Free Chosen Ones by Alister E. McGrath

that he avoid mentioning the part about being made a prince.
    Beneath them guards rushed to the scene, hurrying to repair the damage to the building and tend to the injuries of their men. Peter turned to his sister, not able to look her straight in the eye.
    “I don’t know why you’re so set against them.
    The slaves are slaves because they’re deluded.
    Anaximander explained it al ,” he said in the haughty-older-brother voice which Julia most despised.
    “They’re slaves because they have not ascended to a higher plane of reason.”
    Which was when Julia hit him.
    She hadn’t spent her growing-up years honing her skil s at fisticuffs, but what she lacked in skil she made up for in rage. Peter didn’t exactly go sprawling, but he stumbled back against the window ledge, his hand tight against the cheek she had struck. This was a Julia he had never encountered before.
    “Look around you!” she hissed. “Science didn’t bring us here. We were cal ed—cal ed by the Lord of Hosts, and we’re supposed to fix this place. We’re supposed to free the slaves.”
    “Lord of Hosts? Free the slaves? I told you, they’re practical y barbarians,” Peter said, stepping away to avoid another fist if it came his way. “The lords have it sorted.”
    “I’ve been hearing stories—the slaves’ stories,” said Julia, thinking quickly. She had been warned not to repeat what she learned, and now she understood why: Peter was not to be trusted. “The Jackal, Leopard, and Wolf are the barbarians, and you’ve just handed them their greatest weapon.” Peter began to look unaccountably smug. “Wel , not real y,” he said loftily. “They can make the powder and it wil go on exploding in their faces, but what they real y need are…”
    “Guns,” Julia finished. “You didn’t tel them about guns, did you?”
    “Oh no,” said Peter grandly. “I’m waiting until they make me their pri…”
    He wasn’t able to stop the word from coming out in time. Julia stared at him incredulously, and his smug expression faded.
    “Peter, you are impossible,” she said, and stalked out of the chamber.
    Peter stayed at the window long after Julia had left for her own rooms, watching the chaos below.
    Guards and slaves rushed back and forth, scurrying to clear away the rubble that had once been ornate stonework. As he watched, the Wolf came into view.
    He was there to survey the damage, Peter realized. He exchanged a few quick words with the captain of the guards and then he stalked around looking poisonous, his voluminous robes sweeping over the dust and debris.
    His head came up suddenly and he looked straight at Peter, high up at the window. His face was obscured as usual beneath the mask, but Peter could sense the anger in his stare. There was something cold in it—something primal. Something that sought revenge.
    It was too late to duck away and avoid being seen. Fear flooded into Peter, and for the first time he felt the power of the Wolf’s presence—the power that had kept innocent people in chains for centuries.
    His limbs went numb under the anger of that silent stare, but with the force of overwhelming wil power he told himself to keep calm. And then, as he watched, the Wolf held up his arm and pointed at Peter, deliberately and accusingly. Peter felt a shiver go down his spine: he had given the lords a weapon but not shown them how to use it, and he would have to pay the price. He put his hands in his pockets and turned away from the window, trying with al his might to look like a prince.
    Late that afternoon Peter and Julia were summoned to the Great Hal . They both knew what could happen, but death is not a simple thing to face in one’s youth. And so they went into the hal with confidence, standing as tal as their father when he stood at the helm of one of his ships, facing the open ocean before him.
    The three lords sat on their thrones, their every movement exaggerated by those voluminous robes.
    Their masks