"Then how? Why did she come to you?"

He didn't answer. "Come on," he said. "I attacked the ones who came running down when they heard screams. But more might return."

He looked like he almost wished that would happen. He turned toward the exit tunnel, and Vivenna followed.

They immediately moved toward one of the rich neighborhoods of T'Telir. Vasher didn't say much as they walked, and the girl was even more unresponsive. Vivenna worried for the child's mind. She had obviously had a rough couple of months.

They pa.s.sed from shanties, to tenements, to fine homes on tree-lined streets. As they reached the mansions, Vasher paused on the street, setting the girl down. "Child," he said. "I'm going to say some words to you. I want you to repeat them. Repeat them, and mean them."

The girl regarded him absently, nodding slightly.

He glanced at Vivenna. "Back away."

She opened her mouth to object, but thought better of it. She stepped back out of earshot. Fortunately, Vasher was near a lit street lamp, so she could see him well. He spoke to the little girl, and she spoke back to him.

After opening the cage, Vivenna had taken the Breath back from the thread. She hadn't stowed it somewhere else. And, with the awareness she had, she thought she saw something. The girl's BioChromatic aura-the normal one that all people had-flickered just slightly.

It was faint. Yet with the First Heightening, Vivenna could have sworn she saw it.

But, Denth told me it was all or nothing, she thought. You have to give away all the Breath you hold. And you certainly can't give away part of a breath.

Vasher stood, the girl climbing back into his arms. Vivenna walked up and was surprised to hear the girl talking. "Where's daddy?" she asked.

Vasher didn't reply.

"I'm dirty," the girl said, looking down. "Mommy doesn't like it when I get dirty. The dress is dirty too."

Vasher began walking. Vivenna hurriedly caught up.

"Are we going home?" the girl asked. "Where have we been? It's late, and I shouldn't be out. Who's that woman?"

She doesn't remember, Vivenna realized. Doesn't remember where she's been... probably doesn't remember anything of the entire experience.

Vivenna looked again at Vasher, walking with his ragged beard, eyes forward, child in one arm, Nightblood in the other. He walked right up to a mansion's gates then kicked them open. He moved onto the mansion grounds, and Vivenna following more nervously.

A pair of guard dogs began barking. They howled and growled, getting closer. Vivenna cringed. Yet, as soon as they saw Vasher, they grew quiet, then trailed along happily, one hopping up and trying to lick his hands.

What in the name of the Colors is going on?

Some people were gathering at the front of the mansion, holding lanterns, trying to see what had caused the barking. One saw Vasher, said something to the others, then disappeared back inside. By the time Vivenna and Vasher had reached the front patio, a man had appeared at the front doors. He wore a white nightgown and was guarded by a couple of soldiers. They stepped forward to block Vasher, but the man in the nightgown rushed between them, crying out. He wept as he took the child from Vasher's arms.

"Thank you," he whispered. "Thank you."

Vivenna stood quietly, staying back. The dogs continued to lick Vasher's hands, though they noticeably stayed away from Nightblood.

The man clutched his child before finally surrendering her to a woman who had just arrived-the child's mother, Vivenna a.s.sumed. The woman cried in joy, taking the girl.

"Why have you returned her," the man said, looking at Vasher.

"Those who took her have been punished," Vasher said in his quiet, gruff voice. "That's all that needs matter to you right now."

The man squinted. "Do I know you, stranger?"

"We've met," Vasher said. "I asked you to argue against the war."

"That's right!" the man said. "You didn't need to encourage me. But when they took Misel away from me... I had to stay quiet about what had happened, had to change my arguments, or they said they'd kill her."

Vasher turned away, moving to walk back down the path. "Take your child, keep her safe." He paused, turning back. "And make certain this kingdom doesn't send its Lifeless to a slaughter."

The man nodded, still weeping. "Yes, yes. Of course. Thank you. Thank you so much."

Vasher continued walking. Vivenna rushed after him, eyeing the dogs. "How did you make them stop barking?"

He didn't respond.

She glanced back at the mansion.

"You have redeemed yourself," he said quietly, pa.s.sing the dark gates.

"What?"

"Kidnapping that girl is something Denth would have done, even if you hadn't come to T'Telir," Vasher said. "I would ever have found her. Denth worked with too many different groups of thieves, and I thought that burglary was simply intended to disrupt supplies. Like everyone else, I ignored the carriage."

