“Neither have I, and I’m nearly two hundred years old and have a social circle that includes people who have lived to be more than a thousand. Tell me, Virgil, have you ever seen a tree being blown around in a rainstorm? Of course you have. Everyone has. Air, trees, rain, all accounted for. But the gods—well, they never seem to show up, do they? Strange, don’t you think? Given how vain they’re reported to be, you’d expect them to pop up all the time to demand praise, propagate fear, or inspire awe. Instead . . . nothing. If you got rid of all the people, the trees, rain, and air will still be here. But the gods? Could it be because we invented the whole lot, and they only exist in stories?”

“Such an insane notion could only be conceived by you.”

“Yeah, well, we both know I’m odd. So tell me, Virgil—O Believer in All Things Divine—which member of the grand pantheon managed to provide the crucial bit of evidence that kept you faithful? Are you a follower of Eton, the god of the sky? Eraphus, the god of the sea? He’d be really handy right now, don’t you think? Or is it Arkum, that bright fellow who supposedly rides a chariot overhead each day, then takes a nap before doing the same thing the next morning, and oddly never tires of the routine? Or are you devoted to that stodgy old elven relic, Ferrol, who is still somehow the official imperial god? Oh, wait—no—don’t tell me you’re a convert to the new cult, the one that insists Nyphron was a god. Or is it a demigod? I always forget.”

“You’re being purposely obtuse just to annoy me.”

“Of course I am.”

“Why?”

“It’s fun. Where is your sense of humor?” She threw back her hood, this time to reveal a grin. “You know how easily I get bored. You just have the misfortune of being around when it happens.”

Virgil shook his head. “Kolby is always with you, too. You never speak to him like this.”

Farilane glanced at the two men who worked single-mindedly to light the lantern. “Oh, he’d just smile and nod. There’s no fun in that.” She inched closer to the philosopher and whispered, “Besides, if he actually comprehended my supposition, Kolby would kill me.”

Virgil raised both eyebrows. “The man is sworn to protect you with his life.”

“His oath to a distant emperor and an ancient creed is hardly a shield against momentary rage coupled with a razor-sharp sword. The man is a walking death trap. A vicious lion held by a string leash.”

“You don’t honestly believe Kolby would ever hurt you?”

Farilane shook her head. “Of course not.”

“But then why did you—”