“Is this true?” “Of course it’s not true,” Hezrai said. “The High Priestess is dead, but it was a terrible accident.” Jon smiled. “Actually, that’s not quite true. The bit about the High Priestess being dead, I mean.” He straightened and held out his hand to Alex. She stepped forward. Unlike Sister Martha, Hezrai didn’t immediately recognize her. His gaze ran over her, and his frown deepened. Alex reached up, plucked the wig from her head, and tossed it onto the desk between them. Hezrai gaped at her. “You?” Funny—he didn’t sound particularly pleased to see her. She ran her fingers through her flattened hair and shrugged. “Afraid so.” Alex watched the expressions cross his face. Unlike her, he’d never bothered learning the art of keeping his thoughts to himself. He was too arrogant to bother. Disbelief, followed by a flash of hatred, and then panic.
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