He retained some things from his former life-such as his perception of his age. He didn't feel like he was five. He felt far older. That age should have taught him to hold his tongue when speaking of making widows out of young girls. Could the girl actually have an affection for the G.o.d King?

She'd only been in the city for a couple of months, and he knew-through rumors-what her life must be like. Forced to perform her duty as a wife for a man to whom she could not speak and whom she could not know. A man who represented all the things that her culture taught were profane. The only thing he could determine, then, was that she was worried about what might happen to her if her husband killed himself. A legitimate worry. The queen would lose most of her notoriety if she lost her husband.

Lightsong nodded to himself, turning to look back out at the arguing priests. They were done with sewage and guard patrols and had moved on to other topics.

"We must prepare ourselves for war," one of them was saying. "Recent events make it clear that we cannot live with the Idrians with any a.s.surance of peace or security. This conflict will come, whether we wish it or not."

Lightsong sat idly, tapping one finger against the arm rest of his chair.

For five years, I've been irrelevant, he thought. I didn't have a vote on any of the important court councils, I simply held the codes to a segment of Lifeless. I've crafted a divine reputation as the useless one.

The tone below was even more antagonistic than it had been during previous meetings. That wasn't what worried him. The problem was the one spearheading the movement for war. Nanrovah, high priest of Stillmark the Kind. Normally, Lightsong wouldn't have bothered paying attention. Yet Nanrovah had always been the most outspoken against the war.

What had made him change his mind?

It wasn't long before Blushweaver made her way to the pavilion. By the time she arrived, Lightsong's taste for wine had returned, and he was sipping thoughtfully. The voices against war from below were soft and infrequent.

Blushweaver sat beside him, a rustle of cloth and a waft of perfume. Lightsong didn't look toward her.

"How did you get to Nanrovah?" he finally asked.

"I didn't," Blushweaver said. "I don't know why he changed his mind. I wish he hadn't done it so quickly-it seems suspicious and makes people think I manipulated him. Either way, I'll take the support."

"You wish for war so badly?"

"I wish for our people to be aware of the threat," Blushweaver said. "You think I want this to happen? You think I want to send our people to die and kill?"

Lightsong looked at her, judging her sincerity. She had such beautiful eyes. One rarely noticed that, considering the way that she proffered the rest of her a.s.sets with such over-sensuality. "No," he said. "I don't think you want a war."

She nodded sharply. Her dress was sleek and trim this day, as always, but it was particularly revealing up top, where her b.r.e.a.s.t.s were pressed up and forward, like flowers demanding attention. Lightsong looked away.

"You're boring today," Blushweaver said.

"I'm distracted."

"We should be happy," Blushweaver said. "The priests have almost all come around. Soon there will be a call for war made to the main a.s.sembly of G.o.ds."

Lightsong nodded. The main a.s.sembly of G.o.ds was only called to judge in the most important of situations. In that case, they all had a vote. If the vote was for war, the G.o.ds with Lifeless Commands-G.o.ds like Lightsong-would be called upon to lead and administrate the battle.

"You've changed the Commands on Hopefinder's ten thousand?" Lightsong asked.

She nodded. "They're mine now, as are Mercystar's."

Colors, he thought. Between the two of us, we now control three fourths of the kingdom's armies.

What in the name of the Iridescent Tones am I getting myself into?

Blushweaver settled back in her chair, eying the smaller one that Siri had vacated. "I am annoyed, however, at Allmother."

"Because she's prettier than you, or because she's smarter?"

Blushweaver regarded him with a flat stare.

"Just trying to act less boring, my dear."

"Allmother holds the last group of Lifeless," Blushweaver said.

"An odd choice, wouldn't you think?" Lightsong said. "I mean, I make sense-a.s.suming you don't know me, of course-since I'm supposedly Bold. Hopefinder represents Justice, a nice mix with soldiers. Even Mercystar, who represents benevolence, makes sense for one who bears soldiers. But Allmother? G.o.ddess of matrons and families? Giving her ten thousand Lifeless is enough to make even me consider my drunk monkey theory."

"The one who chooses Returned names and t.i.tles?"

"Exactly," Lightsong said. "I'm expanding the theory. I am now tempted to believe that G.o.d-or the universe, or time, or whatever you think controls all of this-really is just a drunk monkey."

