“They’re working together?” Andraste said, appalled.
They’d retreated to St. Cyprian's office to consider their options. Gallowglass leaned against the door, obsessively checking and re-checking the cylinder of her revolver, her eyes never straying far from the window. Andraste sat, pale and considering, watching St. Cyprian search through his notes and books.
“I doubt it’s that simple,” St. Cyprian said. He’d dragged Ketch’s body out of the hall, and covered it with a blanket minutes before....