Llarimar eyed a lesser scribe, who lowered his pen. Servants cl.u.s.tered around the edges of the bed chamber. They had, at his request, woken him up unusually early in the morning. He hadn't antic.i.p.ated the dreams.

"Your grace?" Llarimar asked.

It's nothing, Lightsong thought. I dream of war because I'm thinking about it. Not because of prophesy. Not because I'm a G.o.d.

It felt so real. In the dream he had been a man, on the battlefield, with no weapon. Soldiers had died around him. Friend after friend. He had known them, each one close to him.

A war against Idris wouldn't be like that, he thought. It would be fought by our Lifeless.

He didn't want to acknowledge that his friends during the dream hadn't been wearing bright colors. He hadn't been seeing through the eyes of a Hallandren soldier. Perhaps that was why it had been such a slaughter.

It wouldn't be, he thought. The Idrians are the ones threatening us. They're the rebels who broke off, maintaining a second throne inside of Hallandren borders. They need to be quelled.

They deserve it.

"What did you see, your grace?" Llarimar asked again.

Lightsong closed his eyes. There were other images. The recurring ones. The glowing red panther. The tempest. A young woman's face, being absorbed by darkness. Eaten alive.

"I saw Blushweaver," he said, speaking only of the very last part of the dreams. "Her face red and flushed. I saw you, and you were sleeping. And I saw the G.o.d King."

"The G.o.d King?" Llarimar asked, sounding excited.

Lightsong nodded. "He was crying."

The scribe wrote the images down. Llarimar, for once, didn't prompt further. Lightsong stood, forcing the images out of his mind. Yet he couldn't ignore that his body felt weak. It was Feast Day, and he would have to take in a Breath or he would die.

"I'm going to need some urns," Lightsong said. "Two dozen of them, one for each of the G.o.ds, painted after their colors."

Llarimar gave the order without even asking why.

"I'll also need some pebbles," Lightsong said as the servants dressed him. "Lots of them."

Llarimar nodded. Once Lightsong was dressed, he turned to leave the room. Off once again to feed on the soul of a child.

Lightsong threw a pebble into one of the urns in front of him. It made a slight ringing sound.

"Well done, your grace," Llarimar praised, standing beside Lightsong's chair.

"Nothing to it," Lightsong said, tossing another pebble. It fell short of the intended urn, and a servant rushed forward, plucking it off the ground and depositing it in the proper container.

"I appear to be a natural," Lightsong noted. He felt much better, having been given his Breath.

"Indeed, your grace," Llarimar said. "I believe that her grace, the G.o.ddess Blushweaver is approaching."

"Good," Lightsong said, throwing another pebble. He hit this time. Of course, the urns were only a few feet from his seat. "I can show off my pebble-throwing skills."

He sat on the green of the courtyard, a cool breeze blowing, his pavilion set up just inside the Court's gates. He could see the blocking wall, the one that kept him from looking out at the city proper. With the wall in the way, it was a rather depressing sight.

If they're going to lock us in here, he thought, they could at least give us the courtesy of a decent view out.

"What in the name of the Iridescent tones, are you doing?"

Lightsong didn't need to look to know that Blushweaver was standing with hands on hips beside him. He threw another pebble.

"You know," he said, "it's always struck me as strange. When we say oaths like that, we use the colors. Why not use our own names? We are, presumably, G.o.ds."

"Most G.o.ds don't like their names being used as an oath," Blushweaver said, sitting beside him.

"Then they are far to pompous for my taste," Lightsong said, tossing a pebble. It missed, and a servant deposited it. "I, personally, should find it very flattering to have my name used as an oath. Lightsong the Brave! Or, by Lightsong the Brave! I suppose that's a bit of a mouthful. Perhaps we could shorten it to simple Lightsong!"

"I swear," she said. "You are getting stranger by the day."

"No, actually," he said. "You didn't swear in that particular statement. Unless you think we should simply swear using the familiar p.r.o.noun. You! So, your line at this point is 'What in the name of You are you doing?'"

