Which rankled, but this was bigger than Kai’s ambition, bigger than her need to be a hero.

Settled.

Kai opened her eyes. She was not alone.

Twilling stood by the open office door, white robe and prayer beads bowed out by the swell of his stomach. Kai had met her boss a handful of times since she came to the front office: a former prodigy of the pool, long since descended to pilgrim relations, where he became manager of this distasteful cube farm and master of its training binders and role-playing exercises and arcane acronyms. “Thinking?” His pitch rose all through the word, rather than just at the end. “Or napping?”

“Thinking,” she said. “I wanted to review this morning’s exercises.”

“Kai, I thought I’d drop by to tell you how much we appreciate your work.” Twilling sounded genuine and superficial at once, as if he had read books about empathizing with employees and almost understood them. “Working with pilgrims is different, I know, than working in the pool. But it’s so rewarding. But once you’re up to speed, your expertise will help you identify pain points, and build solutions, better than any candidate we’ve had in years.”

She repressed an urge to wince at the jargon. “I’ve learned a lot in the past few weeks. I’m growing every day.” Use their language. It’s easy if you just imagine you’re speaking Iskari. “Can I ask you a question, Twilling?”

He beamed. “Of course.”

“You remade yourself, like I did.” Not polite, but not a secret, either. “Why did you come down here afterward?”

“Why settle for working with clients when I could have had such a bright career up the mountain, you mean?” He laughed, and let the laugh die, and when he spoke next his voice had lost the forced edge of managerial cheer. “Priests stand between worlds. When I was young I thought that meant building idols, praying to them; after a while, I realized that no matter how I prayed, the idols didn’t answer. I was worshipping my own reflection. Not healthy. In this role I stand between Kavekana and the mainland—and the mainland talks back. Every day I wrestle with gods, like the desert prophets of ancient Sind.”

“But everything happens up the mountain.”

“Everything,” Twilling said, “and nothing. The gods’ power used to flow down from Kavekana’ai, out over the waves. Now, power flows in the opposite direction. Speaking of which.” He spun the chair out from the desk and sat in a flaring of robes. “I hoped to talk to you about the Quechal pilgrim, Ms. Batan. How have you found working with her?”

Kai stood and adjusted her clothes to cover the delay while she framed her response. “I think she needs a more experienced guide. We’re not compatible.”