'Mistress, are you saying what happened in Scree could happen here next?' Harys asked with mounting alarm.

'I doubt it,' Zhia replied carelessly. She began to tap her perfectly manicured nails on the table surface, as if following a tune in her head.

Koezh waited. His sister had always tried to test his patience; her way was one of teasing people to exasperation. He pitied the poor foolish boys, like that soldier from Narkang, Doranei. Even if her affection for him was true, it would not stop the immortal from playing games with him.

And love only goes so far, Koezh thought as he pictured Doranei's face. The young man was an exceptional soldier; he'd have to be to hold the position he did, but ever since Scree, Koezh couldn't think of him as anything other than a lost puppy trailing after Zhia. Don't think love will protect you, my boy. If this shadow can give us what want, Zhia will not even hesitate.

'A con artist does not perform the same trick to a crowd twice,' Zhia pronounced at last. 'Misdirection is the name of the game here; the shadow may be so weak either of us could swat it like a fly.'

'So if the trick is repeated, King Emin would know exactly where to stick in the knife,' Koezh finished for her. 'So what then is the new trick? This child?'

'Presumably – we just need to work out what role it has to play. Our clues to the riddle will be in the stories folk are telling: the inspired coward, the priests struck down.'

'Both stories a Harlequin might tell,' Koezh added pointedly, 'but I'll bet this is no quick con, not after what we saw in the north. It's too subtle, and slow.'

Harys gave a hesitant cough to interrupt them. 'I've remembered something else. One of the servant girls said she'd seen a leper at the gates of the Ruby Tower. The guards had driven him off, but he kept coming back every day, even though he just got driven away again. He kept saying something about begging for intercession with the Gods.'

Zhia raised an eyebrow. 'Accelerating the loss of faith? It cannot turn everyone against the Gods as it did in Scree, so instead it provides an alternative?'

'And then do what?' Koezh argued, 'kill the child to leave them bereft of a figure of worship? That won't happen quickly, and while the Gods can be notoriously slow to react, I doubt their servants will be tardy in cutting off such a threat at source.'

'It makes a martyr of the child; that's a powerful figure when used properly.' Zhia sounded far from convinced of her argument, but after watching Scree collapse in flames she had resolved she would not be out-thought by anyone again.

'A martyrdom that could have all four quarters of this city-state behind it and still come to nothing. The Circle City is an important trade centre, nothing more. It isn't a power here, and it would take a decade of being led by a genius before that would substantially change. If the child had been adopted by King Emin or Knight-Cardinal Certinse, then you might have me convinced, but here there is nothing to win down that road.'

Zhia nodded. 'Let us hope we have time to find out what we need to know before the time comes for us to choose our side. Kastan Styrax will head this way soon, I'm certain of it.' She turned back to the woman and, switching back into the local dialect, asked, 'Harys, tell me how I get close to the duchess.'

The woman shook her head. 'I can't help you there, Mistress. I've no influence there, not at those levels.'

'Who does?'

'Very few since the duke was killed. The duchess hasn't left Eight Towers this last week; some clerics have started fighting back against her measures to control them. They say warrior-priests of Karkarn have ambushed patrols all over the city for the last two weeks, and a government minister, Garan Dast, he was murdered by a Mystic of Karkarn at the Mule Gate. Even when the penitents fail, the guards are killing indiscriminately, and arresting people all over the place. They're winning no friends – there have been riots, and they're getting worse.'

'Who has her ear? Is it still that mincing fool Leyen?'

'No, he died in the Prayerday assassination. Perhaps Lady Kinna?'

'Lady Kinna?' Zhia repeated. T don't recognise the name. How do I get to her?'

T don't know, Mistress. I know nothing of the woman, other than she's apparently giving the orders on the duchess's council. They say she's pushing the others to pass an order to close the Temple of Death.'

'She intends to bar the gates of Death?' Zhia said with an appreciative laugh. T like her already. Can you get someone in her household to provide us with a lock of her hair?'

Harys frowned for a moment, then smiled a little. 'Yes, I would have thought so.'

'Why not just drop in and see this child yourself?' Koezh asked.

'Little steps, dear brother, always little steps when you're negotiating. We don't want to frighten the poor mite, do we?' Zhia said. Her smile showed her teeth.

Doranei leaned nearer the little fire that was struggling fitfully against the breeze. The chill had begun to bite in the last half hour and he realised he was shivering even while patting out the occasional spark that hopped onto his clothes. Caution still ruled, even though they were a mile or two inside the Narkang border, hence the small fire. He risked a couple more branches, then checked around to see if they had company yet.

'Cheer up; at least it's not raining,' said someone from the darkness.

Beyn's voice was unmistakable and Doranei kept on with his task of chopping up firewood as his comrade walked into view. The tall blond man hobbled his horse near Doranei's before joining him and squatting down to warm his hands. He didn't even glance at the dark shapes that had followed him but were lingering outside the circle of light. Doranei ignored them too, He knew why they were hanging back.

He grimaced. Thank the Qods for Beyn's arrogance.

He slipped on a glove and gingerly retrieved a lidded clay pot from the edge of the fire-pit. Opening it up, he sniffed at the contents. Qood enough, he decided; if the rest of them want some they can damn well ask. There was a larger pot hanging over the fire, barely bubbling yet – tomorrow night's meal, courtesy of Sebe's skill with a slingshot.

Doranei could feel Beyn's eyes on him as he bent over the pot he'd secured between his outstretched legs. The warmth of the pot itself and the first few cautious bites improved his mood no end, but even the smile on his face didn't draw the watchers closer until Sebe trotted in from his sentry shift and squatted at Doranei's side.

The wiry man pushed back his hood to reveal a lopsided grin at the prospect of hot food.

' What're you lot waiting for?' Sebe called as he retrieved a similar pot. 'Want a written invitation?' He elbowed Doranei. 'All the more for us, then.'

Sebe's jocular familiarity seemed to decide it and five people emerged to join them around the fire. Three were members of the Brotherhood, which annoyed Doranei even more. How could his own comrades be wary around him? Why was it so hard for them to get a handle on the strange relationship he had with Zhia Vukotic?

Mind you, I've no bloody idea what's going on there myself. But they should have worked out by now that nothing's really changed. I thought we were supposed to be able to adapt to anything.

Tremal was the oldest of the three. The wiry little man had proved himself a useful addition to the Brotherhood over the last few years. He was, most obviously of all the Brotherhood, an Ascetite, and the life of a thief had honed that latent magical potential into a skill that couldn't be taught – but his cat-like reactions and thieving instincts had made him permanently wary, so perhaps his reticence was just normal. Janna, Sebe's lover, always said Tremal was a few meals short of being handsome, but she'd never managed to feed the man up enough to make him worth the effort, or so she maintained.