“It’s the truth,” Lightsong whispered. “I’m no god.”

Again, there was no sign of annoyance or anger from Llarimar. He just leaned down. “Please don’t say such things, Your Grace. Even if you yourself do not believe, you should not say so.”

“Why not?”

“For the sake of the many who do believe.”

“And I should continue to deceive them?”

Llarimar shook his head. “It is no deception. It’s not so uncommon for others to have more faith in someone than he has in himself.”

“And that doesn’t strike you as a little odd in my case?”

Llarimar smiled. “Not knowing your temperament, it doesn’t. Now, what brought this on?”

Lightsong turned, looking up at the ceiling again. “Blushweaver wants my Commands for the Lifeless.”

“Yes.”

“She’ll destroy that new queen of ours,” Lightsong said. “Blushweaver worries that the Idrian royals are making a play for the Hallandren throne.”

“Do you disagree?”

Lightsong shook his head. “No. They probably are. But the thing is, I don’t think the girl—the queen—knows that she’s part of anything. I’m worried that Blushweaver will crush the child out of fear. I’m worried that she’ll be too aggressive and get us all into a war, when I don’t know yet if that’s the right thing to do.”

“It seems that you already have a good handle on all this, Your Grace,” Llarimar said.

“I don’t want to be part of it, Scoot,” Lightsong said. “I feel myself getting sucked in.”

“It is your duty to be involved so that you can lead your kingdom. You can’t avoid politics.”

“I can if I don’t get out of bed.”

Llarimar raised an eyebrow. “You don’t honestly believe that, do you, Your Grace?”

Lightsong sighed. “You’re not going to give me a lecture about how even my inaction has political effects, are you?”

Llarimar hesitated. “Perhaps. Like it or not, you are a part of the workings of this kingdom—and you produce effects even if you stay in bed. If you do nothing, then the problems are as much your fault as if you had instigated them.”

“No,” Lightsong said. “No, I think you’re wrong. If I don’t do anything, then at least I can’t ruin things. Sure, I can let them go wrong, but that’s not the same thing. It really isn’t, no matter what people say.”

“And if, by acting, you could make things better?”

Lightsong shook his head. “Not going to happen. You know me better than that.”

“I do, Your Grace,” Llarimar said. “I know you better, perhaps, than you think I do. You’ve always been one of the best men I have known.”

Lightsong rolled his eyes, but then stopped, noting the expression on Llarimar’s face.

Best men I have known . . .

Lightsong sat up. “You knew me!” he accused. “That’s why you chose to be my priest. You did know me before! Before I died!”

Llarimar said nothing.

“Who was I?” Lightsong asked. “A good man, you claim. What was it about me that made me a good man?”

“I can say nothing, Your Grace.”

“You’ve already said something,” Lightsong said, raising a finger. “You might as well go on. No turning back.”

“I’ve said too much already.”

“Come on,” Lightsong said. “Just a little bit. Was I from T’Telir, then? How did I die?” Who is she, the woman I see in my dreams?

Llarimar said nothing further.

“I could command you to speak . . .”

“No you couldn’t,” Llarimar said, smiling as he stood up. “It’s like the rain, Your Grace. You can say you want to command the weather to change, but you don’t believe it, deep down. It doesn’t obey, and neither would I.”

Convenient bit of theology, that, Lightsong thought. Particularly when you want to hide things from your gods.

Llarimar turned to go. “You have paintings waiting to be judged, Your Grace. I suggest that you let your servants bathe and dress you so that you can get through the day’s work.”

Lightsong sighed, stretching. How exactly did he just do that to me? he thought. Llarimar hadn’t even really revealed anything, yet Lightsong had overcome his bout of melancholy. He eyed Llarimar as the priest reached the door and waved for the servants to return. Perhaps dealing with sullen deities was part of his job description.

But . . . he knew me before, Lightsong thought. And now he’s my priest. How did that happen? “Scoot,” Lightsong said, drawing the priest’s attention. Llarimar turned, guarded, obviously expecting Lightsong to pry further into his past.

“What should I do?” Lightsong asked. “About Blushweaver and the queen?”

“I cannot tell you, Your Grace,” Llarimar said. “You see, it is from what you do that we learn. If I guide you, then we gain nothing.”

“Except perhaps the life of a young girl who is being used as a pawn.”

Llarimar paused. “Do your best, Your Grace,” he said. “That is all I can suggest.”

Great, Lightsong thought as he stood. He didn’t know what his “best” was.

The truth was, he’d never bothered to find out.

This is nice,” Denth said, looking over the house. “Strong wood paneling. Will break very cleanly.”

“Yeah,” Tonk Fah added, peeking into a closet. “And it has plenty of storage. Bet we could fit a good half-dozen bodies in here alone.”

Vivenna shot the two mercenaries a look, causing them to chuckle to themselves. The house wasn’t as nice as Lemex’s had been; she didn’t want to be ostentatious. It was one of many that were built in a row along a well-maintained street. Deeper than it was wide, the building was bordered on either side with large palm trees, obscuring the view should someone try to spy from the neighboring buildings.

She was pleased. Part of her balked at living in a home that was—despite being modest by Hallandren standards—nearly as large as the king’s palace back in Idris. However, she and Parlin had looked at and rejected cheaper sections of town. She didn’t want to live in a place where she was afraid to go out at night, particularly since she worried that her Breath might make her a target.

She trailed down the stairs, the mercenaries following. The house had three stories—a small upper story with sleeping chambers, the main floor with a kitchen and sitting room, and a cellar for storage. The building was sparsely furnished, and Parlin had gone to the market to shop for more. She hadn’t wanted to spend the money, but Denth had pointed out that they must at least try to keep up appearances, lest they end up drawing even more attention.

“Old Lemex’s house will be taken care of soon,” Denth said. “We left some hints in the underground, mentioning that the old man was dead. Whatever we didn’t ransack, a gang of burglars will take care of tonight. By tomorrow, the city guard will be there, and they’ll assume that the place was burgled. The nurse has been paid off, and she never knew who Lemex really was anyway. When nobody comes to pay for the funeral services, the authorities will take the house in forfeit and have the body burned with other debtors.”

Vivenna stopped at the bottom of the stairs, paling. “That doesn’t sound very respectful.”

Denth shrugged. “What do you want to do? Go claim him at the charnel house yourself? Give him an Idrian ceremony?”

“Good way to get people asking questions, that,” Tonk Fah said.

“Better to just let others deal with it,” Denth said.

“I suppose,” Vivenna said, turning away from the stairs and walking into the sitting room. “It just bothers me, letting his body be cared for by . . .”

“By what?” Denth said, amused. “Pagans?”

Vivenna didn’t look at him.

“The old man didn’t seem to care much about heathen ways,” Tonk Fah noted. “Not with the number of Breaths he held. Of course, didn’t your daddy give him the money to buy them?”