The temple’s garden and orchard lay inside the outer ditch. They followed a path lit by small lanterns like toadstools crouched low to the ground. An arch with hanging lamps spanned the approach to the main bridge over an interior ditch. The two runners stood on the other side of the bridge. They bowed, fighting back grins, then jostled each other in shared excitement when the prince deigned to acknowledge them with a dignified nod.

Every Heart Temple had the same basic layout. This one was unusually large, especially for such an isolated place, with a census of 317 living souls and a separate list of the dead whose ashes rested in three-legged urns in the columbarium. The senior venerable bowed in greeting—most of those who served here had taken a vow of silence—and himself conducted the prince to the temple’s hostel. The temple residents lined either side of the paths, bowing like grain as the wind passes over it. They stared even as they tried not to, as astonished at Fulmo’s presence as at the prince’s. As for Elen, she had only ever glimpsed the senior venerable from a distance, but obviously a prince’s arrival must be treated with exalted respect and honor.

The hostel was a barnlike barracks space with rope beds and straw mattresses laid end to end and a brick hearth for heating. A separate room held basins for washing, a pipe to bring in water from the temple cistern, and a door onto a latrine courtyard.

“Is there nothing more appropriate for His Highness?” Simo glared at Elen as if this were her fault, and as if the senior venerable, because he was silent, must therefore also be deaf. “Can the senior venerable not courteously give up his own bed for the night?”

“I assure you, Warden, the senior venerable sleeps in less comfort than this.”

“These quarters are acceptable,” said the haunt. “Simo, we must consider the mission, not our perquisites.”

“Of course, Your Highness. The fault is mine.”

“You have committed no fault. You are just doing your job, Simo, but I grant pardon regardless, if it eases your mind. I am not offended.”

Simo exchanged a startled glance with Jirvy. Elen wondered if she would need to warn the haunt he was skating close to the edge, but he watched the wardens with a steady gaze that took in each least interaction. His right eyebrow quirked, he flashed a glance at her, then turned to the senior priest.

“Pray apprise us of your customary routine, so we do not disrupt your round of worship.”

The venerable mimed eating and then tapped his hands together lightly.

Elen said, “A bell will ring when our evening’s meal is ready. My thanks, Most Venerable.”

The man bowed to the prince and left, his duties discharged.