“Indeed, your Glory,” Imhailas said, nodding with almost comic grandiloquence. “As the Khirgwi say, the headless snake has no fangs.”

Esmenet scowled. The Captain had a habit of spouting inane adages—from some popular scroll of aphorisms, no doubt. Usually she found it charming—she was not above forgiving handsome men their quirks, particularly when she was their motive—but not on a matter as grievous as this, and certainly not in the presence of rank carnage.

“I’m afraid I’ve nothing new to add, your Glory,” Phinersa said, his gaze ranging across the scenes of war and triumph along the walls. “We still think she’s somewhere in Shigek. Think. But with the Fanim raiding the length of the River Sempis …” His eyes circled back only to flinch the instant they met her own.

Esmenet acknowledged the dilemma with a grimace. After spending years simply running, Fanayal ab Kascamandri had suddenly become aggressive, extraordinarily aggressive, effectively cutting the overland routes to Eumarna and Nilnamesh and, according to the latest reports, storming fortified towns on the river itself—using Cishaurim no less! All Shigek was in an uproar—precisely the kind of confusion the Mother-Supreme needed.

Weakness, she realized. They smelled weakness, all the enemies of the New Empire, be they heathen or Orthodox.

“Unless you issue warrants for the arrest of the High-Priestesses,” Phinersa continued, “we simply will not find this Nannaferi.”

Of course by “arrest” he meant torture. Esmenet found herself looking to Maithanet. “I need to consider that … Perhaps if our Exalt-Inquisitor is disposed to blame Sharacinth’s murder on some kind of feud within the Cult, it might provide the pretext we need.”

The Shriah of the Thousand Temples pursed his lips. “We need to proceed cautiously. Perhaps, Empress, we should consult the Aspect-Emperor.”

Esmenet felt her look harden into a glare.

Why? she found herself thinking. Why doesn’t Kellhus trust you?

“Our immediate priority,” she declared, pretending he had not spoken, “is to prepare for the eventuality of riots. Phinersa, you must recruit infiltrators. Imhailas, you must assure that the Precincts are secured—I will not have this happen a second time! Tell Ngarau that we are to be provisioned for the possibility of a siege. And contact General Anthirul. Have him recall one of the Arcong Columns.”

For a moment all of them stood as motionless as the dead.

“Go! Both of you! Now!”

Startled into action, the two men hastened back the way they had come, the one tall and flashing in his ceremonial armour, the other dark and fluid in his black-silk robes. Esmenet found herself nagged by the certainty that Phinersa had momentarily glanced at Maithanet for confirmation ...

So many looks. So many qualms. It was always the complexities that overwhelmed us. It was always the maze of others that robbed us of our way.

My little boy is dead.