These were not the ordinary pilgrims who journeyed across the country to pay homage to their Saints; they were not the sun cult that had grown up around Alina Starkov and that often came to the palace walls to honor her. These people wore black. The banners they raised were emblazoned with the sun in eclipse—the Darkling’s symbol. They’d come here to praise the man who had torn Zoya’s life apart. A young cleric stood on a rock. He had the long, wild hair of the Priestguard, but he wore black, not brown.
