‘To your liege? Why, he has made her into a goddess. Do you name this love? Between lovers, worship is all sharp edges. Every embrace, no matter how heated, bleeds something. That woman behind you in your dreams, she means you ill. Or, in the next breath, blessing and revelation. The possibilities are endless, until you turn round.’

It was a wonder, Rise Herat reflected, that no one had as yet killed this Azathanai, so frustrating and infuriating was his conversation. He imagined that facing a sword-master would feel much the same, with every attack anticipated, every move effortlessly countered, and like the sword-master, Grizzin Farl was in no hurry to deliver the fatal wound. He scowled at the Azathanai. ‘Mother Dark is the absence at the centre of our worship. Is this by her choice, Grizzin Farl? Or does the blood – and her thirst – drive her farther and farther from mortal concerns? You say that Burn sleeps – did she choose to, or has she succumbed to some curse? You say that Olar Ethil inhabits the flames of the hearth – is this all that gods do? Simply watch?’

‘It may indeed seem that way, yes. But I already warned you against imagining motivations, inventing meanings.’

‘But she does nothing! No acts, no deeds! There is nothing to imagine or invent!’

‘And so the historian starves. But, soon to grow sated, yes? The enemy to order stirs in a distant camp. An army will march on Kharkanas. What, you wonder, will she do then? Where, you wonder, are those who will fight in her name? And, as for that name… what is the cause it represents? Assemble the beliefs, and paint in gold their many virtues. But that you cannot do, because she does not speak.’

Rise Herat glared at the Azathanai, who stared back with calm, sorrow-filled eyes.

After a moment, the historian looked away. ‘The High Priestess has not been given leave to visit the Chamber of Night.’

‘Nonsense,’ Grizzin Farl replied. ‘She chooses not to, because she has something she wishes to keep hidden from Mother Dark. But now the goddess makes use of poor Endest Silann, and deception grows harder to hide. You, sir, are doubtless in league with the High Priestess. You intend something, in Mother Dark’s name, but whatever it is, she must never know what you have done. Now,’ the Azathanai’s gaze suddenly hardened, ‘bend your deeds into worship.’

Rise Herat felt sick inside, as if he had fostered an illness of his own invention, to now lodge in his flesh, sour his blood, and bruise his organs. ‘Very well,’ he said in a dry, rasping voice. ‘Join me, Grizzin Farl. Let us go to the Chamber of Night. Let us speak to her.’

‘She remains with Draconus.’

‘Then we will speak to them both!’

The Azathanai pushed himself upright. ‘As you wish. Shall we collect up the High Priestess along the way?’

Rise Herat grimaced. ‘We can at least ask her.’