“And you are Garver Randell,” Tal guessed. “Healer to the true king of Celdaria.”

A pause, and then Garver smiled grimly. “The true king,” he agreed, and lowered his knife.

The woman released Tal and stepped around to glare at him. Her skin was pale, as was her hair. Her eyes were even more piercing than Garver’s, and her frame was bony and sharp.

“What in God’s name are you doing all the way out here?” she asked.

“Praying,” he said flatly.

“Yes, and we heard you all the way down the slope. You should watch that in the future. What if I were someone who wanted to kill you?”

“Annick,” warned Garver.

“Do you want to kill me?” Tal asked.

“Not at the moment,” Annick replied. “But that could easily change. Tell me this, my lord.” Her lip curled at the words. He didn’t blame her; during the Angelic Wars, when fear of marques had reached feverish heights, the Church had been instrumental in eradicating them. Any survivors of the slaughter had gone deep into hiding.

“We’ve been tracking a marque for some weeks,” Annick continued, “hoping to find an ally in these dark, uncertain times. Whoever they are, they’re fast and strong, and it’s been difficult to match their pace. Now we’ve lost the trail—the very same night we find you, a Grand Magister of the Celdarian church, out in the angelic wilds. Do you have an explanation for this remarkable coincidence?”

Tal looked hard at Annick’s face, which was too carefully expressionless too trust. Then he glanced at Garver.

“I’ve also been tracking a marque,” Tal said. “I’ve been following them since Tavistère. Then Terenash, then the Gormar Highlands and Zhirat. I was in Avura only four days ago. Is this also the path you’ve taken?”

Annick fell into stony silence. Garver frowned, considering him.

Urgently, Tal pressed on. “If there’s a way I can help you rediscover their trail, please tell me. I must find them.”

“Why would we help you find a marque?” Annick asked, crossing her arms over her chest. “You’re of the Church. Out here, you are the Church.”

“I wasn’t even alive during the Scourge! Your quarrel lies with my ancestors.”

“And you’ve done much in your life to make up for their crimes, have you?” Annick said, her eyes glittering. “You’ve petitioned your magister friends to rewrite the laws to allow me to show the wings on my back and live freely in the world, rather than hide in a cave in the middle of nowhere?”

Garver pinched the bridge of his nose. “Annick…”

“No, I haven’t,” Tal admitted.

“Then don’t pretend innocence,” Annick snapped. “Your very blood is tainted with mine.”

“Yes, all right, of course you’re right,” Tal said quickly, “and if I survive the impending doom of the world, I swear to you I will assemble the Magisterial Council and demand that they revisit the Authority doctrines and the registry. But first we have to survive. I must find the marque you’ve been searching for, and you’ll be able to help me track them much more effectively than I could on my own.”

He hesitated, then decided what he wanted to say was worth the risk. “I think you’re tracking them for the same reason I am. Not to find allies, but to find Rielle.”

The quiet that fell over them vibrated with tension. Annick’s face was unreadable.

But Garver relented. “The night of the royal wedding, I sensed a marque near the city. A shocking thing, for I knew only two marques existed in the capital, myself being one of them. This one was new and incredibly powerful, much more so than I am. Then Queen Rielle disappeared, and the marque with her.”

“And you’ve been tracking them ever since?” Tal asked.

“With help, and much more slowly than I would like.” He glanced at Annick. “Not many marques these days can travel such distances alone. Whoever is with the queen is someone of exceptional power.”

“And when you find this marque and Queen Rielle,” Tal said, “what do you plan to do, exactly?”

Before Garver could answer, Annick laughed.

“He hasn’t gotten that far yet,” she replied. “I enumerated for him all the reasons why he shouldn’t do this foolhardy thing, and that topped the list. Not having a plan.”

Garver bristled. “I couldn’t stand by and do nothing.”

“No, so you decided to travel right into my bedroom with no warning, toss our son at me with no regard for my poor, shocked wife, and then go traipsing about the world after an angel with no plan other than dragging me along with you.”

“I can help you,” Tal said urgently. “If we can find your marque, we can find Rielle. And if I can find Rielle…” A lump formed in his throat, breaking his voice. “If I can find her, I can free her from him. I can bring her home to Celdaria, where she belongs. Only then will we be safe. If we cannot do this, I fear she’ll be forever lost, and the world will fall, just as Aryava proclaimed.”

“And what if Queen Rielle does not wish to be free of him?” Garver asked quietly. “What if she went willingly? What is it about you that will convince her to leave him?”

“I love her.” The choked words burst out of Tal. “I love her, and she loves me. I have taught her everything she knows. I have protected her all her life.”

“And done a piss-poor job of it,” Annick muttered.

“Annick!” scolded Garver.

“I know her. I know her.” Tal looked to each of them, praying they would believe him. “I can reach her. I know I can. I simply have to talk to her. If she hears me, she’ll see reason. If I can touch her, hold her, she’ll remember home. She’ll fight her way free of him if she has to.”

After a long moment, Garver glanced at Annick. She said nothing, her expression grave, and nodded once.

“Very well, my lord,” Garver said. “We will travel together. We’ll rest until dawn, then begin at first light.”

Tal’s exhausted relief was too immense for words. He directed them to the cave he had found, then settled on the hard ground outside it, under a wide black mouth full of stars. He hooked his arm securely through the strap of his shield, which covered his torso like a burnished shell.

Just inside the cave, Garver sat down heavily and put his head in his hands. Annick settled beside him, looking out into the night.

“I hate being so far away from Simon,” Garver said gruffly, after a long moment. “He’s a tender-hearted boy, though he tries not to be. He’ll worry.”