"Mrow," the moncat said as it left the pole for solid ground. It glared at Collurio. He took a piece of mutton from Pterocles.

"No, let me," King Grus said, and solemnly handed out the last reward. And, as Pouncer ate, Grus took the Scepter of Mercy into his own hands.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

"You!" The Banished One's bellow was full of rage and desperation and despair. "You thief! You bandit! You brigand! You have taken that which is mine, that to which you have no right. Do you think you can flout me so?"

In Lanius' dream, he looked at the exiled god. As always, the Banished One's countenance seemed perfectly beautiful, perfectly calm

… or did it? Wasn't that the faintest trace of a frown line by the side of his mouth? It marred his inhumanly cold magnificence as a broken window might have marred a building.

And, no matter how impassioned the Banished One sounded, he wasn't telling the truth, not as Lanius understood it. "Years ago, you took what belonged to Avornis," the king replied. "How can you complain when we do what we have to do to get it back?"

"It is not something mortals deserve to have. It is not something mortals should profane with their touch," the Banished One said furiously.

Lanius shook his head. The motion felt completely real, although, as always when he faced the Banished One, he knew he was dreaming. "You are the one whose touch profanes it," Lanius said. "If you could use it, if you were meant to use it, you would have been able to hundreds of years ago. It is not yours. It does not belong to you. It is not for you."

"It is my key to regaining the heavens," the Banished One said. "It is mine – mine, I tell you! With it in my hands, the so-called gods who cast me down cannot hope to stand against me."

"But it's no good in your hands, is it?" Lanius said. "It's no good at all to you. You can't even pick it up. While a – " He broke off. He did not want to tell the Banished One a moncat could do what the exiled god could not. He didn't know whether Pouncer was still inside Yozgat or had succeeded in escaping the city. No point to saying anything more than he had to, and a great deal of point to telling the Banished One as little as he could.

Luck – or, just possibly, the protection of the gods in the heavens – stayed with him. The Banished One was so agitated; he didn't notice Lanius' hesitation and didn't probe for what might have caused it. "It should be mine. It must be mine. It shall be mine!" the Banished One shouted.

"It belongs to Avornis again," Lanius said. "It always was ours, even if you'd stolen it. We can use it. We can – and we will."

Grus will use it, Lanius thought, there in the middle of his dream. Even then, that irked him. He'd realized Pouncer, who stole kitchen spoons, might steal other things, grander things, if properly trained. He'd had Tinamus build a segment of Yozgat in the countryside. He'd hired Collurio to make sure the moncat learned what it was supposed to do. What had Grus done that compared, that gave him the right to wield the Scepter of Mercy?

No sooner did he ask the question than he also answered it. Grus had led the Avornan army from the Stura south to Yozgat. Without him, Pouncer couldn't have gotten within a couple of hundred miles of the Scepter. That might give the other king a certain claim on the talisman, mightn't it?

"You don't know how to use it," the Banished One said. "I could show you…"

"I'm sure you could," Lanius said dryly. But the exiled god, so sensitive to tone most of the time, did not seem to notice that dryness now. The Banished One eagerly leaned forward – eagerly, that is, until Lanius added, "I'm sure you could – for your own purposes, but not for ours."

The Banished One drew back. More small lines appeared on the visage that was usually smooth as polished marble. "Die, then!" he thundered. "Die, and imagine anyone who comes after you will ever know your name."

Instead of dying, Lanius woke up. As always after facing the Banished One in a dream, he needed a moment to realize he was safe, and the confrontation was over. Sosia muttered something beside him. "It's all right, dear," he said. This time, he dared hope it really was all right.

He'd wondered whether he would know when and if Pouncer stole the Scepter of Mercy. He still had to wait for a courier to come up from the south. That would take a while. This time, though, he had the answer with or without the courier.

He also had something new to wonder about. Grus had always said he cared more about the Scepter of Mercy than he did about capturing Yozgat. He'd said it, yes, but did he mean it?

I suppose that will depend on how well he's able to use the Scepter, Lanius thought, and shook his head in slow wonder. Use the Scepter? Had he ever really believed he would think such a thing? He'd hoped so, yes. He'd done everything he could to bring this moment about. But had he really, had he truly, believed it would come?

For his very life, he couldn't say for certain.

He got out of bed. Sosia muttered again, but kept on breathing deeply and regularly. Gray predawn light leaked through the drawn shutters. Down in Yozgat, he supposed it would still be dark. Summer days were shorter in the south. By contrast, they had more sunshine down there in the wintertime. Things had a way of evening out. Lanius nodded again. Yes, things had a way of evening out, even if it sometimes took centuries.

The king left the royal bedchamber smiling to himself. He was the only one in the whole city of Avornis who knew what had happened down in the south. That almost made him want to thank the Banished One. Almost. The exiled god hadn't let him know to do him a favor.

I could show you… Lanius shivered. No, the Banished One hadn't had his good, or Avornis', in mind with a suggestion like that.

A sweeper paused and bowed as Lanius came up the hallway. "You're out and about early, Your Majesty," the old man said.

"Not as early as you are," Lanius answered. The sweeper smiled and nodded and went on with his work.

Lanius wandered. When he looked out through the windows, morning twilight brightened minute by minute. Flowers in the gardens went from gray to their proper blues and reds and golds. A few birds began to sing – not as many as would have in the early spring, but enough to sweeten the morning. More sweepers bowed and curtsied as Lanius went by. Distant shouts from the kitchens said the cooks were getting ready for a new day.

Someone came around the comer – Ortalis. "Good morning, Your Highness," Lanius said, adding, "You're up early." It was truer for Ortalis than it had been when the sweeper said it to him; Grus' legitimate son was often fond of lying in bed longer than most.

Ortalis made a horrible face. "Nightmare," he said. "One of the worst I ever had. Everything in ruins." He shuddered.

"I'm sorry." Lanius found himself meaning it, which surprised him. "My dreams were.. not so bad." Had he ever imagined he would say such a thing after seeing the Banished One? He knew he hadn't. But was it true? Without a doubt, it was.

Morning's first sunbeam came in through the window. A new day began.

A new day began. Inside Yozgat, chaos still seemed to reign. Grus wondered whether civil war had broken out among the Menteshe. They'd opened a couple of postern gates and crossed the moat on gangplanks to raid the Avornan works around the city, but hadn't staged the all-out attack he'd feared. Maybe they could see such an assault was hopeless no matter how enamored of the Banished One they were.

That – well, that and a certain thieving moncat – left the Scepter of Mercy in Grus' hands.

He stared at the talisman in… awe was the only word he could think of, but it struck him as much too mild. The reliefs on the golden staff were so fine, he didn't see how any merely earthly, merely human artisan could have shaped them. They showed the gods in the heavens with a liveliness, an intimacy, that had to speak of personal knowledge – and how could any merely human artisan hope to come by that?