Though admittedly, he thought, orange and gold aren’t exactly the easiest colors to wear with dignity.

“Mercystar, dear,” Blushweaver said warmly. One of the servants provided a cushioned stool, sliding it beneath Blushweaver just as she sat at Mercystar’s elbow. “I can understand how you must feel.”

“Can you?” Mercystar asked. “Can you possibly? This is terrible. Some . . . some miscreant snuck into my palace, accosting my servants! The very home of a goddess! Who would do such a thing?”

“Indeed, he must have been deranged,” Blushweaver said soothingly. Lightsong stood beside her, smiling sympathetically, hands clasped behind his back. A cool afternoon breeze blew across the courtyard and through the pavilion. Some of Blushweaver’s gardeners had brought over flowers and trees, surrounding the pavilion’s canopy, filling the air with their mingled perfumes.

“I can’t understand it,” Mercystar said. “The guards at the gates are supposed to prevent these kinds of things! Why do we have walls if people can just walk in and violate our homes? I just don’t feel safe anymore.”

“I’m certain the guards will be more diligent in the future,” Blushweaver said.

Lightsong frowned, glancing toward Mercystar’s palace, where servants buzzed about like bees around a disturbed hive. “What was the intruder after, do you suppose?” he said, almost to himself. “Works of art, perhaps? Surely there are merchants who would be much easier to rob.”

“We may not know what they want,” Blushweaver said smoothly, “but we at least know something about them.”

“We do?” Mercystar said, perking up.

“Yes, dear,” Blushweaver said. “Only someone with no respect for tradition, propriety, or religion would dare trespass in the home of a god. Someone base. Disrespectful. Unbelieving . . .”

“An Idrian?” Mercystar asked.

“Did you ever wonder, dear,” Blushweaver said, “why they sent their youngest daughter to the God King instead of their eldest?”

Mercystar frowned. “They did?”

“Yes, dear,” Blushweaver said.

“That is rather suspicious, now, isn’t it?”

“Something is going on in the Court of Gods, Mercystar,” Blushweaver said, leaning over. “These could be dangerous times for the Crown.”

“Blushweaver,” Lightsong said. “A word, if you please?”

She eyed him in annoyance. He met her gaze steadily, which eventually caused her to sigh. She patted Mercystar’s hand and then retreated from the pavilion with Lightsong, their servants and priests trailing behind.

“What are you doing?” Lightsong said as soon as they were out of Mercystar’s hearing.

“Recruiting,” Blushweaver said, a glint in her eye. “We’re going to need her Lifeless Commands.”

“I’m still not myself persuaded that we will need them,” Lightsong said. “War may not be necessary.”

“As I said,” Blushweaver replied, “we need to be careful. I’m just making preparations.”

“All right,” he said. There was a wisdom to that. “But we don’t know that it was an Idrian who broke into Mercystar’s palace. Why are you implying that it was?”

“And you think it’s just coincidence? Someone sneaks into one of our palaces now, with the war approaching?”

“Coincidence.”

“And the intruder just happened to pick one of the four Returned who hold Lifeless access Commands? If I were going to go to war with Hallandren, the first thing I’d do would be try to search out those commands. Maybe see if they were written down anywhere, or perhaps try to kill the gods who held them.”

Lightsong glanced back at the palace. Blushweaver’s arguments held some merit, but they weren’t enough. He had an odd impulse to look into this more deeply. However, that sounded like work. He really couldn’t afford to make an exception to his usual habits, particularly without a lot of complaining first. It set a poor precedent. So he just nodded his head, and Blushweaver led them back to the pavilion.

“Dear,” Blushweaver said, quickly sitting back beside Mercystar and looking a little bit more anxious. She leaned in. “We’ve talked it over and decided to trust you.”

Mercystar sat up. “Trust me? With what?”

“Knowledge,” Blushweaver whispered. “There are those of us who fear that the Idrians aren’t content with their mountains and are determined to control the lowlands as well.”

“But we’ll be joined by blood,” Mercystar said. “There will be a Hallandren God King with royal blood on our throne.”

“Oh?” Blushweaver said. “And could that not also be interpreted as an Idrian king with Hallandren blood on the throne?”

Mercystar wavered. Then, oddly, she glanced at Lightsong. “Do you believe this?”

Why did people look toward him? He did everything to discourage such behavior, but they still tended to act like he was some kind of moral authority. “I think that some . . . preparation would be wise,” he said. “Though, of course, the same can be said for dinner.”

Blushweaver gave him an annoyed look, though by the time she looked back at Mercystar, she had her consoling face on again. “We understand that you’ve had a difficult day,” she said. “But please, consider our offer. We would like you to join with us in our precautions.”

“What kind of precautions are you talking about?” Mercystar asked.

“Simple ones,” Blushweaver said quickly. “Thinking, talking, planning. Eventually, if we think we have enough evidence, we will bring what we know to the God King.”

This seemed to ease Mercystar’s mind. She nodded. “Yes, I can see. Preparation. It would be wise.”

“Rest now, dear,” Blushweaver said, rising and leading Lightsong away from the pavilion. They walked leisurely across the perfect lawn back toward Blushweaver’s own palace. He felt a reluctance to go, however. Something about the meeting bothered him.

“She’s a dear,” Blushweaver said, smiling.

“You just say that because she’s so easy to manipulate.”

“Of course,” Blushweaver said. “I positively love people who do as they should. ‘Should’ being defined as whatever I think is best.”

“At least you’re open about it,” Lightsong said.

“To you, my dear, I’m as easy to read as a book.”

He snorted. “Maybe one that hasn’t been translated to Hallandren yet.”

“You just say that because you’ve never really tried reading me,” she said, smiling at him. “Though, I must say that there is one thing about dear Mercystar that positively annoys me.”

“And that is?”

“Her armies,” Blushweaver said, folding her arms. “Why did she, goddess of kindness, get command of ten thousand Lifeless? It’s obviously a dire error in judgment. Particularly since I don’t have command of any troops.”

“Blushweaver,” he said with amusement, “you’re the goddess of honesty, communication, and interpersonal relationships. Why in the world would you be given stewardship of armies?”

“There are many interpersonal relationships related to armies,” she said. “After all, what do you call one man hitting another with a sword? That’s interpersonal.”

“Quite so,” Lightsong said, glancing back at Mercystar’s pavilion.

“Now,” Blushweaver said, “I should think that you’d appreciate my arguments, since relationships are, in fact, war. As is clear in our relationship, dear Lightsong. We . . .” She trailed off, then poked him in the shoulder. “Lightsong? Pay attention to me!”

“Yes?”

She folded her arms petulantly. “I must say, your banter has been decidedly off today. I may just have to find someone else to play with.”

“Hum, yes,” he said, studying Mercystar’s palace. “Tragic. Now, the break-in at Mercystar’s. It was just one person?”

“Supposedly,” Blushweaver said. “It’s not important.”

“Was anyone injured?”

“A couple of servants,” Blushweaver said with a wave of the hand. “One was found dead, I believe. You should be paying attention to me, not that—”