By the end of the week, Lena and Duke returned with a Fielding engine, two canisters, and thirteen Rogues in tow, five of them sorcerers. It was barely a fraction of the gang that had lived at Blackthorn’s Hell, but Junesfield had killed most of the mundanes, and those who’d survived had hightailed it after their fearless leader disappeared.
The thirteen who’d come greeted her with relief and even a little awe. She knew their faces, though Hettie wasn’t entirely sure about their names, and as she shook their hands Lena prompted her with a whisper in her ear.
“I hope you all came knowing what’s at stake,” she addressed them. “I don’t want any of you being led on by promises of riches and glory.”
“Ain’t about either of those things,” said Jerome, a sorcerer who’d had a hard time at the Ac
