Shades of the Past: The Books of the Dark Goddess, #3

By Melissa McShane

An assignment to mediate a religious conflict takes the paladin Ginnevra and her werewolf companion Eodan to the city-state of Quinizelle, site of Ginnevra's greatest failure. Four years earlier, a bandit attack caused the death of the king's sister, the woman Ginnevra's paladin company was sworn to protect, and nearly cost Ginnevra her life.

 

Now, Ginnevra's former best friend returns, claiming to have proof of what really happened four years ago. Caught between past tragedy and present conflict, Ginnevra must stop Quinizelle from descending into religious war—and face truths she wishes had never come to light.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Night Harbor Publishing
• Release date: Jul 25, 2023
• ISBN: 9781949663860

Melissa McShane

Melissa McShane is the author of the novels of Tremontane, beginning with SERVANT OF THE CROWN, the Extraordinaries series beginning with BURNING BRIGHT, the Last Oracle series beginning with THE BOOK OF SECRETS, and COMPANY OF STRANGERS, first in the series of the same title. She lives in Utah with her husband, four children, one niece, and three very needy cats. She wrote reviews and critical essays for many years before turning to fiction, which is much more fun than anyone ought to be allowed to have.

Book preview

Chapter

One

Ared-bellied fly buzzed high in one corner of the charter house, the buzz growing louder briefly every time it bumped against the ceiling. To Ginnevra, it looked like it was trying to find an exit, what with how intent it was on that particular corner. She watched it meander first one way, then another, relentlessly searching for a crack or hole that would let it escape this overheated, brightly-lit room that smelled of candle wax and sweat and Justicer Talliapanne’s unique perfume. Even Ginnevra’s highly developed sense of smell couldn’t decide whether the scent was apricots or lilacs. For the most part, the scent faded into the background, but then Talliapanne would flick her hair over her shoulder, releasing another whiff, and Ginnevra’s senses leaped into action, trying to pin down the elusive smell.

Ginnevra breathed shallowly through her mouth, trying to prevent another round of the guessing game, and watched the fly bob across the ceiling. Devoyenne’s charter house, where legal cases were tried before a justicer, was as old as the republic, and its age showed in the heavy ceiling beams and the much-mended plaster between them, the corners still dark with soot from the torches that had lit the room hundreds of years before. The fly was a dancing dot of red against the sooty background; if Ginnevra unfocused her eyes, its flight traced a drunkard’s path of crimson across the ceiling.

A loud cough drew her attention away from the fly and back to the men and women seated on the hard wooden pews. Light slanted through the clear glass windows on the western wall, heating the air further. Almost everyone on that side of the room had shifted away from the squares of sunlight, but with how hot the room already was, Ginnevra didn’t think it much mattered where anyone sat. The Sezarni, the people who had occupied the Lordagne region long before the coming of the Goddess’s Faith, had called this time of year hiraldi, which in their language meant something like days of being broiled alive. Ginnevra liked the heat of late summer, but even she had her limits, and the charter house was testing all of them.

She shifted her weight and reflected that at least she wasn’t wearing her paladin’s plate mail armor. Talliapanne had looked disappointed when Ginnevra had arrived at noon dressed in her usual jerkin and breeches rather than her armor, but she hadn’t said anything critical, just eyed the greatsword slung across Ginnevra’s shoulder and nodded politely. Since the justicer had on her own robes of office, a long-sleeved knee-length black robe over long black trousers, Ginnevra suspected Talliapanne wished she, too, could have worn something cooler.

The man standing in front of the justicers’ desk sounded as if he was wrapping up his statement. Ginnevra had stopped paying attention the third time he repeated himself. If she were in charge, she’d have brought his meandering story to a halt fifteen minutes earlier. But she was in the charter house to learn, not to enforce her whims, and she was enough conscious of her lack of legal understanding not to let her impatience interfere with that learning.

She sat up straighter in her hard, uncushioned chair and wobbled as the uneven legs tipped her forward. Ginnevra had observed over the weeks she’d assisted with hearing legal matters in Devoyenne that no one in the republic believed justicers should think of themselves as special or superior to the average citizen. In practical terms, that meant no luxury for those hearing cases. Ginnevra didn’t believe having a chair that didn’t teeter would incline someone to consider herself superior, but, again, not her business.

