My sword is at his throat.

He should be terrified. Most are, at the end. Three years I have personally led the hunt for this man, across battlefields and burning cities, and now he kneels before me in chains.

He's smiling.

"The famous War Priestess," he says. His voice is steady. No tremor. No fear. "Do you ever get tired of being a weapon?"

"Weapons don't get tired."

"That's not what I asked."

I press the blade closer. A thin line of red appears on his skin, bright against the dust and blood.

"You've killed thousands of the goddess's faithful," I say. "Your armies have burned her temples, slaughtered her priestesses, defied her will at every turn."

"I've defended my people." He doesn't look away. Gray, his eyes. Storm-gray and calm. "There's a difference."

"Not to the goddess."

"No. I imagine not." He tilts his head slightly, baring more of his throat to my blade. "So kill me. That's why you came, isn't it?"

It is. The goddess commanded it. Three nights ago, in the sacred flames, her voice thundered through my skull: Bring me the general's head. End his defiance.

My hand doesn't move.

"What's wrong?" he asks. Almost gentle. "First time with a sword?"

"I've killed more men than you can count."

"I believe you." His gaze traces my face, the scars, the silver streaks in my hair, the pale eyes that mark me as divine-touched. "So why haven't you killed me?"

I don't have an answer.

Thirty years I've served the goddess. Thirty years of blood and fire and perfect obedience. I have never hesitated. Never questioned. Never felt anything but the cold certainty of divine purpose.

I feel something now.

Interest. Curiosity. Neither belongs to the goddess.

"Take him to the cells," I hear myself say. "Alive."

My captain stiffens. "High Priestess?"

"You heard me. The goddess wants answers before his death. We interrogate first."

It's a lie. The goddess gave no such command. She wanted his head, not his secrets.

But my captain obeys, she knows no other way. The prisoner is hauled to his feet, dragged toward the temple depths.

He doesn't resist. Doesn't struggle.

He just looks at me over his shoulder, those storm-gray eyes steady and knowing.

"I'll see you soon, Priestess," he says.

It sounds like a promise.

I watch them take him away. My sword is still raised, still dripping his blood.

I lower it slowly.

What have I done?

The goddess's presence brushes against my mind, a whisper of flame, a pulse of displeasure. I feel her attention like a physical weight.

She noticed. Of course she noticed.

Bring me his head, she commanded.

I brought her a prisoner instead.

In thirty years, I have never disobeyed.

Until now.

The why of it terrifies me more than any enemy.