“Acted is operative. But this is not an FAQ. Let’s get a move on. Gideon,” he said. Then he looked at us, gave a little crooked half smile, and said, “Gideon Episode One, I mean. Gideon the First—third saint to serve me—my fingers and gestures. Mate, I’m not mad about Wake. I’m not even mad that you failed to either fix or put down Harrow. I just want your loyalty. Do I have it, or not?”

“You have my loyalty,” said Gideon.

“Good. You stand on that side of the room—yes—just there.” The Saint of Duty crossed to stand on the other side of the chair, away from Augustine, away from the two dead bodies, never even giving them a backward look. Then God said, “Okay—Ianthe the First—eighth saint to serve me—my fi—”

“You have my loyalty,” Ianthe interrupted.

“Choice,” he said, as she crossed the room. “Obvious enthusiasm. Great stuff. This is what I like about you, Ianthe, you don’t hedge your bets. Now—can’t ask Wake even if I know what she’d say. It’s a real pity you killed her, Gideon, I’d been planning on keeping her around … She had a lot to tell me, and why be an ass to the mother of your child? Speaking of…”

And he looked at us.

I said, “You told that bastard to beat up Harrow?” That was my job, after all.

God said, “I was trying to save her.”

Also my job. “Go to hell, Pops.”

“This isn’t a question for you,” he said patiently. “You’re my kid; yikes. I’m not going to give you an ultimatum on our first day together. Let’s talk about me and you later. I can’t make up for all the years where I wasn’t around to buy you hot chips and go to your school gala, but killing you to escape a messy relationship is a bit beneath me. Besides, that’s not your body. I’d rather not punish Harrow for you acting out.”

We were tossed across the room, not hard. Your bones and meat came to a gentle rest next to Ianthe before I could even tighten your hands on the sword.

Then the Emperor turned to Augustine.

They faced each other without aggression. The Emperor looked like a man waiting in his bathrobe on the front step, greeting someone slinking home long hours past their curfew. Hot red heart’s-blood was splattered down the Lyctor’s chest, running in rivulets into his robe, and some of it was speckled lightly over his face.

“Do I get the opportunity?” he asked.

“Yes,” said the Emperor. “You do. I didn’t offer it to Mercy because Mercy really pissed me off, I’m sorry to say.”

“Understandably,” agreed Augustine.

“Augustine the First,” said the man who was God, and the God who was man. “My first saint. My first hand, and fist, and gesture. Will you swear your loyalty to me again, clean slate, fresh start? Or not?”

He murmured, “You said there was no forgiveness.”