Talliapanne, to her left, held a pencil with its tip hovering over the sheaf of paper on the desk in front of her. She hadn’t written anything on the top sheet the whole time the man had spoken, hadn’t even doodled or scrawled a shopping list. Either Talliapanne had better self-control than Ginnevra would have had in her position, or she’d actually been listening to the monologue.

…and so I ask your ladyships’ justice upon me, the man said. He’d gestured repeatedly while pleading his case, but now he clasped his hands behind his back as if he feared them escaping and regarded Ginnevra and Talliapanne with wide, intent eyes.

Talliapanne turned to Ginnevra. Prime? What questions have you?

Ginnevra cleared her throat and hoped she had, in fact, understood the important parts. Sieur Roncio, she said, just to clarify—your mare escaped its field and wandered into your neighbor’s?

Roncio’s eyebrows drew together above the bridge of his nose. Yes, as I said, Prime Cassaline.

Ginnevra glanced at Talliapanne. The justicer’s expression was bland, neither critical nor encouraging. Ginnevra forged ahead anyway. And you’re suing for reparations against that neighbor, Madama Encollitano, because her stallion impregnated your mare? She hadn’t meant that to sound so much like a question.

Even so, prime. I had an arrangement with Piero Falscane to breed her. Roncio looked increasingly confident, standing with his head thrown back. Now I’m out the breeding fee and I’ll be saddled with a foal of improper parentage.

Again Ginnevra shot a look at Talliapanne. Talliapanne nodded, the slightest motion. Well, it wasn’t as if this was a matter of life or death, and delivering justice was one of a prime’s duties. This one was just so obvious a verdict Ginnevra felt awkward about having to put it into words.

She sat forward in her chair, rocking it again. Sieur Roncio, she said, "why is it Madama Encollitano’s fault that your horse trespassed on her property?"

Roncio’s lips thinned in a tight frown. She lured Tansy into that field, he said. It was on purpose to ruin me.

I did not! a woman seated a few pews back exclaimed, shooting to her feet. That’s a lie!

Madama Encollitano, you’ve had your say. Please be seated, Ginnevra said. Sieur Roncio, three of your neighbors testified as to the condition of your fences. Namely, their poor condition. I would think someone concerned about the purity of his stock would care about preventing an accident such as this by keeping his prized mare well contained.

Accident? Roncio said. But—

Yes, accident, Ginnevra said, cutting across his protest. And I choose to believe it was an accident, sieur. Because the alternative is for me to look more closely at your mare’s lineage and that of the intended stud. It would mean calculating the value of a foal born of that lineage. And it would require comparing that value to the much, much larger sum in reparations you’ve demanded of Madama Encollitano, who coincidentally came into a sizable inheritance only last year. That’s the kind of investigation that could go on for a while, and who knows what else it might turn up?

Roncio’s jaw hung slack with astonishment. I wouldn’t, he said, swallowed, and tried again. I wouldn’t risk my breeding plan like that.

I did say ‘accident,’ did I not? Ginnevra fixed him with a direct, penetrating gaze. Do I want to know why you leaped to ‘on purpose’?

Roncio swallowed again. No, prime. I misspoke.

Very well. Ginnevra sat back in her chair. Madama Encollitano, will you join us?

She waited for the woman to make her way down the pew and stand beside Roncio. Neither of them looked at the other. Sieur Giuste Roncio, I judge your claim null. No reparations are due you from Madama Piettra Encollitano, and I require you to repair your fences immediately. Madama Encollitano, as this was an accident, you are not entitled to claim a stud fee from Sieur Roncio. This is my judgment as prime of the Blessed. You’re both free to go.

Roncio shot a poisonous glance at Encollitano, but said nothing. Encollitano’s expression was as bland and emotionless as Talliapanne’s. Ginnevra guessed she would reserve her celebrating for a less public place so she wouldn’t appear to be gloating.

Talliapanne rose. This concludes today’s hearings. Charter house convenes again in two days.

She turned to Ginnevra as the remaining citizens exited the room. That was well spoken, she said. You’re becoming comfortable with the justicer’s role.

That one was too obvious, though, don’t you think? Ginnevra ran a hand through her short hair; it came away damp with sweat. Should I have penalized him for wasting our time?

