“‘The Lord is my shield, unbreakable!’ “The roar rang across the frozen Mère, a small flare lighting the distant dark. A glow I’d long ago forgotten brightened the night, silver-blue and charging toward us. Goosebumps prickled my skin—not at the freezing cold, but at the sight of the Mothermaid and Redeemer, the angels of the host, bears and wolves and roses, throat to wrist to waist. That holy magik, wrought by the hands of Silver Sisters. The armor of the silversaint. “Four figures ran down the ice out of the north, the holy light on their skin burning like ghostflame. They carried
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