Long years of silent submission in the mines had trained me well. I got up calmly, and picked the cup from the floor and placed it back on my table. I washed my hands in the golden bowl placed there for the conclusion of the meal, and dried them on the towel provided. I turned to Maelmor, and bowed low. When I stood, I raised my head high, and looked straight into his face. He flushed with rage.

“You have the truth all twisted, Maelmor,” I said. “God has not forsaken the Chosen. He has remembered the Quelled.”

We came to a satisfactory agreement, the priests and I: we ignored each other. Though I lived in the Firelord’s apartments, I received no respect, no recognition. I suspected they were hoping for a miracle: another diviner, Chosen of course, and male.

And while they hoped, I planned my victory.

In my mind I wrote the new laws that would transform my world. I went over them again and again, refining them, perfecting them, praying them through to flawlessness. All my power, all my intent, lay in those laws. I planned how they would be recorded, given out, and enforced. I chose the people who would be my advocates in this huge undertaking, and I raided the Firelord’s private treasuries to bribe menservants to carry messages for me.

One I sent to Lesharo.

The other I sent by horse, urgently, to the northern territories … to Amasai.

20 The Myth

20

The Myth

MY INAUGURATION MORNING would fall on the seventh day of the Chosen month of Sabiya. It was now only ten days away.

I went to the topmost pinnacle of the temple, searching for the first sign of an approaching army. I saw only two horsemen riding towards Kasimarra, a trail of dust streaming behind them.

That evening, when I was alone in my apartments, Laken came to announce that a Quelled man had arrived. I asked her to take him to the small but beautiful library next to my room, where the Firelord had entertained his guests, and which was filled with his personal treasures. There were statues, paintings, and cabinets full of his favourite books. The room was not ornate – it was very plain, compared with others in the place – but its walls were hung with magnificent tapestries, and there were old carvings of animals I had never seen before. Some of its furnishings were rustic, and there were pieces of pottery and weavings that were rough and not made by craftsmen. It reminded me in many ways of Teraj’s home. There was even a bronze image of a dolphin on one of the hand-carved tables, and a mural of a vast turquoise place with dolphins leaping in it.