“Khera, that’s not true.”
“It is. Besides, there’s something else I need to do. Something useful.” He arched an eyebrow and I smiled as, with timing I could have prayed for if only I had the faith, the bells of the Gray Abbey began to chime the hour in the highest circle of the city. “Your aunt says the king will listen to the High Cantor, yes? Then I’ll go find the High Cantor.”
“It’s worth a try,” Akarra said.
Alastair kissed my forehead. “It certainly is. Just promise me one thing, khera, will you?”
“Aye?”
“Don’t go alone.”
The door wardens at the entrance to the townhouse did a terrible job of disguising their astonishment. I put one hand on my hip, hoping the gesture came across as more imperious than petulant.
“Look, I really don’t care which one of you it is. Whoever’s feeling particularly pious today.”
“But we have orders to guard the house!” the younger of the two said, a dark-eyed boy with a Garhadi accent and a short spear in his hand. He swallowed nervously. “Er, my lady.”
“Aye, so one of you stay to guard the house. It’s within walking distance and I’ll have you back by noon.”
The elder warden shifted his crossbow to one shoulder and peered down at me through bushy eyebrows. “Are these orders from Lord Alastair, ma’am?”
“They’re my orders, sir.”
The two exchanged a glance. At last the elder shrugged. “Very well. Young Teo, escort my lady Daired to the Abbey. Her safety is your responsibility.”
Teo? I looked again at my assigned guard in surprise. Aye. I could trace some of the master smith’s features in his boyish face. His son, perhaps, or another close relation.
“Yes, sir.” Teo the Younger straightened with a cumbersome salute and moved to my side.
I thanked them both and started toward the gate for the highest circle of the city, wondering if they knew how much of that performance had been pure bluster.
Young Master Teo didn’t speak as we walked, though from what I caught of his expression he was taking his assignment with deadly seriousness. Each passerby got a grimace if they so much as looked in my direction, and those bold enough to offer a good morning were at once put on the other side of me with Teo in between. Briefly I considered suggesting a less aggressive approach, but as the upper streets were less crowded and the Abbey gates not far, I let him do as he pleased. If yesterday had taught me anything, it was that enemies hid in the most unlikely of places, and if solitary excursions were the price to pay for safety, so be it.
We passed walled courtyards and long, curved avenues lined with trees, their bare branches scratching out an eerie music against the walls. Gone was the bustle and crowd of the Second and Third Circles, replaced by the more dignified march of cantors and subcantors as they tended to the various holdings around the Gray Abbey. The streets too were cleaner and better mended, with fresh flagstones fitted regularly when the old ones cracked beneath the weight of passing carriages. Teo and I had to skirt a knot of masons repairing one such hole before the Abbey gates. The lead mason tipped his hat to me as we entered.
“Fourfold blessings, lady,” he called, grinning at Teo’s scowl. I gave him and his masons what I hoped was a gracious nod and slipped under the shadow of the arch guarding the great Court of the Four, entryway to the Gray Abbey.
Teo nearly ran into me on the other side. “My lady? Are you all right?”
“Oh, aye. I’m fine.”
In truth, I was stunned. I’d forgotten how beautiful the Gray Abbey was. Capturing it in any medium but that of reality was a hopeless task, but my fingers still itched for my sketchbook. Commanding the highest point of the city, it rose from the smooth stone pavement of the Court of the Four like some solemn gray-robed officiant over the comings and goings of the capital. Windows with the diamond-paned motif of fourfold architecture winked in the sun. Before the main steps, a massive four-faced statue rose nearly to the height of the tallest bell tower, the carved lines of the gods’ robes clean and well cared for, each chip and crack carefully smoothed and filled by the veritable army of subcantors tasked with the preservation of this great symbol of the Fourfold Faith.
Like the garden at the North Fields lodge and the abbey in Morianton, the names of the gods were carved beneath their stone feet. Janna-Provider was first to greet us, her veiled face pointing eastward toward the rising sun. The beech leaf sigil clasped in her hands was made of some rich gem that caught the sun’s light and held it like green fire. Her Eth name flickered golden beneath her: Ahla-Na Lehal’i, She-Who-Sustains. I circled slowly around the base of the statue, neck craned in a fruitless effort to see their faces, or what could be seen above their veils. Teo trailed wordlessly behind me. Facing north and the entrance to the Abbey was Odei-Creator, Ah-Na-al Akhe’at, He-Who-Begins. His lightning-pierced sigil looked as though it had been carved from a single solid diamond. Westward was Mikla-Protector, An Tyrekel, Shield of the Faithful. His shield sigil hung bright with fire opals.
I stopped before the final facet, as was proper. The Unmaker’s all-seeing eyes peered south, out over the Bay of Nan and into the blue distance beyond Arlean shores. Her hands, open and empty, faced outward as if waiting to receive the souls of all living creatures. Her Eth name was driven deep into the stone at her feet, the letters forged of cold, unyielding steel. Ket. Death.
On the plinth before the statue, hundreds of offerings lay in small piles on the steps, from copper half-trills and perfumed paper flowers to boiled seedcakes and tiny cups of wine. The air shook above us as the bell tower tolled out the hour. Before the last echoes had faded from the court, a young woman in the white robes of a senior acolyte bustled out of the Abbey with a basket in hand and started collecting the offerings.
“Excuse me, miss?” I said. “Is the High Cantor here today?”
She paused beneath Mikla’s facet and gave me a sharp look. “Learned Master Pennaret is attending to the High Cantor’s duties today. Shall I convey a message?”
“Does Master Pennaret know where the High Cantor is?”
By the expression on the acolyte’s face, I might as well have suggested that Learned Master Pennaret hang his holy robes of office on the highest point of the Abbey and run naked through the streets of Edonarle. “And who, if I may ask,” she said in an acid voice, “are you?”
“I’m—”
“This is Lady Daired,” Teo cut in, “wife to Lord Alastair Daired and secret bane of the Greater Lindworm, and as far as you’re concerned, young lady, she has leave to see whoever she likes in this city.”
The acolyte went very red and I gave Teo a sidelong look. Secret bane of the Greater Lindworm? I’d not heard that one before. Perhaps Henry Brandon’s “Charissong” had gone even further than he intended. With a mumbled apology, the acolyte curtsied and motioned for us to follow her inside.
The shadow of the Abbey cut the warmth of the nearly noon sun like a reaper’s scythe as we passed beneath the carved arch that guarded the porch. The inside was cool and dim. Lamps burning scented oil threw flickering light over the four-faced statue standing on the sunken dais in the center of the nave. It was smaller than the one outside, but no less richly adorned, nor less well attended. A handful of the faithful sat on low stone benches surrounding the square. Few looked up as we passed. Most ignored us, their heads bowed, deep in prayer. One young man lay prostrate before Odei, his hands outstretched on the cool marble floors, shoulders shaking with silent sobs. I wondered what he prayed for.