She leaned back, huffing quietly.

He eyed her. "I certainly don't deserve that yet. I've barely gotten started. Something else must be bothering you."

"Allmother," she said.

"Still won't give you the Commands?"

"Refuses to even speak with me now."

Lightsong threw a pebble into one of the urns. "Ah, if only she knew the utter frustration she was missing by refusing your acquaintance."

"I'm not that frustrating!" Blushweaver said. "I've actually been rather charming with her."

"Then that is your problem, I surmise," Lightsong said. "We're G.o.ds, my dear, and we quickly grow tired of our immortal existences. Surely we seek for extreme ranges in emotion-good or bad, it doesn't matter. In a way, it's the absolute value of emotion that is important, rather than the positive or negative nature of that emotion."

Blushweaver paused. So did Lightsong.

"Lightsong, dear," she said. "What in the name of You did that mean?"

"I'm not exactly sure," he said. "It just kind of came out. I can visualize what it means in my head, though. With numbers."

"Are... you all right?" she asked, sounding genuinely concerned.

Images of warfare flashed in his mind. His best friend, a man he didn't know, dying with a sword through the chest. "I'm not sure," he said. "Things have been rather different for me lately."

She sat quietly for a moment. "You want to go back to my palace and frolic? That always makes me feel better."

He tossed a pebble, smiling. "You, my dear, are incorrigible."

"I'm the G.o.ddess of l.u.s.t, for the Your sake," she said. "I've got to fill the role."

"Last I checked," he said. "You were G.o.ddess of Honesty."

"Honesty and honest emotions, my dear," she said sweetly. "And let me tell you, l.u.s.t is one of the most honest of all emotions. Now, what are you doing with those silly pebbles?"

"Counting," he said.

"Counting your insanities?"

"That," Lightsong said, tossing another pebble, "and counting the number of priests who come through the gates wearing the colors of each G.o.d or G.o.ddess."

Blushweaver frowned. It was mid-day, and the gates were fairly busy with the comings and goings of servants and performers. There were only occasionally priests or priestesses, however, since they would have been required to come in early to attend their G.o.ds.

"Each time a priest of a particularly G.o.d enters," Lightsong said, "I toss a pebble into the urn representing that G.o.d."

Blushweaver watched him toss-and miss-with another pebble. As he'd instructed, the servants picked the pebble up and put it in the proper urn. Violet and silver. To the side, one of Hopefinder's priestesses rushed across the green toward her G.o.d's palace.

"I'm confused," Blushweaver finally said.

"It's easy," Lightsong said. "You see someone wearing purple, you throw a pebble in the urn of the same color."

"Yes, dear," she said. "But why?"

"To keep track of how many priests of each G.o.d enter the Court, of course," Lightsong said. "They've slowed to nearly a trickle. Scoot, would you mind counting?"

Llarimar bowed then gathered several servants and scribes, ordering them to empty the urns and count the contents of each one.

"My dear Lightsong," Blushweaver said. "I do apologize if I've been ignoring you lately. Allmother has been rudely unresponsive to my suggestions. If my lack of attention has caused your fragile mind to snap..."

"My mind is quite unsnapped, thank you," Lightsong said, sitting up, watching the servants count.

"Then, you must be so very bored," Blushweaver continued. "Perhaps we can come up with something to entertain you."

"I'm well entertained." He smiled even before the counting results were in. Mercystar had one of the smallest piles.

"Lightsong?" Blushweaver asked. Nearly all of her playful att.i.tude was gone.

"I ordered my priests in early today," Lightsong said, glancing at her. "And to set up position here, in front of the gates, before the sun even rose. We've been counting priests for some six hours now."

Llarimar walked over, handing Lightsong a list of the G.o.ds and the number of priests who had entered wearing their colors. Lightsong scanned it, nodding to himself.

"Some of the G.o.ds have had over a hundred priests report for service, yet a couple of them have had barely a dozen. Mercystar is one of those."

