Briony felt as though someone pressed her heart between two strong hands—it was hard to breathe, hard even to think. “Who…who would believe such times would come?”

“Indeed.” Teodoros suddenly sat forward. “Now, though, you must brighten a little, young Tim. Life goes on, and you have given me a most splendid idea.”

“What do you mean?”

“Simply this. Here, these are the foul papers of The Ravishment of Zoria. I thought it was finished, but you have provided me with such a daring inspiration that I am adding page upon page. For just the jests alone I would owe you much praise—you can never have too many good jokes in a work where many bloody battles are fought, after all. The one sends the audience back for the other, like sweet and savory.”

“What idea are you talking about?” Did all playwrights babble like this? Could none of them speak in plain, sensible words?

“It is simply this. Your…plight put me in mind of it. Often in plays we have seen a girl passing for a boy. It is an old trick—some daughter of the minor nobility playing at being a rustic, calling herself a shepherd or some such. But never has it been a goddess!”

“A…what?”

“A goddess! I had my Zoria steal out of the clutches of Khors the Moonlord disguised as a serving wench, and thus did she pass herself among the mortals. But with you as my worldly inspiration, I have changed her disguise to that of a boy. A goddess, not merely passing as a mortal, but as a human boy—do you not see how rich that is, how much it adds to the business of her escape and her time among the mortal herd?”

“I suppose.” Briony was feeling tired now, sleepy and without much strength for being talked at anymore. She remembered all Lisiya had said, and could not resist tweaking Teodoros a little. “Here’s another thought for you to consider. What if Zoria wasn’t ravished by Khors? What if she truly loved him—ran away with him?”

Teodoros stared at her for a long moment, more shocked than she thought a man of ideas should have been. “What do you mean? Would you speak against all the authority of The Book of the Trigon?”

“I’m not speaking against anything.” It was hard to keep her eyes open any longer. “I’m just saying that if you want to look at things differently, why settle for the easy way?”

She slid off the edge of Teodoros’ bed to the floor and curled up under the blanket he had loaned her, leaving the playwright staring into the shadows the single candle could not reach, his expression a mixture of startlement and surmise.

28

Secrets of the Black Earth

When Pale Daughter’s child was born he reached his full growth in only a few seasons. He was called Crooked, not because of his heart, which was straight as an arrow’s flight, but because his song was not one thing or the other and flowed in unexpected directions. He was mighty in gifts, and by the time he was one year old he had become so great in wisdom that he created and gave to Silvergleam his father the Tiles that would make their house mighty beyond all others.