“The Go’Doan will not like this,” Lorenz warned.

“They worship on my soil at my consent, but this gives them no rights. They are not Firenz. If they give you trouble, they have a choice. They either forfeit their Go’Ella for questioning, or they leave this land under guard, and they take nothing with them but the amount of coin that it would take to feed them and their mounts on their journey. No negotiation. One, or the other. See to it, my brother.”

Lorenz nodded and moved away.

Mars stood for a moment in contemplation of the prisoner of note.

He then walked to him where he rested, not terribly comfortably, chest down, legs bent, with a post behind knees that were spread wide, that post tied to his knees and his wrists, meaning his cheek rested against the stone. He could not move for his neck was collared, and it was there he was chained to the floor.

Basil had shared this was a favored position for him when he played in the Heden District.

Mars could see that, but he had no taste for it.

He would like his Silence in somewhat this same position, but without the posts and chains.

“What will your Go’Ella share with us when we find them, priest?” he asked quietly.

The man said nothing.

Mars did not share in the silence.

“I have always been most curious, how these women come to you, doing it when their circumstances are dire, and you offer them succor in return for using them as you see fit,” Mars remarked. “Thus, to me, it is not a surprise, this offshoot of the Go’Doan. You all have it in you to feel you have the right to take what you will from people in need. I suspect it will be illuminating, when we have the opportunity to speak with them, what they will share.”

Weakly, the man mumbled, “Long live The Rising.”

“Hmm,” Mars hummed as he straightened and strode away.

The servant came quickly to him as he reined in his mount, Hephaestus, at the steps of the palace.

He threw his leg over his horse’s rump, patted the steed’s neck, and handed the straps to the servant before he strolled up the steps toward the doors.

The palace overseer came directly to him as he entered.

“I have placed the barons in the throne room, my king,” the man said in Firenzii.

These clan barons, five of them, had journeyed to Fire City upon hearing all that was happening, and demanded an audience with their king at his earliest convenience upon his return.

Which Mars had deemed was now.

He nodded, strode through the vestibule, turning left to head to his throne room.

He took but two steps before he stopped short and saw nothing but red.

This was because, at the far end of the hall, at the opened doors to his throne room, stood his wife peering around the doorjamb, a hazy shimmer all about her.