He tried. Even without looking, she could feel the falseness of his grin, like rubber dragged over skin. “I will not leave. I must seek my Lady.”

“She’s dead,” Izza said.

“There is no death where love lives.”

“You don’t know death well,” she said, “if you think that.”

“I will not leave.”

“Then hide.” She heard Cat again in the back of her mind. Small choices. But she owed this man. “Let me help.”

“Can you hide me from Penitents?”

“Maybe. Better than you can hide yourself. Long enough for you to book passage off the island.”

He adjusted the angle of his hat. “You seem awfully concerned with my welfare for a girl who ran from me when I asked a simple question.”

“It wasn’t a simple question,” she said.

Out near the tip of East Claw, a tugboat dragged a containership into dock: an expanse of metal, sail-less seagoing abomination of Craft. Its sides were cliffs, more an extension of the peninsula than a ship, a mountain inverted and afloat. “I suppose not,” Margot said. “But I refuse to run. I found something true here, and terrible. Gods spoke through me. Iskar with her daily prayers and unrequited loves, her flag-jousts between sky knights, her high cardinals professing faith and her human beings wandering alone—she has no claim to match that. This is my place now.”

“You’re dumber than I thought,” she said.

His laughter, too, was sharp. “I never claimed brilliance.” He removed his hat. His bald patch was pale, though peeling and red with sunburn. “This is not your fight. If they take me, let them take me. If they kill me, let them.” He stopped, and swallowed. “Kill me.”

“No.”

“I offer you a gift,” he said. “I offer you your own life, which I think you value. Your freedom, from the Penitents and from the law you would otherwise feel compelled to confront to keep me safe. I ask you to promise by all you hold sacred—and I think I know what you do hold sacred—promise to let me go. Do you understand?”

She nodded.

“Aloud, if you please.”

“I promise.”

“And let me ask a gift of you, in return.”

She understood, now, but it was too late to take back her word.

“Tell me. The Blue Lady. The Green Man. I have seen them. They worked through me. They played my nerves like a violin. You know them.”

Those were her names. This was her faith. He was a usurper to speak them. “I do.”

“Ms. Pohala calls me a thief. She claims I stole power from the mute idols her priests build. She claims I used this power to charge my words with fire. But I have not stolen. I heard gods sing to me, and scream, and whisper. I am not mad.”

“What do you want from me?”