“Here we’ve got all the temples laid out with their functions, gods, symbols, and magics simply explained. There’s Turah”—he pointed to the ocher circle—“whose disciples handle food and agriculture. Their magic aids fertility and, at its most advanced, concerns the creation of life. And Regis”—he pointed to the circle outlined in bright white against the yellowing paper—“handles the political sphere, using the magics of foresight and persuasion.” He ran his fingers over a couple of the other circles, marked “medicine” and “commerce.” “The disciples of some of these temples are thousands strong—their worshippers beyond count. Others, like I said, are smaller.” His finger settled on the gray circle marked “Faul.” “But I’m overwhelming you. Here, keep this for your own reference.” He rolled up the scroll and laid it on the table in front of her. She stared down at the worn paper. Nine gods! The Ancestors are so simple by comparison. But when she thought of everything she had learned as a cryptling—the rituals, the prayers, the precise and ceremonial preparation of the body for interment—she knew it wasn’t true.

“Sorry. This must be difficult for you,” Emris said a little sadly. “I’m afraid it’ll get a lot harder before it gets easier—and soon. We’ll require you to pledge your faith to the gods. To accept their help. We can’t afford to leave you without a proper Binding, or training, or you could—”

She nodded. “I know. I could lose control. Become a … a Radical.” Panic washed through her, and she turned away from the table, gazing into the fire. The flickering flames calmed her a little as she took a deep breath. “If I pledge myself to the gods, I abandon the Ancestors forever,” she explained quietly. “Is there really no other way?” Lord Chatham and his claims echoed in her mind.

Emris appeared to read her thoughts. “Lena, Lord Chatham clearly wants you to seek him out. A Rogue is a rarity here, and I’m sure he would love for you to place your trust in him. But please, do not accept his invitation. There is no other way but what I am offering, not really. And the King’s Men—Chatham most of all—are extremely dangerous.”

Lena blinked. He hadn’t seemed particularly dangerous. Vain, yes. Haughty, yes. But dangerous? “Why?”