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The set of his jaw loosened by a fraction. "Yes. All right."

“Lysander and I…” Idonea said. “He can’t be in the Order anymore.”

Alcaeus rubbed at his brow. “No, of course.”

“But…” Idonea began and steadied herself. “I am not leaving the Republic. Dyota must be saved.”

He closed his eyes.

“What do you think they will do to her, because of me?”

His gaze fell on her. “That will be no easy task.”

Idonea smiled. “We’ll see.” She bent and kissed his forehead. “She needs her sister. And you need more rest.”

She paused at the doorway, glancing back. Alcaeus’ chest rose with strength it hadn't known for weeks. He would live.

She didn't go straight to Lysander.

The Magistrate's house was on the way. She hadn't decided whether to stop. Her feet decided for her.

He answered the door himself. He looked smaller than he'd two weeks ago, the silver in his hair gone white. He took her in without speaking. He didn't look surprised to see her.

"Brother Alcaeus' daughter."

"Yes."

"You have something to tell me." His voice was hollow, as though he already knew, as though he'd been waiting weeks for someone to arrive at his door with exactly this look in their eyes.

Idonea swallowed against the tightness in her throat. "I do."

He stepped aside to let her in, but she didn't cross the threshold. Some part of her, the part that had carried this knowledge through snow and blood and the daemon plane itself, knew that what she was about to say would shatter him. And she wouldn't deliver that blow from inside his home.

She drew a steadying breath. The cold wind tugged at her cloak.

"Your wife killed eleven witches in the two winters you have been here. She built a working in the chapel basement out of their teeth. She did it for the daemon she'd been serving since she was young. She didn't know I had found it. She tried to kill me in the cottage. She was killed in the woods by my familiar. The Templars buried her body, somewhere."

The Magistrate didn't speak for a long time. His hand on the doorframe whitened, then loosened.

"I didn't know."

"I believe you," Idonea said.

"I should have."

Idonea looked at him. She knew that sentence, she'd been carrying versions of it for years.

"What do I do with this," he said, and the words were not really a question.

"I cannot tell you. I have my own to carry. You will find what you find."

He nodded. He looked past her, at nothing.

"Thank you, witch."

"You're welcome, Magistrate."

She turned and walked on.