The citizens of Devoyenne are entitled to have their grievances heard, regardless of what those grievances are. Talliapanne wriggled out of her justicer’s robe, revealing a fine linen shirt whose appearance was marred by sweaty patches beneath the arms. There are provisions in the law for handling repeated frivolous charges, but in general we don’t try the person, we try the case. Meaning we aren’t supposed to judge anything but the claim at hand.

Even if the person clearly has no grounds for the claim?

Even then. Talliapanne folded her robe neatly and tucked it under her arm. Think how much power a justicer would have if she could enforce the law according to her whim.

I used to believe that’s what justicers did, Ginnevra said. She slung her sword over her shoulder and followed Talliapanne to the door. I mean, every city-state has its own laws, so how can a justicer know all of them? It seemed to me that it would be easier for a justicer to make her own justice.

Most places abide by the Code of Cierallo, Talliapanne said, pushing open the charter house door. "So the law is more uniform than you’d imagine. But I’m not sure it matters to you. A paladin’s justice is considered purer than temporal law, since it’s rooted in the decrees of the holy city. I suppose that means you do have tremendous power, since it’s your good sense that’s at the foundation of your judgments."

Oh, don’t say that, Ginnevra groaned. I still know so little about the law.

The street outside the charter house lay in shade at this time of the late afternoon, and a light breeze stirred the heavy, warm sea air, cooling Ginnevra slightly. Devoyenne was an old city, a trading hub since before the Faith had come to the Lordagne, but it looked young thanks to the ongoing renewal of lath and plaster buildings eroded by the salt winds that blew in off the harbor. Sturdier brick construction marked newer buildings, most of them taller than their neighbors. Ginnevra didn’t find them appealing; the grayish-red bricks always looked dirty in full sunlight and mud-spotted under an overcast.

Sometimes common sense and a desire to do what’s right are more important than a strict interpretation of the law, Talliapanne said. I hate to admit it, but more than a few times justicers have manipulated the letter of the law to suit their whim. We’re all human, Prime Cassaline, and subject to our human weaknesses. Approach your judgments with humility, and I think you’ll do just fine.

Ginnevra looked past Talliapanne to where the street intersected Devoyenne’s main thoroughfare. Her heart lightened. Thank you, madama, that makes me feel better, she said, though in truth it was the man at the end of the street whose appearance had cheered her. I’ll see you in two days, yes? That’s the end of my time here.

Your training progresses nicely, Talliapanne said. I think the Blessed will have no reason to complain. She clapped Ginnevra on the shoulder and turned right down the street. Ginnevra hurried in the other direction, her sword bobbing over her shoulder in her eagerness.

She met Eodan halfway to the thoroughfare, managing not to break into a run. It wasn’t as if they’d been separated more than a few hours, but an afternoon of hearing cases, not all of them interesting, made that separation feel much longer. Eodan’s smile when he saw her made her feel even lighter. She closed the final distance between them and put her arms around his waist, pulling him close for a kiss. I am so glad to see you.

Eodan’s smile widened. I thought I was tired, but you’ve made all that vanish. He kissed her in return. Shall we eat? And then take a walk on the beach? It’s been a busy day for both of us.

You have such wonderful ideas. Ginnevra hooked her left arm around his right and tugged him back the way he’d come. I take it you treated a lot of patients.

Word about the visiting physician has gotten around, Eodan said. Even a big place like Devoyenne doesn’t have enough physicians to meet the people’s needs. But it was a good day. I only had to turn away two whose illnesses weren’t something I could treat.

I don’t know if I could do that. Maintain my optimism in the face of suffering people I couldn’t help. Ginnevra gripped his hand swiftly. Oh, I forgot, you’re one of nature’s pessimists.

Eodan laughed. A physician can’t afford to be wholly pessimistic, or he’d never successfully treat anyone. But it’s true I had to learn to accept that some things can’t be fixed.

I choose to be grateful that so many things can, Ginnevra said.

Though it was still early, not quite five o’clock in the evening, Devoyenne was coming to life, its main street thronged with citizens leaving their shops or entering taverns. Food vendors cried out, advertising their wares, and the smell of hot meat warred with the sweeter scent of honeyed dates and sugar-roasted almonds. Ginnevra breathed in the aromas, mingled with the salty bite of sea air, and the last of her tension fell away.

I hope I’m not called away any time soon, she said. The sea is beautiful, and Devoyenne is a friendly place. She nodded politely at someone who gawked at the sword.

I admit to being fond of looking at the sea, Eodan said. It’s so different from my mountain home.

