patroness of the Poor. Unlike the private chapels in the temple at Fellsmarch Castle, with their gold statuary and gilt and marble fittings, Althea’s chapel was stark in its simplicity, yet obviously well loved. The simple wood altar shown with hand polishing, and there were fresh flowers in vases to either side of the image of the lady. Cool moonlight washed through the clear glass windows, echoing their design on the floor.

Jemson and his father stood to either side of a long table. Several objects were laid out in readiness: a large stone basin, a glittering knife, a stone jar, a small crystal bottle, a silver goblet. Amon studied the display, questions crowding his mind.