Isak nodded. He'd seen the stern-faced white-eye stamping around

the Palace, but the general had offered neither friendship nor con-

versation. The guards said Lahk had been taken to the Temple of Nartis by Bahl twenty years back. Lahk was the only white-eye other than Bahl to have reached a position of some power, but Nartis had

rejected him as Krann. His body had been scarred with lightning, and it was whispered in the barracks that his soul had been burnt out too, for the general cared for nothing but serving his lord.

'Until you met Inch?'

A flicker of pain ran across Bahl's brow, but he just nodded sadly. 'Ineh.' He savoured the name as he said it, as though it left a sweet taste on his lips. Isak was desperate to ask more, but he was nervous of going too far.

'Are they right in what they say?'

'Which is?'

That it's better to have loved and lost?'

Bahl gave a short, bitter laugh. There was no humour in his eyes when he answered, 'You really are a strange one. I can't think of that occurring to any other white-eye. No, it doesn't matter; just be careful not to pry too far. Is it better? Perhaps, I felt more alive then; she gave me a reason to be more human. Atro was a tumour in the belly of this tribe, but it was only when I met Ineh that I cared. Only then did I bother to notice the hurt he was causing. To live with such loss I would not wish on any man, but to live without the joy that came before… if a man can stand before the Gods and choose not to have known the one he has lost, he never truly loved her.'

'I'm sorry.' The words sounded absurd, worthless, and Isak almost winced as he said them. Bahl didn't reply, other than for a tired sigh. For a minute he looked like a sad old man, then the blank visage reasserted itself, burying all emotion deep inside once more.

'Don't be sorry. Regrets are no use to a Lord of the Parian – which reminds me, Lesarl tells me you have a problem with keeping your own counsel during meetings. That's another skill you could happily study.'

'What do you mean?'

'I mean what you called the Marshal of Quetek. However apparent it was, that observation cost Lesarl severely.'

'Well, the man was being paid enough already, and he was demanding that Lesarl help him arrange a marriage. He was practically drooling at the thought.'

'The girl's a maid in the palace, no? I've seen her. You'd probably drool yourself.'

The girl's fourteen summers! The Marshal of Quetek is over sixty, with a grown heir already. He's in no need of another wife.'

'But he will have one, whether you like it or not. And if you did

somehow manage to stop him, he would no doubt force his maids into his bed and turn them out of the house when he tires of them. If he marries, there is some constraint on his behaviour – and the girl is going to be married anyway. To wed an old Marshal means she'll soon be a widow of property. Next time, think before you start to moralise to your elders.'

'I wasn't moralising. I just didn't like the man. Why should I hold my tongue?'

'And that's what you should learn.'

Isak frowned. 'Perhaps I should, but I've no desire to. I've spent my whole life biting things back, keeping quiet when I'm in the right and taking every insult I get from men I could break in half. People might still hate me, but at least now they're going to have to be careful about it.'

For a moment Bahl looked concerned, as though he had just been reminded of a deeply troubling conversation, then he muttered, 'Fine, just don't try to make any more enemies – those will come fast enough without you adding to them. Now go and clear your mind for when the priest comes. The calmer you are, the easier it will be for both of you.'

'Isak, it's time.'

Isak didn't reply, but raised a hand to acknowledge Tila's words. He was sat on a cushion in the palace shrine, high under the eaves of the palace. There were scenes of Nartis hunting on ev/ery wall, and the ceiling represented a night sky. The many pillars iin the room were painted like trees, each one reaching up and spreading branches into the ceiling to meet the sky.

This room was an oasis of solitude, far from the bustle of the palace, and one that only the rich could afford. Even in Isak's formal chambers, luxurious open rooms on the second floor,, there was always noise: the tramp of servants, guards and palace residents shook the corridors, while from outside came the pounding of hooves and constant shouted orders from the training ground.

Up here, where few were permitted to go, Isak could enjoy his own company in what little free time he had. When not training or shadowing Lesarl through innumerable meetings, he was struggling through a library of dusty texts, learning to be botth politician and religious figure. He was floundering under the sheer weight of both.

His thoughts turned to the man who would be waiting for him downstairs. Lesarl had taught him never to rush to meet anyone but an old friend. Even for Lord Bahl, Lesarl would calmly find a break in his work and walk to where he was required, retaining his composure at all times. When it was urgent, Bahl didn't have the patience to send a servant.

Even though it had been only two weeks, Isak could already appreciate the advantages. He couldn't claim to like Lesarl, but his respect for the Chief Steward was growing daily. The man could infuriate with a smile and a gentle handshake. Isak had learned to his cost the price of becoming annoyed and leaving himself open to goading. Lesarl now owned a valuable manor in Anvee: an object lesson, Lord Bahl said, in agreeing to anything – particularly a wager – while angry.

Lesarl strode around with an aura of almost palpable confidence that made men defer to him almost as much as they did Lord Bahl. Isak recognised that regal presence was something else he should cultivate.

‘Tila, did you learn the story of Amavoq's Cup when you were younger?' he asked.

'Of course,' she said. 'Why?'

'Because I didn't. I hardly know any of the old tales. There's a picture of it over there on the wall – I'd seen it on a temple wall before, but never thought to ask. Earlier today I saw Lesarl send off a carriage loaded with as much gold as it could carry, to be sent all the way to Merlat, all because of that bloody cup.'

'Well, Amavoq's Cup was only the origin of the dispute with the Yeetatchen. Quite a lot more has happened in the meantime.'

'But the point is I didn't have a clue, and when I asked I looked like a fucking idiot – '

'Isak!'

He turned at her shocked voice, then realised what was wrong. ‘Oh don't worry, Nartis isn't listening.'

,

Tila was blushing furiously at his words. 'Isak, you can't say such things, especially in a temple! What if anyone heard? Even a can be charged with impiety, and the Gods – '

'Stop worrying; you're the only one to hear. I think I'm closely enough to Nartis to feel his presence in one of his shrine. As for impiety, how would they enforce it? I'm apparently a figure in the Cult of Nartis, and Lord Bahl is the official head. I would

assume a charge of impiety against me would require, at the very least, his signature. Even if it doesn't, am I going to be dragged by a few elderly priests to the courts?'

'What about the dark monks?'

The who? Something else I'm supposed to know? Is there anything else?’

'I…1 don't really know, but there's not much I can tell you about

the dark monks; no one really knows a lot, other than that they're called the Brethren of the Sacred Teachings and people say that they seek out and assassinate heretics throughout the Land.'

'Wonderful! Religious fanatics and assassins; what a sensible combination. Still, there are none in earshot, so I'm still safe.' He eased himself up off the cushion, wondering idly what myth was behind the lack of seats in any temple dedicated to Nartis. No explanations came to mind and he dismissed it quickly. He had kept Lord Bahl waiting quite long enough.