Since Selene's small procession, the camp had become quieter but not calmer.

Now, whispers moved like smoke—soft, toxic, and uncatchable. I caught bits of it every time I went by a gang of outlaws.

"His image is the boy."

"Selene wouldn't tell lies about that kind of thing."

"Perhaps she is being honest."

Perhaps. More quickly than terror could, that news was spreading across the ranks.

I had witnessed enough of Selene to know that everything she did had a purpose. There was a ...