Chapter 8
ISANDOR PUSHED his way out of the tent, past the crowds cramming in to see the queen, past the self-styled guards, into the darkness.
“Hey, where are you going?” someone asked.
“I can go wherever I want,” Isandor said. By the skylights, he was angry. As if the Brotherhood had suddenly taken over ordering people about when the Knights had gone. And Jevaithi believed them, by the skylights.
The stupid civilian guards had no authority to boss him about, and no one was going to stop him seeing Milleus. But when the guard held the lamp up and Isandor could see his face, he realised that the youth was younger than him.
“By the skylights, it’s the champion,” the other guard said, this one a woman.
“Really?” the boy said.
“Hey, you,” someone else called from further down. “Didn’t