She leaned over, squeezing her arms together, seriously threatening to burst her chest out the front of her dress. "And, you think my t.i.tle was chosen by happenstance? G.o.ddess of honesty and interpersonal relations. Seems to fit, wouldn't you say?"

He hesitated. Then he smiled. "My dear, did you just try to prove the existence of G.o.d through the use of your cleavage?"

She smiled. "You'd be surprised what a good wiggle of the chest can accomplish."

"Hum. I'd never considered the theological power of your b.r.e.a.s.t.s, my dear. If there were a church dedicated to them, perhaps you'd make a theist out of me. Regardless, are you going to tell me what specifically Allmother did to annoy you?"

"She won't give me her Lifeless commands."

"Not surprising," Lightsong said. "I hardly trust you, and I'm your friend."

"We need those security phrases, Lightsong."

"Why?" he asked. "We've got three of the four-we dominate the armies already."

"We can't afford in biting or divisiveness," Blushweaver said. "If her ten were to turn against our thirty, we'd win, but we'd be left very weak."

He frowned. "Surely she wouldn't do that."

"Surely we'd rather be certain."

Lightsong sighed. "Very well, then. I'll talk to her."

"That... might not be a good idea."

He raised an eyebrow.

"She doesn't like you very much."

"Yes, I know," he said. "She one of the few G.o.ddesses with good taste."

She glared at him. "Do I need to wiggle my b.r.e.a.s.t.s at you again?"

"No, please. I don't know if I'd be able to stand the theological debate that would follow. I'll be good."

"All right, then," she said, sitting back, looking down at the priests who were still arguing.

They sure are taking a long time on this one, he thought. He glanced toward the other side of the court arena where Siri had paused, arms resting on the stonework; it was too tall for her to do comfortably.

Perhaps it wasn't thinking of her husband's death that bothered her, he thought. Maybe it was because the discussion turned to war.

A war her people couldn't win. That was another good reason why the conflict was becoming inevitable. As Hoid had implied, when one side had a distinct advantage, war was the result. Hallandren had been building its Lifeless armies for centuries, and the size was becoming daunting. Idris held the pa.s.ses to the northern kingdoms, through which Hallandren merchants were forced to pay tariffs in order to sell their dyes and fruits. Now that the Hallandren crown again had Royal blood to infuse into the line, war seemed even more likely.

Blushweaver huffed beside him, and he noticed that she had noticed his study of Siri. She was watching the queen with undisguised dislike.

Lightsong immediately changed the topic. "Do you know anything about a tunnel complex beneath the Court of G.o.ds?"

Blushweaver turned back toward him, shrugging. "Sure. Some of the palaces have tunnels beneath them, places for storage and the like."

"Have you ever been down in any of them?"

"Please. Why would I go crawling about in storage tunnels? I only know about them because of my high priestess. When she joined my service, asked me if I wanted mine connected to the main complex of tunnels. I said I didn't."

"Because you didn't want others to have access to your palace?"

"No," she said, turning back to watching the priests below. "Because I didn't want to deal with the racket of all that digging. Can I have some more wine, please?"

Siri watched the proceedings for quite a long time. She felt a little like Lightsong said he did. Because she didn't have a say about what the court did, it was frustrating to pay attention. Yet she wanted to know. The arguments of the priests were, in a way, her only connection to the outside world.

She was not encouraged by what she heard. As the time pa.s.sed, the sun growing close to the horizon and servants lighting ma.s.sive torches along the walkway, Siri found herself feeling more and more daunted. Her husband was probably either going to be killed or persuaded to kill himself in the upcoming year. Her homeland, in turn, was about to be invaded by the very kingdom her husband ruled- yet he could do nothing to stop it because he had no way to communicate.

Then there was the guilt that came from actually enjoying all of the chaos and problems, if only a tad. Back home, she'd had to be contrary and disobedient to find any kind of excitement. Here she only had to stand and watch, and things would begin to topple against each other and cause a clatter. Of course, there was far too much clatter at present, but that didn't stop her from thrilling at her part in it.

Silly fool, she told herself. Everything you love is in danger and you're thinking about how exciting it is?

She needed to find a way to help Susebron. In doing so, perhaps she could bring him out from beneath the oppressive control of the priests. Then he might be able to do something to help her homeland. As she followed that line of thought, she almost missed a comment from below. It was spoken by one of the priests most strongly in favor of attacking.

