Barro had finished bathing and, after witnessing de Vis’s transformation, had decided he too must make today the first day of a new life. That began with a trim to his beard and mustache that had long ago stopped being lustrous and had simply become unruly.

He realized now, staring into the looking glass, that his fall from grace had been virtually complete. His terrible choice of loutish companions aside, he really had looked a state. But now after a long soak, with clean hair neatly tied back and his beard trimmed, he felt like a new man. He went to put his old clothes back on with a trace of sadness but smiled when he noticed that the nuns had delivered a fresh shirt for him to use. It was well worn, darned many times by the looks of it but it was soft on his skin because of its age and if there was one thing Barro of Vorgaven couldn’t bear, it was an itchy shirt. He preened, admiring his fresh image in the looking glass.

“Not bad at all,” he muttered to himself and would have lingered longer if his attention hadn’t been caught by the sight of Genevieve, the Valisar princess, walking alongside one of the nuns. He could see her reflected in the looking glass, talking amiably with the young woman. Barro swung around and paused. The princess was meant to be with Corbel, surely? He watched them disappear from sight through the window and looked down to his old scuffed and terribly worn boots as he considered the somber words of Corbel de Vis.

At no time—no time, Corbel had impressed—is she to be unescorted by one of us. Evie is arguably the single most important person in the entire empire right now. She can bring down the barbarian horde single-handedly. Barro remembered how he had scoffed at the last sentence and how his amusement had died as he was regarded by the somber face of de Vis.

You have no idea of her power; none of us do. But I am telling you that she has the potential to wield a magic like this world has never seen.

They were chilling words and there was no doubting that Corbel de Vis deeply believed in what he was saying. There was also no reason to doubt him, especially as Barro had been on the receiving end of some of that power. He fully believed the woman he was traveling with possessed magic; she had brought him back from the dead, after all. And for that reason alone he believed and he trusted . . . and he obeyed. If this girl was Valisar, then he owed her his fealty as well.

He blinked. She hadn’t looked uncomfortable or scared. De Vis had gone to meet her so presumably he had sanctioned their splitting up. Barro bit his lip as he wavered. Finally the soldier in him won through. Orders were orders. Whatever she was up to with the pretty nun, he was obliged to follow, even if he remained hidden.

His sword had been removed and handed over at the gate. The Abbess would not brook any weapons walking beyond the entry compound and de Vis had nodded that this was agreeable. He had duly given over his weapon but the nuns were perhaps a little naïve and hadn’t insisted on a thorough search. No soldier worth his salt didn’t conceal a weapon and Barro checked his dagger now, glad that he had always kept the blade keen.

He slipped out of the ablutions block and followed the women, careful to remain hidden. The nun knocked on the end door of what appeared to be a compact row of accommodations but he was surprised when she left Evie alone while she went inside. He frowned as he waited and watched, torn as to what to do. Just when he felt he should make himself seen and have a word with the princess, the door opened again and the pretty nun appeared, smiling broadly and clearly apologizing for keeping her waiting.

It all looked innocent enough. So why did he feel something was wrong? Regor de Vis had always impressed upon his men to trust their instincts first before their eyes. And now his gut was giving him an entirely different message to what he was seeing.

Barro tiptoed up to the door and listened. He could hear two women talking but he couldn’t hear what they were saying. The window was not open so he couldn’t eavesdrop. He crawled beneath it, hoping that no one spotted him creeping around a nun’s room—how bad would that look, he groaned inwardly—and silently crept around to the rear of the building. As he’d anticipated, this end chamber had a back door. He was surprised to find an old nag tethered to a cart waiting patiently just outside. Carefully and out of sight of the women inside, Barro prised open the back window.

What he heard made his belly do a flip. He no longer cared if he was seen as he leaped up to look squarely through the window. The young nun was on the ground, shoving something into the princess’s mouth while the bitch-empress stood above and hissed threats.

Without a further thought, Barro heaved his shoulder against the door and arrived theatrically into the chamber with a thunderous crash as the door not only gave way but flew off its hinges. Barro had hit the ground rolling but was back on his feet in a blink, dagger in his hand. Two women were screaming at him and above was a high keening sound that he fought the temptation to turn toward.

In a blink his training allowed him to rapidly assess that the young nun, who looked terrified, was no threat. The bitch-empress was already in a high dudgeon and his arrival had fueled her mad state.

Everything then happened so quickly he reacted purely on instinct. The front door of the accommodations opened and what looked to be a herd of nuns rushed in. At the same time Valya ran at him, screaming obscenities. He had just a heartbeat to see her bared teeth, hands turned to clawlike weapons. He didn’t move; he didn’t have to. Valya flung herself blindly toward him, not noticing the blade in his fist.

She gasped at its impact. Barro looked down at the same time as she, and almost comically they both looked back up at each other, as though surprised to find themselves separated by the hilt of a dagger. He caught her as she fell and although he knew he shouldn’t remove the blade, he did. Nothing in his life had given him greater satisfaction than to stab the highborn woman who had betrayed the Set and revelled in the downfall of his beloved Penraven. It flashed through his mind as women clustered around him, shrieking, one battering at his shoulders, that the princess could likely save Valya if she laid her hands on the empress. He would not give the princess that opportunity.

Lo, forgive me, he asked his god, as he withdrew the dagger and Valya’s lifeblood began pumping out over his hands, soaking his new shirt and leaking her life into the rushes on the floor.

And above it all, he realized a baby was wailing.

Corbel found himself absorbed into a womb of darkness.

Aha, I wondered when you’d turn up, said a voice into his mind.

