He shrugged. “People who are granted a one-time visit to the court can hold their token of entry until they want to use it. A lot of them use those at a general court assembly, rather than one of the smaller meetings. It’s their one chance to see all of the gods together.”

Vivenna turned back to look over the throng. She suspected it also had to do with the rumors she’d heard. People thought that this session would be the one where the Pantheon of Returned finally declared war on Idris.

“Nanrovah argues well,” she said, although she was having trouble hearing him because of the crowds—the Returned apparently had messengers relaying transcripts. She wondered why someone just didn’t order all the people to be quiet. That didn’t seem to be the Hallandren way. They liked chaos. Or, at least, they liked the opportunity to sit and chat while important events were in progress.

“Nanrovah is being ignored,” Vasher said. “He’s changed his mind twice now on the same issue. He lacks credibility.”

“He should explain why he changed his mind, then.”

“He might, but I don’t know. If the people knew his child had been kidnapped, it would make some more afraid and they would decide that Idrian instigators had been behind it, no matter what he said. Plus there’s that stubborn Hallandren pride. Priests are particularly bad. Mentioning that his daughter had been taken, and that he had been pressured into changing his politics . . .”

“I thought you liked the priests,” she said.

“Some of them,” he said. “Not others.” When he said that, he eyed the God King’s pedestal. Susebron had yet to arrive, and they had started without him.

Siri wasn’t there either. That annoyed Vivenna, since she’d been anticipating checking in on the girl, if only from a distance.

I’ll help you, Siri. For real this time. The first step has to be stopping this war.

Vasher looked back at the floor of the arena, leaning on the railing, looking anxious.

“What?” she asked.

He shrugged.

She rolled her eyes. “Tell me.”

“I just don’t like leaving Nightblood alone for too long,” he said.

“What’s it going to do?” Vivenna asked. “We locked it in the closet.”

” He shrugged again.

“Honestly,” she said. “You would think that you’d admit that bringing a five-foot-long black sword out in public would be rather conspicuous. It doesn’t help, mind you, that said sword bleeds smoke and can talk in people’s minds.”

“I don’t mind being conspicuous.”

“I do,” she replied.

Vasher grimaced, and she thought he’d argue some more, but he finally just nodded. “You’re right, of course,” he said. “I’ve just never been good at being unobtrusive. Denth used to make fun of me for that too.”

Vivenna frowned. “You were friends?”

Vasher turned away and fell silent.

Kalad’s Phantoms! she thought in frustration. One of these days, someone in this Colors-cursed city is going to tell me the whole truth. I’ll probably die of shock.

“I’m going to go see if I can find out why the God King is taking so long,” Vasher said, leaving the railing. “I’ll be back.”

She nodded, and he was gone. She leaned down, wishing she hadn’t relinquished her seat. Once, she would have felt stifled by the large mass of people, but she’d grown used to the busy market streets, and so being surrounded by people wasn’t as intimidating as it had been. Besides, there was her Breath. She’d put some of it into her shirt, but she’d held onto a portion—she needed to be of at least the First Heightening to pass through the gates into the court without being questioned.

Her Breath let her feel life as an ordinary person felt the air: always there, cool against the skin. Having so many people in such close proximity left her feeling a little intoxicated. So much life, so many hopes and desires. So much Breath. She closed her eyes, drinking it in, listening to the voices of the priests down below rise over the crowd.

She felt Vasher approach before he arrived. Not only did he have a lot of Breath, but he was watching her, and she could feel the slight familiarity of that gaze. She turned, picking him out of the crowd. He stood out far more than she did, in his darker, ragged clothing.

“Congratulations,” he said as he approached, taking her arm.

“Why?”

“You’ll soon be an aunt.”

“What are you . . .” She trailed off. “Siri?”

“Your sister is pregnant,” he said. “The priests are going to make an announcement later this evening. The God King is apparently remaining in his palace to celebrate.”

Vivenna stood, stunned. Siri. Pregnant. Siri, who was still a little girl in Vivenna’s mind, bearing the child of that thing in the palace. And yet wasn’t Vivenna now fighting to keep that thing on his throne?

No, she thought. I haven’t forgiven Hallandren, even if I am learning not to hate it. I can’t let Idris be attacked and destroyed.

She felt a panic. Suddenly, all of her plans seemed meaningless. What would the Hallandren do to her once they had their heir? “We have to get her out,” Vivenna found herself saying. “Vasher, we have to rescue her.”

He remained quiet.

“Please, Vasher,” she whispered. “She’s my sister. I thought to protect her by ending this war, but if your hunch is right, then the God King himself is one of those who wants to invade Idris. Siri won’t be safe with him.”

“All right,” Vasher said. “I will do what I can.”

Vivenna nodded, turning back to the arena. The priests were withdrawing. “Where are they going?”

“To their gods,” Lightsong said. “To seek the Will of the Pantheon in formal vote.”

“About the war?” Vivenna asked, feeling a chill.

Vasher nodded. “It is time.”

LIGHTSONG WAITED BENEATH HIS CANOPY, a couple of serving men fanning him, a cup of chilled juice in his hand, lavish snacks spread out to his side.

Blushweaver brought me into this, he thought. Because she was worried that Hallandren would be taken by surprise.

The priests were consulting with their gods. He could see several of them kneeling before their Returned, heads bowed. It was the way that government worked in Hallandren. The priests debated their options then they sought the will of the gods. That would become the Will of the Pantheon. That would become the Will of Hallandren itself. Only the God King could veto a decision of the full Pantheon.

And he had chosen not to attend this meeting.

So self-congratulatory on spawning a child that he couldn’t even bother with the future of his people? Lightsong thought with annoyance. I had hoped he was better than that.

Llarimar approached. Though he had been down below with the other high priests, he had offered no arguments to the court. Llarimar tended to keep his thoughts to himself.

The high priest knelt before him. “Please, favor us with your will, Lightsong my god.”

Lightsong didn’t respond. He looked up, across the open arena to where Blushweaver’s canopy stood, verdant in the dimming evening light.

“Oh, God,” Llarimar said. “Please. Give me the knowledge I seek. Should we go to war with our kinsmen, the Idrians? Are they rebels who need to be quelled?”

Priests were already returning from their supplications. Each held aloft a flag indicating the will of their god or goddess. Green for a favorable response. Red for dissatisfaction with the petition. In this case green meant war. So far, five of the returning seven flew green.

“Your Grace?” Llarimar asked, looking up.

Lightsong stood. They vote, but what good are their votes? he thought, walking out from beneath his canopy. They hold no authority. Only two votes really matter.

More green. Flags flapped as priests ran down the walkways. The arena was abuzz with people. They could see the inevitable. To the side, Lightsong could see Llarimar following him. The man must be frustrated. Why didn’t he ever show it?