"Have you not heard of the Idrian agent who has been causing havoc in the city?" the priest asked. "The Idrians are preparing for the war! They know that a conflict is inevitable and so they've begun to work against us!"

Siri perked up. Idrian agents in the city?

"Bah," said another of the priests. "The 'infiltrator' you speak of is said to be a princess of the Royal family. That's obviously a story for the common people. Why would a princess come in secret to T'Telir? These stories are ridiculous and unfounded."

Siri grimaced. That, at least, was obviously true. Her sisters were not the types to come and work as 'Idrian agents.' She smiled, imagining her soft-spoken monk of a sister-or even Vivenna in her prim outfits and stony att.i.tude-coming to T'Telir in secret. Part of her had a little trouble believing that Vivenna had been intended to come be Susebron's bride. Vivenna? Having to deal with the court and the wild costumes?

Vivenna's stoic coldness would never have coaxed Susebron out of his imperial mask. Vivenna's quiet disapproval would have alienated her from G.o.ds like Lightsong. Vivenna would have hated wearing the beautiful dresses and would never have appreciated the colors and variety in the city.

Siri might not have been the best one for the position, but she was slowly coming to realize that Vivenna hadn't been a good choice either.

A group of people was approaching along the walkway. Siri remained where she was; she was too distracted by her thoughts to pay much attention.

"Are they talking about a relative of yours?" a voice asked.

Siri started, spinning. Behind her stood a dark-haired G.o.ddess wearing a lavish-and revealing-gown of green and silver. Like most of the G.o.ds, she stood a good head taller than a normal person, and she looked down a Siri with a raised eyebrow.

"Your... grace?" Siri asked.

"They're discussing the famous hidden princess," the G.o.ddess said with a wave of her hand. "She'd be a relative of yours, if she really does have the royal locks."

Siri shuffled, glancing back at the priests. "They must be mistaken. I'm the only princess here."

"The stories of her are quite pervasive."

Siri fell silent.

"My Lightsong has taken a liking to you, princess," the G.o.ddess said, folding her arms.

"He has been very kind to me," Siri said carefully, trying to give the right image-that of the person she was, only less threatening. A little more confused. "Might I ask which one you are, your grace?"

"I am called Blushweaver," the G.o.ddess said.

"I am pleased to meet you."

"No you aren't," Blushweaver said. She leaned in, eyes narrowing. "I don't like what you're doing here."

"Excuse me?"

Blushweaver raised a finger. "He's a better man than any of us, Princess. Don't you go spoiling him and pulling him into your schemes."

"I don't know what you mean."

"Don't give me your false naivete," Blushweaver said. "Lightsong is a good man-one of the last ones we have left in this court. If you taint him, I will destroy you. Do you understand?"

Siri nodded dumbly, then Blushweaver spun and moved away, mumbling, "Find someone else's bed to climb into, you little s.l.u.t."

Siri watched her go, shocked. When she finally shook herself out of the stupor, she flushed, then fled.

By the time she got back to the palace, Siri was quite ready for her bath. She entered the bathing chamber, letting her serving women undress her. They retreated with the clothing, then exited to prepare her evening's gown. That left Siri in the hands of a group of lesser attendants, the ones whose job it was to follow her into the ma.s.sive tub and scrub her clean.

Siri relaxed back, sighing as the women went to work. Another group-standing fully-clothed in the deep water-pulled her hair straight then cut most of it free, something she'd ordered them to do every night.

For a few moments, Siri floated and let herself forget the threats to her people and her husband. She even let herself forget Blushweaver and her snappish misunderstanding. She just enjoyed the heat and the scents of the perfumed water.

"You wanted to speak with me, princess?" a voice asked.

Siri started, splashing as she dunked her body beneath the water. She spun, angrily. "Bluefingers," she snapped. "I thought we'd cleared this up on the first day!"

He stood at the rim of the tub, fingers blue, typically anxious as he began to pace. "Oh, please," he said. "I have daughters twice your age. You wanted to talk to me. Well, this is where I will talk. Away from ears."

He nodded to several of the serving girls, and they began to splash just a bit more, speaking quietly, creating a low noise. Siri flushed, her short hair a deep red-though a few cut-off strands that hadn't been scooped up remained a yellow from before.