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leaving Sharleyan in ignorance was shortsighted, to say the very least. In fact, the word “stupid” suggested itself to him rather forcefully whenever he contemplated the Brethren’s hesitation. Sharleyan was far too intelligent and capable to be left out of the loop. Even without full information, she’d already demonstrated just how dangerously effective she could be against Charis’ enemies. With it, she would become even more deadly.
    Which doesn’t even consider the minor fact that she’s Cayleb’s
wife,
does it?
Merlin grimaced behind the composed façade of his “sleeping” face.
No wonder Cayleb’s mad enough to chew iron and spit nails! It’d be bad enough if he didn’t love her, but he does. And even on the most hard-boiled, pragmatic level, he’s still right. She has a
right
to know. In fact, given the risks she’s chosen to run, the enemies she’s
chosen
to make in the name of justice and the truth, there’s no one on this entire planet—including Cayleb himself—who has a
better
right! And if I were she, I’d be pissed off as hell when I finally found out what my husband’s advisers had been keeping from me
.
    Unfortunately, he thought, returning his attention to the images of the practicing guardsmen relayed through one of his carefully stealthed reconnaissance platforms, that was one bridge they’d have no choice but to cross when they reached it. All he could do now was hope for the best . . . and take a certain comfort from the obvious efficiency of her guard detachment. They wouldn’t have the chance to explain
anything
to her if some of the lunatics who’d already attempted to assassinate Archbishop Maikel in his own cathedral managed to kill her, first. And given the fact that even with all of the advantages of Merlin’s reconnaissance capabilities he still hadn’t been able to determine whether or not those assassins had acted on their own, or how big any supporting organization might have been, Captain Athrawes was
delighted
by the evidence of Sergeant Seahamper’s competence. He would have preferred being close enough to protect Sharleyan himself, but not even he could be in two places at once, and Cayleb needed looking after, as well. And at least if he couldn’t be there in person, Seahamper made a satisfying substitute.
    While Merlin watched, the sergeant finished reloading his double-barreled flintlock pistol, cocked and primed both locks, raised it in the two-handed shooting stance Merlin had introduced, and added two more petals to the ragged flower of bullet holes he’d blown through the target silhouette’s head. He was firing from a range of twenty-five yards, and the maximum spread of the group he’d produced was no more than six inches. For someone who’d never even fired a pistol until less than four months ago, that was a remarkable performance, especially with a flintlock he had to stop and reload after every pair of shots. Merlin could have produced a much tighter group, of course, but
Nimue
wouldn’t have been able to when she’d still been alive. Of course, as Merlin, he had certain advantages which Seahamper—or any other mortal human being—lacked.
    The sergeant was almost as good a shot with a rifle, although it was readily apparent that he was actually more comfortable with the pistol. And while Sharleyan’s other guardsmen might not be quite up to Seahamper’s standard, all of them had become excellent marksmen. As had the empress herself.
    Merlin never doubted that quite a few Safeholdian males would have considered Sharleyan’s interest in firearms distinctly unbecoming in a properly reared young woman of gentle birth. After all, they were noisy, smoky, dirty, smelly, and dangerous. Like all black powder weapons, they produced an enormous amount of fouling, not to mention blackening the hands—and faces—of everyone