‘Decorum?’ Endest twisted round on one elbow to regard Cedorpul. ‘How readily you forget, that before dawn this morning I dragged you out from under three priestess candidates. Smelling like a sack of stale wine, and as for the stains upon your robes, well, I remain most decorous in not looking too closely!’ To Rise Herat he added, ‘Cedorpul finds the candidates when they’re still waiting in the chaperon’s antechamber, and informs them that their prowess in bed must be tested—’

‘I avail myself of their natural eagerness,’ Cedorpul explained.

‘He’s found an unused room and now has the key for it. Swears the candidates to secrecy—’

‘Dear me,’ said Rise. ‘Cedorpul, you risk a future of scorn and righteous vengeance. I hope I live to witness it in all its glory.’

‘Endest, you have failed me in every measure of friendship of which I can conceive. Into the ears of the court historian, no less! It will be the two of you who curse me to the fate the historian so ominously describes!’

‘Hardly,’ countered Endest. ‘I envision a night of confessions – no, whom do I deceive? Dozens of nights and confessions by the hundred. Yours is a fate I do not envy—’

‘You seemed thankful enough for my cast-offs last night, honourable acolyte. And every other night at that. Who was it who said that hypocrisy has no place in a temple of worship?’

‘No one,’ replied Rise Herat, ‘as far as I know.’

‘Indeed?’ Cedorpul asked. ‘Truth?’

Rise nodded.

‘Oh my,’ Cedorpul said, and then he sighed. ‘These matters are beneath argument. Let us ignore, for the time being, the unfortunate circumstances driving the three of us into each other’s company, and enjoy the view.’

‘And what of young Legyl Behust?’ Rise asked him.

‘Surely there is a sound argument to be made regarding the educational value of play. Besides, that chamber beneath us is the traditional sanctuary of the Citadel’s succession of hostages. May she bar the door in all assurance of privacy. Until the noon bell at the very least.’

It occurred to Rise Herat, somewhat ungraciously, that he would have preferred the company of Legyl Behust.

Cedorpul pointed. ‘I see them!’

* * *

Sister Emral Lanear examined herself in the full-length silvered mirror. The faintly blurred woman staring back at her promised great beauty, and Emral longed for them to exchange places. With such a prayer answered, none could pierce the veil, and she need not guard herself at every moment, lest someone glimpse the tortured truths roiling behind her eyes; and in expression she would give nothing away.

The world held up its illusions. No one could see for ever, beyond horizons, through the thickest of forests and the solid mountains of rock, or into the depths of dark rivers, and so there were promises out there as well, inviting the longing reach, offering up vistas of grandeur. The illusions were borne by all who witnessed them in the name of sanity, perhaps, or hope. And so too could others see her: a High Priestess taking her station in the altar room, with the other High Priestess at her side, both standing as representatives of Mother Dark, whose own veil of darkness none could pierce – they could indeed see this and so find whatever illusions of comfort they desired.