"So?" Blushweaver asked.

"So," Lightsong said. "I'm going to send my servants to watch and count at Mercystar's palace, keeping track of the number of priests who are there. I already suspect that I know what they'll find. Mercystar doesn't have fewer priests than the rest of us. They're just getting into the Court by a different route."

Blushweaver paused. "The tunnels," she finally said.

Lightsong nodded.

Blushweaver leaned back, sighing. "Well at least you're not insane or bored. You're just obsessed."

"Something's going on with those tunnels, Blushweaver. And it relates to the servant who was murdered."

"Lightsong, we have much bigger problems to worry about!" Blushweaver shook her head, holding her forehead. "I can't believe that you're still bothering with this. Honestly! The kingdom is about to go to war-for the first time, your position in the Court is important-and you're worrying about how priests are getting into the Court?"

Lightsong didn't respond immediately. "Here," he finally said, "let me prove my point to you."

He reached over to the side of his couch and picked a small box up off the ground. He held it up, showing it to Blushweaver.

"A box," she said flatly. "What a convincing argument you make."

He pulled the top off of the box, leaving a small grey squirrel sitting in his hand. It stood perfectly still, staring forward, fur blowing in the breeze.

"A Lifeless rodent," Blushweaver said. "That's much better. I feel myself being swayed already."

"The person who broke into Mercystar's palace used this as a distraction," Lightsong said. "Do you know anything about Breaking Lifeless, my dear?"

She shrugged.

"I didn't either," Lightsong said. "Not until I required my priests to break this one. Apparently, it requires weeks to take control of a Lifeless for which you do not have the right security phrases. I'm not even sure how the process goes-has something to with Breath and torture, apparently."

"Torture?" she said. "Lifeless can't feel."

Lightsong shrugged. "Anyway, my servants broke this one for me. The stronger and skilled the Awakener who created the Lifeless, the more difficult it is to break his Lifeless."

"That's why we need to get the Commands from Allmother," Blushweaver said. "If something were to happen to her, her ten thousand would become useless to us. It would take years to break that many Lifeless!"

"The G.o.d King and some of her priestess have the codes as well," Lightsong said.

"Oh," Blushweaver said, "and you think he is going to just give them over to us? a.s.suming we're even allowed to talk to him?"

"Just pointing out that a single a.s.sa.s.sination couldn't ruin our entire army," Lightsong said, holding up the squirrel. "That's not the point. The point is that whomever made this squirrel held quite a bit of Breath and knew what he was doing. The creature's blood has been replaced with ichor-alcohol. The sutures are prefect. The Commands controlling the thing were extremely strong. It's a marvelous piece of art."

"And?" she asked.

"And he released it in Mercystar's palace," Lightsong said. "Creating a distraction so that he could sneak into those tunnels. Someone else followed the intruder, and this second person killed a man to keep him from revealing what he'd seen. Whatever is in those tunnels-wherever they lead-it's important enough to waste Breath on. Important enough to kill for."

Blushweaver shook her head. "I still can't believe you are even worrying about this."

"You said you knew about the tunnels," Lightsong said. "I had Llarimar ask around, and others know of them too. They're used for storage beneath the palaces, like you said. Different G.o.ds have ordered them constructed at various times during the history of the Court."

"But," he continued, excited. "They would also be the perfect place to set up a clandestine operation! The Court is outside the jurisdiction of the regular city guards. Each palace is like a little, autonomous country! Expand a few of those cellars so that their tunnels connect with others, dig them out of the Court so that you can come and go secretly..."

"Lightsong," Blushweaver said. "If something that secret were going on, then why would the priests use those tunnels to come into the Court? Wouldn't that be a little suspicious? I mean, if you noticed it, how hard could it be to discover?"

Lightsong paused, then flushed slightly. "Of course," he said. "I got so wrapped up in pretending to be meaningful that I forgot myself! Thank you so much for reminding me that I am an idiot."

"Lightsong, I didn't mean-"