“The hell is this?” one asked, hand straying toward his sidearm. “Stop right there. Identify yourself, soldier.”

“Tristan St. Anthony, of the Western Chapterhouse.” Tristan’s voice was steady as he faced the guards down. “This prisoner and I are here to see the Patriarch.”

“Is that so?” the other broke in, raising a brow my direction. “And what makes you think you can march into the assembly, while the Patriarch is addressing the most important people in St. George, to throw this poor bastard at his feet?” Though the guard’s tone was mocking, his expression was hard. “Unless this is the dragonloving traitor himself, I don’t think you...”

He stopped. Really looked at me. Tristan waited quietly for the realization to sink in, the smugness practically radiating off him in waves. “Holy shit,” the guard said at last. “This is...”

“Gentlemen...” Tristan gave a cold smile and dragged me forward a step. “May I present Garret Xavier Sebastian, former soldier of St. George, ally to dragons and the most-wanted criminal the Order has seen in decades.” I kept my gaze on the ground, as Tristan continued in a voice of quiet triumph. “My former associate decided he was tired of running and turned himself over to me, hoping that St. George might be merciful. I thought the Patriarch would want to know that Sebastian has finally been caught. But...” Tristan pulled me back a pace. “If you think he’s too busy...”

“No.” The guards raised their weapons, as if afraid we would both try to bolt. “The Patriarch will want to see the traitor,” the first said, giving me a look of black hatred. “He’ll want to look him in the eye and pass judgment himself. He’ll want to know what kind of man betrays his brothers to side with the soulless lizards.” Stepping back, he motioned us through the doors. “Go. Sebastian will stand before the Patriarch, and all of St. George. We’ll escort you there ourselves.”

I exhaled. Well, we were past the doors. Past the guards, in a sense. I wasn’t sure if this was a good or bad development, but in a few minutes, it wouldn’t matter. I could hear the Patriarch’s strong baritone as we entered the cathedral—its vast ceilings soared fifty feet overhead. Stained-glass windows and images of the saints stared down at us as we marched through the center aisle, Tristan keeping a tight grip on my arm. To either side, the pews were filled with officers and soldiers in uniform, their attention riveted to the man at the front of the room. But as we passed, whispers began following us down the aisle, growing louder and stronger, until it was a low, constant murmur at my back. I heard my name, and the words the traitor fall from several lips, felt the anger, shock and outrage building like a storm, and kept my gaze fixed straight ahead. At the man standing behind the pulpit.

He had stopped talking and was watching us approach, brow furrowed, obviously wondering what this was about. Who would dare to interrupt him in the middle of his speech?

Then, our eyes met, and I saw the moment he realized exactly who I was.

Tristan, I thought bleakly, as he pulled me to a halt at the base of the dais. If I said anything now, my voice would carry no weight. I was a prisoner, hurling wild accusations to save his life, and would be silenced or dragged away without a thought. If you’re going to release me, now would be the time.

“Garret Xavier Sebastian.” When the Patriarch spoke, the assembly fell silent. He stepped away from the pulpit, “From among the devils, he returns to us. Our prodigal son has come home.”

No one spoke. The Patriarch’s voice had a mesmerizing quality, like a snake staring down its prey. Pausing at the top of the steps, the Patriarch watched me a moment, then offered a gentle, forgiving smile. He thought he had won.

He probably had.

The Patriarch took one step forward, pausing at the top of the stage, and then his gaze shifted from me to my former partner, assessing. “Your name, soldier?” he asked quietly.

“Tristan St. Anthony, sir.”

“And do we have you to thank for the traitor’s capture?”

“My former partner surrendered himself to me, sir.” Tristan’s voice didn’t waver, though the grip on my arm tightened. “It was my duty to bring him here, to await your judgment.”

“And you have done your duty admirably. I will remember your service, soldier.” The Patriarch nodded at Tristan, then turned his attention to me again. “Tell me, Sebastian,” he went on, looming over me with that serene smile in place. “Have you realized your mistake? Have you looked into the heart of the enemy and seen the evil staring back at you? Do you come to confess, to beg forgiveness, because you have betrayed not only your brothers, but every brother that came before and died for our cause?” He leaned forward, his voice soft but commanding. “Confess, Sebastian. Confess your crimes, and I will be merciful. Before this brotherhood, before the men you betrayed, renounce the demon lizards, and let your conscience be clear before we send you to your final judgment.”