‘It is the gift she now carries,’ Mother Dark replied, ‘that will draw adherents.’

‘Then let us arrest her, throw her and her lot into a cell.’

‘The gift cannot be chained, First Son. I see how you both struggle to understand, but the schism is necessary. The wound must be made, so that it can be healed.’

‘And what of Draconus?’

At Anomander’s question Mother Dark grew very still, and the air in the sanctum suddenly crackled with cold. ‘Leave me now, First Son.’

‘Without him,’ Anomander persisted, ‘you set before me an impossible task.’

‘Go.’

The way before him was indeed impossible and Emral could see that bleak knowledge in Anomander’s dark eyes. He wheeled and marched from the chamber.

Emral’s head spun. The air bit at her throat and lungs.

Mother Dark spoke. ‘Beloved Emral … I once asked Kadaspala a question. I saw in his eyes that he knew this question, as if, long ago, it had been seared into his very soul. But for all that, he could give me no answer.’

‘Mother Dark, what was the question?’

‘One to be asked of an artist, a creator of portraits, whose talent is found not in the hands but in the eyes. I asked him: how does one paint love?’

He knew the question. He asked it of himself.

But he had no answer.

‘Do you know,’ Mother Dark went on, ‘when you can see in darkness, nothing is hidden.’

If she wept now, the tears would freeze upon her cheeks, and burn leaving scars. For all to see.

‘Nothing,’ Mother Dark then added, ‘but darkness itself.’

* * *

Half drunk, Hunn Raal stared at the white-skinned woman who had come stumbling into his room. He saw the fear and fury warring in her eyes, but it was the alabaster bleaching of her visage that held him enthralled. Not even Silchas Ruin possessed such purity. He struggled to speak. ‘H-High Priestess, what has become of you? You are glamoured – what new gift of sorcery has Mother Dark discovered?’

‘I am cast out, you fool! Banished from Night! This was not her doing – the Azathanai said she could see into my soul. She said terrible things—’ Syntara turned away, and he could see how she trembled. ‘She reached out to me. There was light. Blinding light.’

He forced himself from his chair. The room tilted slightly and then righted itself. He drew a deep, steadying breath, and then moved close to her. ‘High Priestess, I will tell you what I see when I now look upon you—’

‘Don’t.’

‘I see a woman reborn. Syntara, you among all women do not belong in darkness.’

She looked up at him. ‘The light is within me. I feel it!’

He nodded. ‘And I see it shining through, High Priestess. There is nothing to fear – the truth of that is plain to my eyes.’

‘Reborn,’ she whispered. And then her eyes flashed. ‘I demand sanctuary.’