“Thank you, Healer,” Kiron said, but Heklatis was already going through the door curtain, mumbling something under his breath.

When they all got together in Kiron’s room later that night, there was something waiting for him—and Kiron was unsurprised to see that it was an Akkadian statue. This one he happened to know was no goddess, it was a simple artistic piece, but he had no doubt that Heklatis had put the same wards on it as were on his real god images. He decided, if asked, to claim that this was the Akkadian equivalent of We-te-esh, the Goddess of Luck and Love—a rather natural deity for a young man to worship, and doubly so for a Jouster. The fact that it was a fine little figure of an exceptionally lovely, completely unclothed young lady was just incidental. Right?

Aket-ten isn’t going to like it, he thought, placing the image on the little shrine in the corner. He surveyed it, and smiled. Heklatis certainly knew Kiron’s taste very well. Aket-ten is going to have to get over it. There was plenty of Altan art—well, perhaps not plenty, but certainly a reasonable amount, including on the walls of the public places in Lord Ya-tiren’s villa—that depicted dancing girls wearing little more than a string of beads. There was no logical reason for her to take exception to this piece—which meant, of course, in the contrary nature of girls, that she would.

The others noticed the addition—the boys with sly looks and elbows to each others’ ribs, and Aket-ten with a frown, then a disdainful sniff—and he explained what had happened that afternoon with great gusto.

When he got to the part about Heklatis flirting with the Magus, even Aket-ten had to stifle howls of laughter.

“I know I’ve seen this in Heklatis’ rooms,” he said, gesturing to the statue, “And I think I’m probably supposed to say it’s an Akkadian goddess he gave me. If this does what I think it’s going to do, it’ll keep that rotted Magus out of here as well.”

Aket-ten turned a look on the statue that, had it been wood instead of marble, would have set it afire. “I think it should have been that image of Epialon, then,” she said pointedly, her brows furrowing in a frown.

“Now, Aket-ten, you know that you’d never get Heklatis to part with any of his handsome lads,” teased Gan. “This was probably the only image he didn’t want to keep for himself!”

Aket-ten colored, and opened her mouth to say something, when she was interrupted by noises outside the door. It was Avatre, snorting and rearing up out of her sand like a rising cobra. There was someone shadowed against the light from the corridor in the doorway to the pen. For one moment, Kiron felt a jolt of alarm—

“Avatre!” came a hissing whisper out of the dark. “Hush! It’s only me!”