He disappeared into the passage. When Karigan passed through, she slipped on the damp floor. Brienne caught her elbow and held her upright.

“Thanks,” Karigan said.

The wavering lamplight cast strange shadows against the moist walls. Cobwebs fluttered from the ceiling. How odd the tombs remained so dry when this simple passage dripped.

“Where are we?” Karigan asked.

“Near the roof of the earth,” Brienne said.

Amilton’s announcement still rang in Stevic’s ears when the old woman, Devon, said, “You are no king, but a young whelp who knows nothing about running a country.”

Amilton looked down on her with distaste. “Have you anything important to say, old hag, or do you simply wish to mock me?”

“I served your grandmother, your father, and your brother,” she said. “They are not of your ilk. I wonder if Amigast was truly your father at all.”

Amilton’s hands crackled with magic. Stevic thought he was going to pounce on the old woman, but he threw his head back and laughed instead. “Why should I listen to this? I am king now. What can your small voice do to harm me?”

Castellan Crowe cleared his throat. “My lord. The Weapons.”

“What about them?” Amilton said.

“They follow her. She oversees them.”

Amilton stepped down from his dais and faced the castellan. “Do you see any Weapons here besides my Jendara?” His hand swept the expanse of the throne room. “My soldiers will root them out, and they will be given the same choice as these others: serve me or die.”

Crowe licked his lips nervously. “They will not succumb so easily. Th-they will listen to her guidance.” He dipped the tip of his staff in Devon’s direction.

Now Devon’s laugh echoed in the room. “That is why I seek death.”

Crowe’s eyes grew round. “If she dies by your hands, my lord, you will turn the other Weapons against you, and bring their wrath upon you.”

Amilton stalked over to Devon. “Stop laughing, crone. Weapons are eternally loyal to the king of Sacoridia.”

“You assume much about those who serve you.” Devon’s voice was now quiet and controlled. “The Weapons, as you call us, come from an ancient, ancient order. Yes, we are intensely loyal to our monarchs, and we will freely kill those who threaten them, but we have our own traditions and codes. We are swordmasters and Black Shields, we obey the precepts of our order.”

“I’ve heard whisperings of Weapon secrets,” Amilton said with a dismissive wave of his hand. “You are more superstitious than one might credit you with. It is no reason to go against the rightful king.”

“The rightful king?” Devon spat. “You are false.”

Stevic glanced at Amilton’s Weapon. She had moved imperceptibly closer to Amilton, her eyes watching Devon’s every move.

“Jendara,” Amilton said, “this woman raves.”

Jendara shook her head. “No, my lord. Everything is as she says. Except about you being false,” she added hastily. “If she dies, the wrath of the Weapons shall be upon us.”

“Well, well,” Devon said, squinting her eyes in Jendara’s direction. “Amilton’s dog speaks. It was my student once.”

“I was, old woman,” Jendara said. “Now I am far stronger and faster than you ever were.”

“Still spiteful because I spoke against you becoming a Weapon?” Devon clucked. “Such a long while ago. Yes, you may be quite the swordmaster. I won’t deny it. But I see my other intuition about you was right. I spoke against you because I believed you hadn’t the character to be a Weapon. After all this time I was right.”

“You are too caught up in superstitions, old hag.”

Devon crouched over, then from beneath her robes, she drew a bright sword with a black band about the blade. She held it before her and said, “I seek death. May it be yours before it is mine.”

Jendara leaped in front of Amilton to shield him. Stevic and Sevano stepped back. Lady Estora watched wide-eyed from her chair.

Devon’s blade slashed through the air gracefully. Despite her age, she moved with enviable agility and strength. The problem was her sight. Her blade flew far off the mark.

Jendara laughed and sidestepped away from Devon. “Over here, old hag!”

Devon looked disconcerted, then moved confidently toward Jendara’s voice.

As Devon approached, Jendara sprang away. “Over here, old hag!”

Devon changed course again and again, seeking Jendara’s voice. Jendara moved about the room, luring her away from Amilton and trying to tire her out. A few of the nobles, forgetting their new allegiance to the self-proclaimed king, shouted encouragement and directions to Devon. It only seemed to confuse her as she looked this way and that.

“You are too slow, old hag,” Jendara said.

But in saying so, she nearly lost her life. Devon sprang at her, her sword humming through the air.

Stevic clenched his fists, his body rigid. “Someone should help her.”

Sevano touched his wrist and shook his head. “You must let them finish it,” he said. “And look around you.”

The dozen or so soldiers stationed in the throne room watched the proceedings attentively. The two with crossbows had bolts cranked to the ready should anyone make a wrong move.

“This is between the two Weapons,” Sevano said.

“But Devon will—”