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The command repeated. “Brother Lysander. The prisoner.”

But Lysander didn’t move. His gaze shifted to the window, his whole body tightening.

Idonea hadn’t told him about the bee. A cacophony of shouts went up beyond the door. Steel rang against stone.

Relief and fear mingled. Safira had come; the pirates were there.

Idonea’s fingers brushed the hilt of her dagger.

The Templars forced their way into the cottage. Snow swept in with them, along with the chaos from the square beyond.

The Grand Templar crowded into the doorway. Lysander took a step in front of Idonea. She pricked a finger open on her blade.

Idonea spied the silhouette of the Clockwork Crows’ airship in the sky. The ship hovered like a predator over the town, ropes dangling to the ground. Through the open door came the scent of powder-smoke and burning oil. The pirates were here in force, but the Templars pressed them at every turn.

The Grand Templar lifted his gauntleted hand. "Step aside."

Lysander didn't move.

"Lysander."

Still nothing.

"Brother." The Grand Templar's voice sharpened. "I am ordering you. By the oath you swore at sixteen."

"I remember the oath."

"Then move."

"No." Lysander’s jaw tightened, but he didn't move. His blade was half-drawn, the steel whispering like an unspoken threat. The word echoed in her head.

A murmur rippled among the Templars behind him. They had expected hesitation, not defiance. Current stirred at her call.

Safira’s voice carried from beyond the square: “Crows! Make the bastards bleed!”

Then came the thunder of pistols, the shriek of grappling hooks thrown against stone, the groan of wood under strain as the airship pulled tighter against the town.

The Grand Templar’s eyes narrowed. “Traitor. You’d throw away your oath for a witch?”

Lysander’s shoulders straightened. “She serves the Light too.”

Gasps flared among the Templars. The Grand Templar’s face darkened, fury breaking through his calm.

“Seize them.”

The cottage came apart around them.

Two Templars came through the door first. Lysander took the lead one before the man had cleared the threshold; Idonea didn't see the strike, only the falling. The second was already swinging for her when something black moved past her shoulder and the swinging stopped. Lance, withdrawing, his scales wet to the elbow of his wing. The Templar folded around the hole in his chest in surprise, as if the wound had been a question he hadn't expected.

The Grand Templar stood in the doorway and watched both deaths without moving.

Above them the roof gave. A grappling claw came through the rafters and took half the roof with it on its way down. Snow and splinters and the smell of pitch. Safira swung down on the rope before the debris had settled, landed in the wreckage of the rafters, and put her pistol against the Grand Templar's helm without breaking stride.

"Thought you'd start without me?"

The Grand Templar didn't look at her. He was still looking at Idonea.

"Out," Idonea said. "The square. Too tight in here."