And I imagine there are citizens of Devoyenne who would be awestruck by the mountains if they traveled north. Ginnevra tugged on Eodan’s arm. Let’s try this place. They had those fried tomatoes a few nights ago.

The dimly-lit tavern did smell of tomatoes, as well as garlic and hot oil and balsamic vinegar. Small round tables that would barely seat four, and then only if the four were all very friendly, crowded the tap room. Few of the tables were occupied this early, and Ginnevra and Eodan took one in the corner that let them both sit with their backs to the walls. Ginnevra didn’t expect to be attacked in the middle of the city, let alone taken by surprise, but she also didn’t believe in taking chances.

An extremely handsome young man, his eyes bright and his smile mischievous, brought them wooden mugs that he set down without comment. Ginnevra sniffed hers; dark ale, her favorite. So someone remembered her last visit.

Eodan took a long drink from his mug and set it down with a deliberate tock. When do you expect to be called on?

I don’t know. Ginnevra shrugged and drank. I’m nearly done with my training here, and if the Devoyenne justicers approve of me, they’ll send word to the Blessed that I’m fit to be set loose on the populace. Which means more official missions on the Blessed’s behalf.

I’m looking forward to seeing what those are. Humanity is so varied and so interesting, and I like the excuse to meet new people and learn how they live.

Ginnevra took another drink. And if they know you are a werewolf?

Eodan chewed his lower lip in thought. The Blessed sent that decree to the sanctuaries, explaining about the werewolves like me who turn their backs on the Bright One. She hasn’t seen fit to make that decree generally known. And I think she’s right. If word gets out that there are, well, good werewolves in the world, that will get people wondering about all the bad ones, or how to tell the difference. Better to introduce the idea a little at a time.

And maybe on a less abstract level, Ginnevra said. "I mean, people get to know you, they trust you, you’re not a danger, and then they find out you’re a werewolf. It’s harder to stay bigoted when it’s someone you have a personal relationship with."

She leaned back so the handsome server could put a steaming plate in front of her. Fried tomatoes drizzled with oil and balsamic vinegar, cod battered and deep fried, and half a loaf of nutty brown bread—southern coastal cuisine had so much going for it. She forked up a bite of fish and blew on it to cool it. I’ll definitely miss this.

Why haven’t tomatoes made it farther north? Eodan asked. He was already making inroads on his. They’re so delicious.

I know very little about agriculture. Ginnevra dipped her bite of cod into the vinegar and ate it before it could drip on her breeches. It might be too cold in the north to grow them, if they’re native to places south of the Lordagne. But someone will eventually figure it out. That’s how civilization works.

It almost makes me regret—well, not regret leaving my home, because I had no choice, but I’m sorry I’m not in a position to bring the things I’m discovering to my pack. Eodan took another bite and wiped his mouth. We adopt human inventions when we have the chance. Some human inventions, that is. The ones we can maintain without losing who we are.

Ginnevra eyed him covertly. Eodan wasn’t reticent about werewolf behavior, but he rarely talked about his own history and never said anything about what had driven him away from his pack beyond the bare facts of having been at odds with those werewolves who chose to worship the Bright One. Is that something you used to do? Bring back human things or foods?

Eodan’s gaze fixed on her, blue-eyed and fierce. No, he said, and it was the sort of no that denied any possibility of a follow-up response. Ginnevra took another bite of fish to keep from blurting out any demands that he speak. His past was his own business, and she had no right to pry. She certainly had things in her past she didn’t want to discuss.

She chewed, swallowed, and said, Well, I agree with you that it’s a pity tomatoes aren’t more widely eaten. They’re so versatile.

I like them on pasta, Eodan said. It was such a bland response Ginnevra knew she’d done right in not pushing.

They ate in silence then, a comfortable silence Ginnevra enjoyed. Aside from one youthful fling with the neighbor’s son before taking her paladin’s oath, she had never had a relationship that lasted more than a few days. Paladin companies were always on the move, and maintaining a romance under those conditions was difficult. Falling in love with Eodan had changed that. The knowledge that he would be there in the morning still stunned her with its beautiful certainty. They’d been together for almost five months, and already Ginnevra had trouble remembering what life had been like before him.

