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“When Silvester came to power,” Aiken finishes. “As Second, he wielded more influence than any second in power before him. If you’ll remember, the loudest calls crying foul at the Legion’s influence came from the very man I now supposedly serve.”

His words ring true. At least, from the stories I have heard. As he talks, I think of all I know about the Legion of Ash. After Athea assisted Lady Edina in making a potion for King Onry to fall in love with her, and after Edina and Onry’s sons split the Isle into two kingdoms, many blamed the Garra. At the height of that backlash, a woman was burned at the stake in Firley Dinch, a village at the border between the two kingdoms. It was later learned the woman was no Garra at all but an innocent.

In their fervor, she and her unborn babe were put to death. From the ashes of her body there rose an order of men intent on forbidding such an atrocity to recur. Some say these men became the greatest warriors in the Isle, even greater than the Shadow Warriors, from their sheer will to see such an injustice never happen again. Others say their unnatural abilities stemmed from their alliance with the Garra.

Aided by the healers, the Legion of Ash grew so strong that, years later, calls for them to disband echoed throughout the Isle. And they did. Or so most believed. There have been whispers of a new, secret order made up of former Legion members, but none have seen evidence of such a thing.

Until now.

“A Shadow Warrior and a member of the Legion of Ash,” I say bitterly, my hands shaking at the revelation, one Aiken never hinted at. I look at him now and realize I know the man not at all, despite the intimacies we’ve shared. “You are quite a warrior, Father Aiken.”

I’ve no patience for his look of regret, of sadness. He could have told me but did not. Instead, he trusts a man he’s never met with the information instead.

“There is no longer a Legion of Ash,” Aldwine repeats, seemingly not hearing the exchange between Aiken and me. “My father would have known of it.”

As the morning stretches on, the fire crackling next to us, the world as we know it shifting beneath our feet, Aiken pushes back his wooden seat. Suddenly, I hate his robes. The lying. The deceit. I am in love with a man I do not know.

Casting my eyes away, I look toward the fire as he speaks to Aldwine.

“He did know of it,” Aiken says softly. “I knew your father. Met him on more than one occasion.”

In spite of myself, I look back to the men just in time to see Aldwine’s stunned expression.

“After Silvester was named Prima, the Legion made a show of disbanding. Your father, as did many others, joined a mercenary company. Legion members consist of noblemen, innkeepers, mercenaries, even Eldermen . . .”

“Real Eldermen?” I ask, unable to keep the bitterness from my voice.

Aiken’s piercing gaze does naught to calm the erratic beating of my heart. “Aye. Real Eldermen,” he says wryly.

“We took our meeting places underground, allowing the belief that we were no longer together to persevere. But I can assure you,” he addresses Aldwine, “we have not stopped working for the good of the Isle.”

We took our meeting places underground.

“The tavern in d’Almerita?” I ask, already knowing the answer.

“Aye.”

“My father continued to serve the Legion,” Aldwine says, sitting back down at the table. “The Legion protects the Garra, preserves peace.”

“Aye,” Aiken agrees.

“Which of his missions throughout the years were in service to the Legion?”

Aiken sighs heavily. “I cannot tell you that. But I will tell you, Sir Nicholas was a highly respected warrior who saved many lives.”

Aldwine’s elbows rest on the table. He wipes his eyes, as if to clear his thoughts, and then rests his face in his hands, saying nothing.

“Your close friendship with Lady Aedre . . .” Aiken drifts off, not continuing the unfinished thought.

“She knew?” Aldwine asks.

Aiken shakes his head. “Nay. Not even the Garra we protect know of our true identity. At least, not all of them. I suspect her grandmother might have known.”

At least I’m not the only one.

“We are bound to a vow of secrecy. Unless a life is threatened. I heard a story from one of the men who trained me about a Garra in Murwood End who owed her life to your father. Likely he was forced to tell Aedre’s grandmother because her life had been threatened in some way. Your family’s bond to hers—”

“Is not simply because Aedre’s mother and mine were dear friends.” Aldwine shoves his drink away and jumps to his feet. “I need something stronger than this.” He walks to a cupboard, grabs a vessel and pours. “Wine, anyone?”