Maybe it was her light, apologetic laugh, or the simple fact of seeing his will so clearly thwarted, but Adiv’s face twisted into a snarl beneath his blindfold, and he leaned in close, seizing the leina by the arm, his fingers driving into her flesh.

“So we understand each other,” he hissed, “I would remind you that what you have here is nothing more than a collection of pretty, perfumed whores. You hide behind the lust of Annur’s powerful and rich as though that lust were loyalty. It is not. I will leave you for the moment, but if I discover you have lied to me, you may find that all this soft, decadent flesh you have so assiduously collected, all your beautiful boys and girls, will burn as briskly as your high walls.”

If Demivalle was frightened by the threat, she didn’t show it. Instead of drawing back from Adiv’s grip, she pulled him closer in a mockery of true embrace.

“And in the interest of understanding,” she whispered sweetly in his ear, the words soft, yet intended to carry to anyone else listening, “I would remind you that while you serve a man, I serve a goddess. It is a pity your eyes went bad so early, or you might see more clearly the power you confront.”

“I could kill him,” Gabril said, frowning at the flame flickering inside the porcelain lamp.

Morjeta shook her head vigorously. “No. You couldn’t. Tarik Adiv is a cruel, vicious man, but he is not foolish. The six soldiers you saw tonight were the barest fraction of his strength.”

“And he’s a leach,” Triste spat. “He can . . . do things.”

Gabril shook his head in disgust. “Filthy scum.”

Kaden took a deep breath, then blew it out slowly. After Adiv’s departure, Morjeta had hurried them up the stairs to her chambers and double-bolted the doors while Triste pulled the curtains and lit more lamps. The temple, which had seemed like such a sanctuary for the past several days, now felt dangerous, sinister, a trap sliding slowly shut. He glanced around Morjeta’s chamber, but there was little to see—delicately scented candles on the mantel; flowering jasmine in dark, elegant pots; a harp hung from a hook on one wall; and a scattering of parchment, quills, and ink jars scattered across a low table, the remnants of their long nights drafting the constitution. Nothing to suggest treachery. Nothing to hint that even here, in the heart of Ciena’s temple, they were being watched.

“How did Adiv know I was here?” Kaden asked.

Triste stabbed a finger at the garden beyond the curtains. “There are hundreds of leinas,” she said, shaking her head with disgust. “Someone talked.”

“What about all that about ‘keeping identities inviolate’?” Kaden asked.