I met his gaze. “My conscience is clear,” I murmured, in a voice meant for only the two of us. “I know which side I’m on, and I’ve never lied about it. Of the two of us, whose crimes are greater?”

The Patriarch’s face went deathly pale. His jaw tightened, eyes going blank, and for a moment, I thought he might kill me then. Snatch the pistol from his guard and shoot me through the heart. But then he blinked, and his face smoothed out again, his expression calm as the mask slid into place.

“No,” he said, drawing back. “No, you have not come to plead for mercy. There is no shame in your eyes, no remorse, only defiance. So be it.” He straightened, ignoring me and raising his voice for the crowd. “The traitor’s soul has been corrupted by the devils,” he announced. “He refuses to atone for his crimes against the brotherhood and stands defiant before God and man. He is a blasphemer, a worshipper of the Wyrm, and will not repent of his evil.”

Something cold slipped between my wrists; the thin edge of a knife, and my legs nearly buckled with relief.

“Garret Xavier Sebastian,” the Patriarch went on, speaking to all of us now. “It pains me to do this. To know that you have willingly turned your back on St. George and everything we have taught you. To know you have sold yourself to evil, and we cannot save you from the damnation that awaits. You will be executed before all of St. George for your crimes against the Order. I pray that when you stand before God tonight, he will have mercy upon your soul.” He turned, his steps heavy, to walk back to the pulpit. “Take him away.”

The ties binding my hands parted with a jerk. I breathed a silent note of thanks to my former partner and stepped forward, raising my voice to echo through the room.

“Before you do that,” I announced, and the Patriarch whirled around, eyes widening when he saw that I was free, “and while we’re on the subject of confessions, perhaps there is something you should explain to the rest of the assembly, sir.” I reached into my jacket and pulled out the envelope, holding it aloft like a torch. “Perhaps you should explain your partnership with Talon, and the dragons, for the past year and a half.”

Instant pandemonium. Behind me, the room exploded in a cacophony of noise and outrage. Men were on their feet, shouting, calling for my head, demanding answers. One of the guards who’d escorted us in went for me, raising his gun. But Tristan silently stepped between us, a warning look in his eyes, and the guard stumbled to a halt, unsure what to do.

Through all of this, the Patriarch didn’t move. He stared at me, his expression calm. Finally, he raised a hand, and the noise gradually died down.

“They are quite desperate now, aren’t they?” he stated, shaking his head, as if this whole thing was ridiculous beyond measure. “Did the dragons put you up to this, soldier? Send one of our own to infiltrate the Order and break it from within? They should know by now, we are far too strong for such deception. St. George will never fall to the machinations of dragons.”

“That might be true, sir,” I replied, “if not for the fact that I have evidence of your treachery right here.” Turning my back on him, I faced the angry room, holding up the envelope. “Proof of the Patriarch’s involvement!” I called, as the room began to erupt again. “Bank statements, photos of secret meetings, recordings of conversations between Richard Amitage and an agent of Talon. The Patriarch has been accepting money from the organization for over a year!”

“Shoot the traitor!” came a voice from the back, impossible to see who it was in the chaos. I held my breath, half expecting a gunshot to ring out to end the tirade and my life. But Tristan, shockingly, stepped forward, putting himself between me and the throng starting to push forward.

“He’s telling the truth!” Tristan shouted, making the first row pause a moment. “I’ve seen it with my own eyes! This isn’t a lie! The evidence is real.” He faltered, taking a breath, as if he couldn’t believe what he was saying himself. “Sebastian speaks the truth,” he said at last, his voice slightly choked. “The Patriarch...is working with Talon.”

“Hold.”

The ranks parted, and Lieutenant Gabriel Martin stepped to the edge of the circle, his face grim as he faced us. “I know both these boys,” he told the crowd, his steely expression freezing them in place. “St. Anthony is one of mine, as was Sebastian. He is...or rather, was...one of the best soldiers I’ve ever seen. Neither is prone to exaggeration or flights of fancy. Sebastian is a traitor to the Order, and I despise what he has become.” I felt an almost physical blow as he said this, my stomach clenching in pain as Martin looked at me, black eyes glinting with contempt.