The handsome server brought them a second set of mugs, and Ginnevra waved off a third. Three tankards of ale wasn’t enough to get her drunk, but she wanted to enjoy the evening without being tipsy. She mopped the last drops of oil and vinegar up with a chunk of bread and sighed deeply. I feel so satisfied, she said. I did well hearing cases, I’m full and comfortable, and I have you. It’s the perfect day.

Eodan smiled and took her hand. Let’s go for that walk on the beach, then, and make it a spectacular day.

Ginnevra rose, bringing him with her. I want to leave my sword in our room. I don’t need it bouncing over my shoulder on a romantic stroll.

They walked down the main street, which was busy now that the sun brushed the distant horizon. Pedestrians walked wide around Ginnevra and her sword regardless of the crush. Their expressions ran a spectrum from uncertainty to awe, something Ginnevra wasn’t accustomed to even after five years as a paladin. Awe, maybe, but she didn’t like the ones who looked fearful, as if she might attack them unprovoked or accuse them of terrible crimes. She kept her gaze focused straight ahead, nodding in a friendly way when she couldn’t avoid meeting someone’s eyes. The frightened ones sometimes became more nervous when they knew she’d noticed them.

The inn Ginnevra and Eodan had stayed at the past two weeks was on a side street away from the main thoroughfare, a quiet, little-trafficked street that seemed worlds away from the bustle of the busy road. Ginnevra liked how their room looked out over the stable yard, giving her a good view of her horse Dauntless. He didn’t need her watching over him, and the stable yard was secure, but she enjoyed seeing him interact with the stable hands, all of whom knew the blue roan’s tricks by now.

As they approached the inn’s front door, someone emerged from it and stood on the stoop, looking up and down the street as if she didn’t know which way to go. Her eyes met Ginnevra’s. Ginnevra took a few more steps before memory struck her breathless.

For a moment, the sounds of the street vanished, and she heard in memory a voice saying If there’s anything left to say, I don’t know what it is. She almost didn’t recognize the voice as her own. Then there was fire in darkness, and soot-blackened faces, and the flash of steel. Someone cried out, so loudly Ginnevra thought for a moment the sound was here, now—but it, too, was memory.

Then Eodan was saying, Ginnevra, what’s wrong?

Ginnevra shook her head. She released Eodan’s hand and walked forward to meet the woman, who hadn’t moved beyond turning to more fully face Ginnevra. She was almost as tall as Ginnevra and more heavily built, muscular rather than fat, with long dark hair pulled back from her face in a horse’s tail and thin, sharply-drawn eyebrows that arched to give her a slightly astonished appearance. It had been four years, but Ginnevra recognized her instantly.

She came to a stop about five feet from the woman and said, Filippa. She couldn’t think of anything more to say that wouldn’t be banal or trite or viciously accusatory.

Filippa put a hand on the hilt of the short sword she wore at her hip. Ginna—Ginnevra, she said. I need your help.

Chapter

Two

Ginnevra’s jaw clenched. Do you, she said flatly. Is this about your mad obsession? Because I told you four years ago I wanted nothing to do with it.

A muscle twitched in Filippa’s cheek. Things have changed. Please, Ginnevra. Just hear me out.

The way you listened to me? Ginnevra exclaimed. Damn it, Filippa—

I won’t make excuses. And I wouldn’t have tracked you down if this weren’t important. Filippa’s hand closed more tightly on the sword’s pommel. This time I have proof.

Ginnevra squeezed her eyes shut. "Proof. Of what? We failed, Filippa. There’s nothing to prove! She opened her eyes. Filippa hadn’t moved. There’s nothing you can learn that will change the past."

That’s not true, Filippa said. Half an hour. Ten minutes, even. Give me ten minutes, and if I can’t convince you, I’ll walk away and you’ll never see me again.

Her words stabbed at Ginnevra’s heart. She hadn’t seen Filippa in four years, had managed not to think of her for most of that time, and yet the idea of never seeing her former best friend again hurt as much as it had the first time Ginnevra had walked away from her. Cursing her weakness, she said, Fine. Ten minutes.

Filippa glanced up and down the street again, prompting Ginnevra to do the same. It wasn’t as busy as the main thoroughfare, but there were still plenty of people around, and all of them were watching the paladin with poorly disguised interest. Is there somewhere we can go for privacy? Filippa asked.

There was no way Ginnevra would bring Filippa to her room. She hesitated. Beside her, Eodan stirred. We can use the private parlor, he murmured.

