“You are right, of course.” Chaven took another sip of tea and stared at the floor. “You have risked your lives for me. Oh, I am wretched—wretched!”

Chert let out a hiss of air. He was losing his patience. Just before he got up in frustration and walked out of the main room, Chaven raised one of his wounded hands.

“Peace, friend,” he said. “I will try to explain, although I think you will not care for me so much once you have heard my story. Still, it would only be what I deserved…”

Chert sat down, shared a glance with Opal. She leaned forward and filled the physician’s cup with blueroot tea. “Speak, then.” Despite his curiosity, Chert hoped it would not be a long story. He had already been up half the night and was so weary he could barely keep his eyes open.

“I have…I had…an…object. A mirror. You heard Okros talk of captromancy—a clumsy word that means mirror-scrying. It is an art, an art with many depths and strange turnings, and a long, mysterious history.”

“Mirror-scrying?” Opal asked. “Do you mean reading fortunes?” She refilled her own teacup and put her elbows on the table, listening carefully.

“More than that—far more.” Chaven sighed. “There is a book. You likely have not heard of it, although in certain circles it is famous. Ximander’s Book, it is called, but those who have seen it say it is merely part of a larger work, something called The Book of Regret, which was written by the fairy folk—the Qar, as they call themselves. Ximander was a mantis, a priest of Kupilas the Healer in the old days of the Hierosoline Empire, and he is said to have received the writings from a homeless wanderer who died in the temple.”

Chert shifted impatiently. This might be the kind of thing that fascinated Chaven, but he was having trouble making sense of it. “Yes? And this book taught you mirror-scrying?”

“I have never seen it—it has been lost for years. But my master, Kaspar Dyelos, had either seen it or a copy of it when he was young—he would never tell me—and much of what he taught me came from those infamous pages. Ximander’s Book tells us that the gods gave us three great gifts—fire, shouma, and mirror-wisdom…”

“Shouma? What is that?”

“A drink—some call it the gods’ nectar. It breeds visions, but sometimes madness or even death, too. For centuries it was used in special ceremonies in the temples and palaces of Eion, for those who wished to become closer to the gods. It is said that just as wine makes mortals drunk, shouma makes the gods themselves drunk. It is so powerful that it is not used anymore, or at least the priests of our modern day mix only the tiniest bit into their ceremonial wine, and some say that it is not the true, potent shouma anymore, that the knowledge of making that has been lost. In the old days, many young priests used to die in shouma ecstasies at their first investiture…” He trailed off. “Forgive me. I have spent my life studying these things and I forget that not all are as interested as me.”