She searched the crowd again for Lyrralt. He was nowhere in sight, but Jyrbian still hovered at the edge of the aisle, staring in open-mouthed awe at the backs of Igraine’s supporters. As if feeling her gaze, he glanced around at her. Seeing disapproval in the curve of her brows, her lips, he shrugged, raising his palms slightly.

Would this save her from suspicion, this ostentatious display of favor on the part of so many?

The verdict was read by one of the clerks of the council in a voice too low to carry, but his words were picked up in the front and echoed to the back of the chamber, even before the noble could proclaim them.

The judgment.

“Insane…”

“Heresy…”

“Guilty…”

“Guilty…”

“Guilty…”

Voices rose and fell in shock, in glee and dismay.

Khallayne’s head snapped back. She lost her footing momentarily as if the whispers had been a slap at her. Guilty! Guilty! Guilty!

What would happen now?

Fire. Red. Burning. A face loomed before her, twisted and leering, fleshly gnarled with growths, eyes dull and mad. A hand, fingers twisted like stunted twigs, grabbed her shoulder.

Khallayne opened her mouth to scream.

“Khallayne, wake up!”

The dream stopped, shattered into reality. She bit back a cry as she woke to darkness and the scent of Jyrbian. He was leaning over her bed, shaking her awake. With only the barest illumination from the coals in the fireplace, she couldn’t see his face, but tension was evident in his voice, in the way his fingers gripped her shoulder.

“Wake up!”

She pushed his hand away, sat up. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

“We have to go. Get dressed.” He yanked the blankets, barely sparing a glance for her nudity.

She rose quickly and reached for a robe.

“No. Get dressed for traveling. Sturdy clothes, good boots.” Jyrbian crossed to her wardrobe and rifled through the items hanging there.

She quickly donned her undergarments, choosing to layer fine silk next to her skin despite his instructions and pulling sturdier linen over that.

Jyrbian tossed things from the closet, sturdy riding pants, a long-sleeved blouse and tunic, a cloak.

“What’s happened?” she asked as she donned the clothing.

“Two of Igraine’s followers are dead. Officially, while trying to escape during questioning. Unofficially, under the knife of one of the council’s interrogators.”

“Interrogators?”

“Torturers. They were tortured to death. Executed for their support of Igraine.”

Khallayne froze, her fingers tangled in the lacings of her high riding boots. Tortured. Executed. Suddenly, her fingers found a life of their own, moving swiftly to complete their task. “Where are we going?” she breathed.

“Igraine’s people are helping him escape tonight. You’re going north with them.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Igraine’s people-”

“But why do we have to go?” she interrupted. “We didn’t stand up with him.”

“Lyrralt has seen a list of suspected supporters. Your name is on it. And mine.”

She stomped her feet on the floor, as much in frustration and anger as to settle the boots into a comfortable fit. “Where north?”

“Perhaps to Thorad. Or Sancron. Perhaps we’ll have to build our own city.” His voice was excited.

North. She nodded, swallowing her dread. She had lived her whole life to advance her magic. Now… there was no help for it.

“My travel packs are here.” She threw the contents of a heavily carved wooden chest onto the floor and tossed a heavy leather saddlebag toward Jyrbian.

He grabbed up the leather pack. “Do you have winter traveling gear? It’ll be cold in the northern passes.”

“There.” She pointed to another chest, under the window. While Jyrbian was occupied stuffing woolen pants and her heavy winter cape into the bags, she packed her hairbrush, perfumes, a few pieces of jewelry, and the one human spellbook she’d never gotten around to destroying. It was very old, the spells very basic, but the bindings, the handwriting, were so beautiful, she’d never burned it.

Jyrbian, the heavily stuffed saddlebags thrown over his shoulder, caught her hand as she slipped the book into the bag. He tilted her wrist until the bare light from the fireplace illuminated the dark red binding, reflected silver highlights off the embossed runes. “Will you teach me?” he asked softly.

Khallayne was astonished by the awe, the hunger in his voice. She started to deny him for all the old reasons, then realized suddenly that now she could do as she pleased. “Why not?”

Jyrbian joined his laughter with hers and, holding her hand, pulled her into the dark corridor. Together they ran lightly toward the stables.

There were others, dark figures who joined them, as they emerged from the building, who slipped from shadow to shadow without making a sound, following Jyrbian’s lead.

In the stable and at the southern gate, the bloodied bodies of Ogre guards lay on the ground, their throats cut or the feathered tails of arrows protruding from their bodies. Not one had drawn a weapon. They had all died unaware, without sounding an alarm.

As she and the others galloped out of the courtyard, Khallayne glanced back at the fallen bodies. There was no turning back for any of them.

They rode quickly through the sleeping neighborhoods, taking the side streets and alleys that ran behind the grand homes. Their horses’ hooves were muffled with cloth; their identities so obscured by folds of cloak and cape that Khallayne recognized only Tenaj, and her only because of the half-wild stallion that no one else could ride.

Near the trading district, they stopped. Jyrbian and two others dismounted and quickly snipped the twine that held the cloth on the horses’ feet. Following whispered instructions, the group broke off in smaller parties of two and three.

In the nighttime hustle and bustle of the warehouses and taverns, they were barely noticed. Riding between Jyrbian and someone she didn’t know, Khallayne kept her hand on her dagger, waiting with tensed muscles for obstacle or interference.

When the alarm flare of the castle whined overhead, it was no surprise. She glanced back over her shoulder and saw the white rush of sparks and fire shoot into the sky over the castle.

Then there was no time left for fear or contemplation. She heard Jyrbian hiss, “Ride!” and she kicked her horse into a run.

Her heart lurched as the animal’s hooves slipped on the cobbled street. For a moment, she thought he would go down, then he caught his balance and sped after Jyrbian’s stallion. They were heading for the southern gate-the same one the group had used only weeks ago on their trip to Khal-Theraxian.

Hadn’t Jyrbian said they would be going north? But behind her she could hear the pounding of hooves as others followed Jyrbian’s lead. She let the horse have its head and hoped that Jyrbian knew what he was doing.

Despite the danger of riding so hard in the darkness, they passed the dark stadium, the city gate, without incident. At least now if she fell, it would mean a mouth full of dirt, not that her head would crack open like an egg on the uneven, cobbled streets.

Where the road narrowed and forked up into the forest, the group of about fifteen stopped, milling about in confusion. She found Lyrralt and Jyrbian arguing with Tenaj and a woman she didn’t know.

“-north,” Tenaj was saying. “To join up with the others. Won’t they expect us to return to Khal-Theraxian?”

“That’s the first place they’ll send troops,” the woman agreed.

“I’m going back to Khal-Theraxian,” Jyrbian said, so quietly and with such resolve that it was obvious his mind couldn’t be swayed. “But I agree you should head north. All I’m saying is that you should fork back through the forest to the high road. The first thing they’ll do is cover all the city gates. And if you cut back around the wall to head north, you’ll have to pass the eastern gate.”