“Perhaps the emperor will not like his new friends and change his mind. I imagine he will be as thrilled to meet those black vorns as the Torens were.”

Rian’s expression darkened. “Unless he desires his own hunt to train. He has advised all Circlian priests to leave, claiming it is for their own safety.”

Danjin grimaced. “Oh.” He shook his head. “The emperor has always maintained that he does not want to favor one religion over another.” Abruptly, Danjin thought of the Dreamweavers. He felt a pang of guilt. Auraya had asked him to visit Leiard, but he had been too busy hunting rumors of Pentadrians to do so. “Do you think I should warn Dreamweaver Adviser Leiard?”

Rian shrugged. “If you wish. All reports I have received suggest that Pentadrians are tolerant of the followers of small heathen cults. It is only Circlians they despise, no doubt because they know our gods are real.”

Jealous, eh? Danjin smiled grimly. If this all led to a conflict, at least the Circlians had this one advantage: their gods were real and would protect them. He only feared the damage these Pentadrians might do in the process. In war there were always casualties.

A light had entered Rian’s eyes. He regarded Danjin with approval.

“Thank you for your assistance, Adviser.”

Danjin inclined his head and made the gesture of the circle. “I am glad to be of help.”

He followed Rian to the door and opened it. The White stepped through, then paused and looked back.

“When I speak to your family, I will not mention I consulted you.”

Danjin nodded in gratitude. He watched Rian walk away, then closed the door. Mischief looked up at him, blinking sleepily.

“That,” he told the veez, “was very interesting.”

Auraya opened her eyes. The room was dark, and she could barely make out the walls around her. Had something woken her?

Well, it hasn’t done a good job. I still feel like I’m mostly asleep…

She opened her eyes a second time. This time the darkness was absolute. Except…a familiar figure wearing Dreamweaver robes appeared.

:Leiard?

:Hello, lover of dreamers; dreamer of love.

His lips moved as the words came to her.

:Is…is this a memory? It feels like it is you, speaking to me now, and yet it doesn’t.

:Yes and no. It is me speaking to you, dressed in your memory of me. My mind given a form by yours. You are learning fast. It seems you have a natural flair for this.

:Perhaps I should have been a Dreamweaver.

:But your heart is the gods’.

:My soul is the gods’; my heart is yours.

Leiard smiled—a sly, secretive smile. It was an expression she had never seen him wear before. Was this just her mind embellishing the mood she sensed from him?