“I know, and you will have them. But not this one … not yet.” He sounded upset, but firm. She didn’t feel able to argue, although curiosity burned at her mind. What was his link to Constance, exactly? And what had she done that was so terrible?

“Who is Mythris?” Lena asked instead. “You said no one knows where that temple is.”

Emris pulled himself together. “Mythris is one of the gods—a deity of indeterminate gender. It sometimes appears as a man, sometimes a woman—sometimes even as a child. Sometimes it is merely a cloaked figure, neither one thing nor another. It is the god of disguises. Of mysteries. A force of nature as much as it is a deity. The location of its temple is unknown—its disciples are equally elusive.” He paused. “In fact, they have something of a reputation as spies and assassins for hire…” He nodded, as if deciding to tell her. “The temple of Mythris was Constance’s temple.”

“Oh,” Lena said in realization, perfectly able to imagine the haughty cane-wielding lady as an assassin. Perhaps she had assassinated someone important—had that been Constance’s crime? Emris had cut Lena some bread and a slice of cheese, which he offered her on a battered tin plate. “Can you tell me more about the gods, please?” she asked, accepting the food.

“There are nine in total,” he said, obviously relieved to return to the earlier subject, “but some are more important than others. Each temple serves a different government function, you see. Faul’s is a relatively small operation, as is Nomi’s, the temple of adventurers and explorers. Mythris—well, who knows? Then there’s Jurah, the goddess of justice—and Jok, the god of combat.” He met her eyes, noticing her confusion. “Here. I should show you properly.” He stood up, took a large scroll from the bookcase, and laid it over the top of the maps on the table, securing it with three heavy glass globes and the wheel of cheese.

Lena stood and leaned over. A series of colorful interlocking circles centered on the words “Holy Council.” Each circle was labeled, branching outward into intricate streams of text. The simple lettering and bright colors implied an illustration for young children. Lena felt suddenly very warm and very ignorant. She might as well be a child here, after all.

But Emris was already explaining the diagram, apparently blind to her discomfort. “As every mage starts their training, they are assessed, interviewed, and assigned a temple best suited to their powers and temperament. Later in their training, they can of course switch temples—in fact, interdisciplinary study is positively encouraged—and most end up experiencing apprenticeships in two or perhaps three temples throughout their novice years before taking vows and committing themselves for life to their best match.