She’d forgotten he was there. Once more, she took his hand. That’s a good idea. Thank you. She gestured with her free hand at the inn’s front door. This way.

There was a moment of darkness as Ginnevra crossed the threshold from the bright, warm sunlight of the street to the cool dimness of the entrance, and then her paladin’s eyes adjusted, showing her the narrow, long corridor extending away from the front door to stairs at the far end going up. Doors flanked the front door on either side of the hall, stained dark in contrast to the pale pink plaster of the walls. The air smelled of dust and lamp oil, though the lamps burned low and the floors were clean and brightly waxed.

Ginnevra opened the left-hand door. Sieur, would you mind giving us some privacy? she said to the elderly man seated near the room’s one window, reading a book.

The man glanced up and did a double take upon seeing the sword. Of course, my lady, it’s no problem, he said, rising from his chair. I can—that is, anything for a paladin—

It will only take ten minutes, Ginnevra said. She stood aside for him to exit. The man nodded politely to Eodan and to Filippa and headed for the stairs.

Filippa followed Ginnevra into the private parlor. I’d forgotten what that’s like, she said, sounding amused. Being the one they all make way for. Her tone was exactly as Ginnevra remembered, and it made her angry that Filippa still mattered to her on some level. She grabbed a chair and swung it around before dropping into it.

Your ten minutes begins now, she said. Talk.

Can I at least be introduced to your friend? Filippa’s calm words didn’t match the tension in her jaw. That she was as uncertain as Ginnevra eased Ginnevra’s heart somewhat.

This is Eodan, she said. He’s my companion. Eodan, this is Filippa Genovarde. She used to be— A thousand possible words rushed into Ginnevra’s mind. She’s an ex-paladin. We were in the same company five years ago. Our first company.

Eodan had taken a chair near Ginnevra, and he now sat leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. A retired paladin?

Ginnevra and Filippa exchanged glances. Filippa still looked tense, but she made no move to speak, tacitly giving Ginnevra the choice about what to say next. Not retired, Ginnevra said. She’s no longer a paladin. She abandoned her vows and left the Faith entirely.

Filippa shifted her weight as if she wanted to object, but still she said nothing. Ginnevra immediately felt guilty and just as quickly crushed that guilt into oblivion. It didn’t matter what Filippa thought she’d done; the facts were clear, and Ginnevra hadn’t said anything the Commander General hadn’t said, years before.

I see, Eodan said. Ginnevra was sure he didn’t, because how could he possibly understand what Filippa had done to Ginnevra by leaving? They had been sisters, once, and—Ginnevra made herself breathe slowly, controlling her anger. None of that mattered.

So, tell me why you’re here, she said. And it had better be something new.

Filippa nodded slowly. I found evidence, she said. Proof that we were set up. I swear it’s true, Ginnevra. None of what happened was our fault. Captain Ercole didn’t sell us out. Someone else set those attackers on us.

Ginnevra’s breathing sped up again, and she controlled herself. Proof?

Ginnevra, Eodan said, what is she talking about?

Ginnevra almost turned on him, snarling. She almost told him to mind his own business. But his expression was so concerned, so worried for her, it brought her to her senses in time. Tell him, she snapped at Filippa. You’re the one who cares. Tell him about our greatest failure.

Filippa’s hands closed into loose fists in her lap. Ginna—Ginnevra and I were in the same company, she said. Under Baranzia Ercole. We’d ridden together—do you know what that means?

You were partners in the company, Eodan said. Rode together, fought as one.

Right. We’d ridden together for a little over a year. Filippa opened one hand and rubbed her palm over the rough fabric of her breeches. Our company had been riding the southern reaches, and we ended up in Quinizelle. The king of Quinizelle’s sister was betrothed to a lord in Paese, and our company was tasked with escorting her south to her wedding. It was supposed to be simple. The route is well trafficked, and nobody’s seen bandits along it since forever. She laughed, one curt, sharp sound. Can’t say that anymore.

Just tell the story, Ginnevra said.

Sorry. You can probably guess what happened. We were ambushed by bandits, a troop more than double the size of our company. They knew when we’d be there, and they knew our strengths. It was a massacre. Filippa drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Ginnevra was badly wounded and left for dead. I suffered a head injury and fell unconscious. The bandits slaughtered the king’s sister and our company and every one of the lady’s retinue. And they left