She sat in almost complete darkness, a sputtering candle the only relief. It stood upon a small wooden table, directly in front of her, its flame unmoving, a teardrop of fire pointing toward the low ceiling. On the other side of the table was a man with horns—two of them, each one curved and almost a foot long, sewn to his head but looking for all the world like he’d been born with the things. Different people had different ideas of devotion, she reckoned.

He was a clean-shaven man, though nothing else about him could be described as clean. He stank, and every inch of skin not covered by the robes of the pilgrims had been smeared with grime or grease or the chalky white lines of evaporated sweat. A lovely man, really.

“What you ask of us,” he said, his voice surprisingly un-Viking-like, almost gentle. “It can only be answered with two words, and I hope you don’t take offense.”

When he didn’t say more, she prodded him. “Okay. What are the two words, please?”

“Hell, no.”

“Hell, no,” she repeated. “As in, there’s very little chance you can do it?”

“That’s about the gist of it. Ain’t possible.”

She sighed for dramatic effect and folded her arms, crossed her legs. All three actions were frowned upon by pilgrims of the Maze. Too casual. The man with the horns grimaced but didn’t say anything.

She made her next move. “What if I told you there’s no choice in the matter? What if I told you that no matter how many ‘hell, nos’ you throw at me, you will do what I ask because I can make you realize why you have no choice?”

He leaned forward and put his elbows on the table. “Can we cut the BS, please? Can we both just agree to stop the charade? I ain’t got no power with the pilgrims, and if you are a pilgrim I’ll donate my body to a Hollowing at the next Maze Mass. Fess up.”

She affected a quick flash of fear on her face then wiped it away with a forced smile that made her look like she was trying to hide . . . oh, bother. She did most of it without thinking, anyway. But every step and every word were calculated.

“How did you know?” she asked. “What gave it away?”

He leaned back in his chair, visibly proud of his detecting skills. “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe the fact you don’t smell like a bucket of shite? Maybe the fact that your face is clean and looks like it ain’t been hit even once with the ugly stick? You say words in the right order and ain’t fallin’ on your knees every time the word ‘Maze’ is uttered? I could go on.”

“Okay. Your point is well taken.”