The gargoyles could not cross the circle; the court would shelter Daphne so long as she worked to prove the bond between Kos and Seril, and would help her test the Goddess. It would be inelegant to kill Her in the process, but since in the court’s view Seril was already dead, Daphne would be guilty of deicide in only the most vague and theoretical sense.

The gargoyles, denied Daphne, struck her weapons. They caught the spears of her will and tore her mind. But Daphne drew strength from their injuries. By the time they freed one comrade from her clutches, the gargoyle she’d struck was already tainted with gray ash.

She trapped them in redoubled space, she spread time, she played elaborate games to spoof their theory of mind. Some they avoided, some resisted. One small Stone Man fell into an airless infinity and emerged howling and mad.

The old tricks were the best.

The Goddess fought, too. Seril changed the world with a fluency even Daphne could not match. The goddess broke Daphne’s thorns, slid past her swords, battered her with awe. But Daphne did not fight Seril directly. She could break her through her children.

Good times.

Daphne abandoned temporospatial shenanigans to address the gargoyles’ stone. Stone, she argued, cannot move; stone cannot feel. They slowed.

Lightning flew from her fingers and lit eyes that were and were not hers.

The goddess convulsed.

*   *   *

The Sanctum of Kos smelled of incense and priestly sweat. Abelard and the Cardinals chanted. That no longer amazed him—to be here, surrounded by Cardinals, praying.

Glory to Your Flame

Everburning, All-transforming—

Nestor’s voice led their prayer from the front altar, the docent’s role having shifted around the circle back to him twice so far. Each time, Abelard refused to lead. Vestments flowed like lava from the old man’s shoulders.

Priests throughout Alt Coulumb chanted these words, in this time. They entered God’s presence. They gave themselves to Kos, felt His pain as the Craftsmen struck and tested Him.

And they felt a different sort of pain as He watched the battle in the air, and did nothing.

The altar fire burned hot, and they knelt and prayed.

*   *   *

My father roars.

He didn’t always. There was our mother once. She’s gone. (Murmurs, some, throughout the crowd. They knew the story.)

Imagine living with a lion. It prowls great-maned and strong through the house. But when you live with a lion, you see its teeth, and know its voice.

Many days its voice is the only voice you hear, because when a lion speaks, it deafens. You shout back even to hear yourself. There may be girls who can shout louder than a lion. I am not one of them. I was afraid. To shout louder than a lion, you have to scream, and things that scream are food.