“The goddess is wise beyond our knowing,” the priest said, trotting a little to keep up. Geder wished he would just go away. “Her purity will cleanse the world, and all things fold to her wishes. If the Basrahip finds this apostate and ends him, it will be because she wills it.”
“I don’t think you understand,” Geder said, reaching the stairs. “Basrahip’s been very clear. The goddess has come to bring peace to the world. I’m her chosen, and so Antea is her chosen. We’re spreading out and building her temples and bringing peace. That’s what we do. Whatever opposes us fails. That’s all.”
“I have also heard the Basrahip’s living voice,” the priest said. He sounded a little hurt. Geder wondered if a day on the throne had left him cranky. Probably, it had. “We are not in disagreement, Prince Geder. If it is the will of the goddess, all the world will bow down before you.”
Geder stopped, turned, poked the man’s chest with a single stiff finger as he spoke. “What you heard Basrahip say and what I heard him say seem to be very different. I’ll walk you through this one last time, and then I’m going to go eat my dinner and take my bath and sleep, I hope, until a day and a half from now. The goddess has come to bring peace to the world, and so she will. I am the chosen of the goddess, so I have her blessing and her protection. Every city I take, I raise a temple to her. Lies and deceit are purged from the world. The new age is going to dawn with the last evil of the dragons burned out of the world. Nowhere in there anywhere is an if.”
“I fear I have given you some offense, Prince Geder,” the priest said, his eyes growing wide.
“I’m not offended,” Geder said, biting each word off as he spoke it. “You’re not listening. When you say if—if the goddess wants it, if it’s her will—it’s like we don’t know what’s going to happen. But we do. Not all the fine, fiddly little details, maybe, but the important part is known. We’re going to win. The world is going to be better and purer and right. And here’s an if for you. If you aren’t certain of that, you’re the one who’s outside of her grace.”
The priest shook his head in distress. “But I am certain in my faith. I would never—”
“Stop. Just send word to Basrahip from me that I’d like him to come back as soon as he can.”
“If that is your wish, Prince Geder,” the priest said, bowing. Geder had to restrain himself from punching the man in the neck.
Geder dreamed that he was dead, and that Cithrin had killed him. His body was thick, his veins black with clotted blood, and he still had to rule the empire. In his dream, he was forcing himself down a long hallway, looking for the place he was meant to be. He could hear Cithrin, but every door he came to opened to the wrong rooms. If he could find her, she would be able to undo his death, but he had to find her first.
At the dream’s end, he pushed open a door to find Cithrin naked in the arms of the dead King Simeon and woke up shouting. Afternoon light pressed in through the window. His shirt and hose were sticky with sweat and his body felt almost as upset and sluggish as it had before he’d laid down for his nap. He hadn’t made it as far as his bath. When he rose from his bed, his back ached. It seemed unfair that sitting for the better part of a day should make him ache as much as hard work would have. He blamed the throne.
He called for fresh clothes and sent the servants away while he changed. Fresh talc soaked up the worst of the sweat, and the new robes were light. The wind had given way to cooler air, and he decided to wear a thin wool cloak along with it. He needed food and perhaps some light entertainment. Music, maybe. But when he stepped out of his rooms, Canl Daskellin was waiting for him.
“Lord Regent,” he said, bowing.
“Must we?” Geder asked.
“I’m afraid there’s news,” Daskellin said. “If you’d prefer, I can come back in the morning, but it won’t be any better then than now.”
“So it’s a choice of spending the evening fretting over what you’ve said or else fretting over what you’re going to say.”
“That’s the shape of it, my lord.” Daskellin’s smile was rueful. It occured to Geder that he was the closest thing to a real friend Geder had in the city, and they barely knew one another outside the work of the court.
“All right. Come with me.”
Geder tramped down to the gardens, Daskellin at his side and the royal guard trailing behind them. The gardens were thick with the scent of flowers. The perfume seemed almost too sweet after the sewer-smell of the morning. Wide red blossoms nodded in the breeze and the setting sun pulled the shadows out across the green. Servants brought chairs and chilled wine and a platter of roasted walnuts and berries glazed with honey and salt. Geder pressed a handful into his mouth.
“What’s happened?” he asked. “It’s Inentai, isn’t it?”
“I’m afraid not,” Daskellin said. “The first reports have come from Porte Oliva. The city is ours. The weapons we sent made the difference. When the dragon attacked—and the dragon did attack—we brought it down. It got away again, but injured badly. The city fell, but Cithrin bel Sarcour escaped.”
Geder sat with the words, waiting to feel something. Rage, disappointment, resolve. Something. Of course she was gone. Of course it hadn’t worked. Nothing went the way it should for him, not ever. He took a sip of the wine, curled his lip, and called the servant back to bring him water instead.
“What does Jorey say about finding her?”
“His first reports confirm that the dragon and the woman are in league. They left by ship, and we assume they’re heading west mostly because none of our ships in the Inner Sea have seen them. They may be going to Cabral or Herez or Princip C’Annaldé. Or they may be going farther north.”
“We’ll have to find her,” Geder said. “She’s the key to it all. The Timzinae conspiracy. The dragon. Get her, and it cracks that nut. There won’t be peace while she’s free.”
“I assumed you’d say as much, my lord,” Daskellin said. “I’ve drawn up orders for the Lord Marshal to make chase with as much speed as is possible without exhausting the troops.”
That sounded like a backhanded way to give Jorey permission to rest in Porte Oliva, but what else was he supposed to do? And if they weren’t even certain where she’d gone…
“Fine. That’s fine. Is there anything else?” Daskellin’s silence was alarming. Geder looked up. Daskellin’s expression was closed and empty. Dread tugged at his belly. “There’s more?”
“The siege at Kiaria has broken,” Daskellin said. “There was a fever among the men, and the Timzinae forces inside the fortress took advantage of it to launch a night attack. We believe the enemy forces are small and ill-equipped, but there is an enemy army loose in Elassae.”
“No,” Geder said. “That’s not possible.” Only maybe it was. They hadn’t taken Kiaria, hadn’t built a temple in it. Maybe the goddess wouldn’t let him hold places where he hadn’t kept his bargain.
“Fallon Broot’s gathered his forces in Suddapal and preparing the attack.”
“Yes, of course. That’s good. He has priests with him, yes?”
“He does.”
“That’s going to be fine, then. He’ll beat them back. Maybe we can even get soldiers inside Kiaria this time. Put an end to this.”
“The force is smaller than it would have been,” Daskellin said. “He’d already transferred his spare blades to Inentai. The mercenaries in Suddapal are contracted for garrison duty, not field service.”
“So renegotiate. Pay them more. We’ve got all of Suddapal we can sell off if we need to.”