He paused, startled, a pit opening in his stomach as the magic surrounded him.

And I was under the impression you de Vis boys feared nothing, the voice teased.

Qirin? he asked into the void, tentatively reaching out to touch that magic.

Who else did you expect? Aludane?

He laughed nervously, then caught himself. I . . . I didn’t really know what to expect.

And now you sound like your brother. Easy to tell you’re twins, you even tiptoe in here alike. However, he thought I could hear. At least you shifted easily to mindspeak. I’m impressed.

The hairs on the back of his neck rose at the mention of his brother. You have seen Gavriel? he asked anxiously, the mere mention of his own family like a touchstone to his heart.

I spoke too soon about you. You are tarred with the same brush. Of course I haven’t seen him. I’m blind!

He stammered his apology. I meant—

I know what you meant. But I enjoy making people squirm, especially young men. What other sport is there for a decrepit, blind old woman?

He held his breath, unsure of how to answer.

And now you’ve lost your tongue. Not used to being spoken to so rudely eh?

May I start again, Qirin?

She chuckled in his mind. Well, if you’re his twin then you’re as handsome as Gavriel de Vis. And I don’t get enough men here to flirt with.

He tried a different approach. Would you like me to tell you that you are beautiful?

Now she laughed. Yes, I would, though I suspect you lie, especially as you cannot see in this gloomy world I live in.

Corbel knew he surprised her when he used his senses to guide himself to where she sat. He reached for her, careful to find her hand, and he took it. I meant that you are beautiful inside. I do not know you, Qirin, but I’m sure you were very kind to my brother. Won’t you tell me about him? Like you I have been deafened and blinded to the world I love for years. To know my brother is alive would be a great comfort.

What do I get in return?

Name your price.

He felt her amusement touch his mind.

Let me touch you. She felt for his face. Ah, yes, newly shaven. And your hair is damp, so newly bathed too. Thank you. I appreciate a clean man.

He laughed. Were you always locked away in your mind?

Not always, she whispered and she sounded momentarily forlorn. And I have known the love of a man. It is enough.

He didn’t pry. How can I pay you, Qirin?

You are a good man with a good heart and a ferocious loyalty. I like this about you. I liked it in your brother too. I will tell you about him.

And then she started to speak.

Corbel held his breath throughout the telling. Only when she had finished did he let it out; it came as a sigh. He was thrilled that Gavriel had mentioned to the Qirin that Leo had survived the barbarian invasion but he was distressed to hear of his brother’s loss of memory—ten anni of not knowing who he was.

You are sad, she said.

He was here so recently. It has been . . . He couldn’t finish.

Too long, she said gently into his mind. Where you have been time passes quickly, Corbel de Vis. You have the lines on your face of a man older than his twin.

He nodded. I know.

How can you if you have not seen your brother?

He trusted you to tell you about the young prince. I know I am older than I should be because I was charged to take care of the prince’s baby sister. She was born twelve years after her brother but while she should be just ten, she is now twenty anni.

She said nothing for a long time. He waited out her silence.

You sons of Regor de Vis have had weighty burdens placed on your young shoulders. Your own lives have been been forfeit while you have carried out your roles.

They are our duty to our king.

Who is long dead.

To the new sovereign, King Leonel, he corrected.

Who does not sit the throne.

We will put him there, he countered.

He felt her hesitate in his mind, as though changing her own. You came here to ask me questions. What do you wish answered?

You have told me my brother is alive. Do you know where he is?

He is not far away. Now that I have touched Gavriel’s mind, I can reach out and feel his presence.

Where is he, Qirin? Corbel squeezed her gnarled hands in a mix of anxiety and excitement.

Once again she paused. He felt the ripple of magic in his mind but could neither touch it nor understand it. Then she chuckled again.

What is amusing?

I’m not sure you will want to hear what I have to tell you.

Tell me, please. Is Gavriel injured or—

He is physically sound but he is troubled. She sighed. But then you brothers have been troubled for many anni. You are used to it.

What of him, then? Where is he?

He is with another whose mind I have touched.

The girl, Elka?

No. Curiously I have never met her even though she has been here several times.

Who then? Who is Gavriel with?

He is with Emperor Loethar.

Corbel felt as though all the wind had been punched from him. He heard himself gasp with the shock of her words. Gavriel and Loethar? Impossible.

Before he could press her for more information there was an urgent banging on the door.

That sounds like trouble, the Qirin prodded. No one bangs like that for me. It must be for you.

His eyes had become more accustomed to the dark by now and Corbel realized a small opening cut into the stone at the top of her dwelling not only acted as an air vent but permitted a tiny amount of daylight to seep into the chamber. Though it hardly counted as light it nevertheless helped him find his way to the door without groping. He opened it roughly, desperate to return to the mindlink with the Qirin. “Yes?”

A young nun stood before him. “The Mother has sent me, sir. Forgive the interruption but your companion Evie is—”

He pulled the door wider. “What? Where is she?” he demanded, looking around, noticing that she wasn’t there and suddenly feeling fearful. He just stopped short of shaking the stammering nun.

“She is drugged and the empress is dead, killed by your male companion.”

“What?” he whispered.

If only drugged then I’m sure the princess will survive, Corbel. Fret not. But you’d better go to her now. I know you had more questions and I suspect they are concerned with that aching heart of yours. The answer to your second question is yes, with all of her heart but not in the way you hope. She is destined for another.

With a pain like a knife in his chest, Corbel ran out of the door, away from the Qirin’s tellings, away from the reality of something he had known for much too long already.