Adare sucked a long breath between her teeth. The old woman was right enough. Word of Adare’s miraculous survival was already spreading, of a Malkeenian princess who had forsaken her palace and throne to join a sacred band of pilgrims, to make her own sacrifice at the Well, who had been marked twice over by Intarra, once with the burning eyes, and a second time, to reaffirm her holiness, by a sacred web of bright scar laid into her skin. Most hagiography, of course, was bullshit. In some of the tales, people had Adare stepping into the Well itself, then borne up on a fountain of light. And yet, she had few enough advantages in the fight against il Tornja as it was.

“Listen, ya priggish idiot,” Nira said, spreading her hands. “People don’t want men and women for leaders—they want saviors.”

“And what if I don’t want to be a savior?”

“Then you’re dumber than I took ya for. Which was pretty fuckin’ dumb.” She shook her head in frustration. “Let me lay it out, plain as cloth: a fisherman tells his own story—where he fished, whether his nets came back full or no. A tailor tells his own story. Even a whore tells her story, though there are plenty a’ crooked cocks who’ll try ta take it from her.

“But a queen? An emperor?” She shook her head. “You can sit on the throne and talk till you’re outta air, but it’s them,” she said, stabbing her cane at the wall, at the Sons of Flame drilling in the courtyard beyond, at the citizens of Olon, at the entire empire. “It’s them who tell your story. And listen to this bit, girl, listen good: there aren’t but two tales to tell. You’re a savior, or a curse. An answered prayer or a ’Kent-kissing monster. So when people go tellin’ tales with the words blessed, and goddess, and prophet, ya thank your bright shiny goddess and ya nod and ya fuckin’ smile. It’s you who made me councillor, so I’m counselin’—take the worship and be glad for it.”

Adare stared, taken aback by the tirade. “All right,” she said finally, “but they believe all this, all this business about prophets, because they haven’t met me. The people who know me know the truth.” In her mind she watched again as Birch met her eyes, shook his head, and turned away, one man, at least, who wanted nothing to do with her divinity. “When they come to know me, they will come to know it.”

Nira nodded as though she’d been making that precise point all along. “Which is why ya don’t let people know you. Why ya can’t.”