There was a sardonic hint to Syntara’s reply. ‘I await your endeavour’s account, milord. I believe he has since dispensed with the rank of captain.’

‘Where is he now?’

‘Returned to the Legion camp, I understand. There is the matter of the companies out tracking Sharenas Ankhadu.’

The mention of Sharenas’s name elicited a frown from Urusander, and he turned away to face the window again, and this was to Renarr the only sign of his dismay.

Syntara stood as if awaiting his regard once more. He had, after all, voiced no dismissal. After a moment, her gaze slipped to Renarr, who was seated on a chair near the lord’s desk. The High Priestess cleared her throat. ‘Blessings upon you, Renarr – I apologize for not taking note of your presence earlier. Are you well?’

Inconsequential enough to escape notice? Hardly. ‘Discomfited, to be honest,’ Renarr replied, ‘as I ponder just how your pet historian will alter the portents of this meeting in whatever account he records for posterity. I assume his presence is deemed necessary, given the need for a Holy Writ of some sort, a recounting of Light’s glorious birth, or some such thing.’ She smiled. ‘If I could be bothered, I might match him with a scroll or two. How odd the birth of a new religion if it does not quickly fracture into sects. Is it not a proper task to plant the seeds of schism as early on as possible? The Book of Sagander, and the contrary Book of Renarr, Adopted Daughter to Father Light. Imagine the holy wars to come of that, with the tree so eagerly shaken before its roots even set.’

Syntara’s blink was languid. ‘Cynicism, Renarr, is a stain upon a soul. Its reflection is bitter, even to you, I imagine. Come to the Chamber of Light. With prayer and service, you can be cleansed of what troubles you.’

My troubles? Oh, woman, what you call a stain is my coat of arms. It lies emblazoned upon my soul, and the promise of redress belongs not to you, nor Light, nor any temple of your making. ‘Thank you for the offer, High Priestess, and do not doubt that I appreciate the sentiment behind your desire.’

Sagander pointed at Renarr and said, in a half-snarl, ‘You are no daughter by blood, whore. Beware your presumption!’

At that, Urusander swung round. ‘Get that wretched scholar from my chamber, Syntara. As for recording this meeting, why, my hand does not tremble at the prospect. Sagander, your writings are well known to me, inasmuch as they mangle every notion of justice imaginable. Your mind was never equal to the task of your heart’s desire, and clearly nothing has accrued to you in the years since, barring layers of spite. Both of you, get out.’

Bridling, Syntara drew herself taller. ‘Milord, Mother Dark expects a formal reply from us.’

‘Mother Dark, or Emral Lanear?’