He stopped then looked at Vivenna in the darkness. "You saved that girl's life."

"By happenstance," she said. She couldn't see her hair in the dark, but she could feel it going red.

"Regardless."

Vivenna smiled, the compliment affecting her-for some reason-far more than it should have. "Thank you."

"I'm sorry I lost my temper," he said. "Back in that lair. A warrior is supposed to be calm. When you duel or fight, you can't let anger control you. That's why I've never been that good of a duelist."

"You did the job," she said, "and Denth has lost another p.a.w.n." They moved out onto the street. "Though," she added, "I wish I hadn't seen that lavish mansion. Doesn't help my opinion of the Hallandren priests."

Vasher snorted. "Nanrovah's father was one of the most wealthy merchants in the city. The son dedicated himself to serving the G.o.ds out of thankfulness for their blessings. He takes no pay for his service."

Vivenna paused. "Oh."

Vasher shrugged in the darkness. "Priests are always easy to blame. They make convenient scapegoats-after all, anyone with a strong faith different from your own must either be a crazy zealot or a lying manipulator."

Vivenna flushed yet again.

Vasher stopped in the street, then turned to her. "I'm... sorry," he said. "I didn't mean to say it that way." He cursed, turning and walking again. "I told you I'm no good at this."

"It's all right," she said. "I'm getting used to it."

He nodded in the darkness, seeming distracted.

He is a good man, she thought. Or, at least, an earnest man trying to be a good. A part of her felt foolish for making yet another judgment.

Yet, she knew she couldn't live-couldn't interact-without making some judgments. So she judged Vasher. Not as she'd judged Denth, who had said amusing things and given her what she'd wanted to see. She judged Vasher by what she had seen him do. Cry when he saw a child being held captive. Return that child to her father, his only reward an opportunity to make a rough plea for peace. Living with barely any money, dedicating himself to preventing a war.

He was rough. He was brutal. He had a terrible temper. But he was a good man. And, walking beside him, she felt safe for the first time in weeks.

Chapter Fifty.

"And so we each have twenty-thousand," Blushweaver said, walking beside Lightsong on the stone pathway that led in a circle around the arena.

"Yes," Lightsong said.

Their priests, attendants, and servants followed in a herd, though the two G.o.ds had refused pavilion or shade. They walked solitarily, side by side. Lightsong in gold and red. Blushweaver, for once, wearing a gown that actually covered her up.

Amazing, how good she looks in one of those, he found himself thinking, when she takes the time to respect herself. He wasn't certain what made him dislike revealing outfits. Perhaps he'd been a prude in his former life.

Or perhaps he simply was one now. He smiled ruefully to himself. How much can I really blame on my 'old' self? That man is dead. He wasn't the one who got himself involved in the politics of the kingdom.

The arena was filling, and-in a rare show-it appeared that all of the G.o.ds would be in attendance. Only Weatherlove was late, but he was often a little bit behind.

Important events come, Lightsong thought. They have been building for years now. Why should I be at the center of them? So many of the G.o.ds nodded in respect as he pa.s.sed their pavilions-though, admittedly, a few scowled at him, and a few just ignored him.

What a strange method of rule. Immortals who only last a decade or two--and who have never seen the outside world. And the people trust us.

The people trust us.

"I think we should share the Command phrases with each other, Lightsong," Blushweaver said. "So that we each have all four, just in case."

He didn't say anything.

She turned away from him, looking at the people in their colorful clothing, clogging the benches and seats. "My, my," Blushweaver said, "quite the crowd. And so few of them paying attention to me. Quite rude of them, wouldn't you say?"

Lightsong shrugged.

"Oh, that's right," she said. "You think that ignoring me is high praise."

Lightsong paused, then smiled faintly, remembering their conversation a few months back. The day this had all started. He had claimed-in his usual flippant way-that by ignoring her, he gave her the respect she deserved.

Blushweaver looked at him, a longing in her eyes.

"Indeed," Lightsong said. "Or, at least, that was once my opinion. I have come to revise it."

Blushweaver smiled. "You have, have you?"

"Yes, I have," Lightsong said. "You see, to ignore you is to invite your attention. That, in turn, allows you to act indignant, which we all know is when you are in best form. And yet, the act is spoiled by intention. Only truly, sincerely ignoring you would provide compliment. I am, unfortunately, unable to ignore you in such a benevolent manner. I do apologize."

"Oh?" Blushweaver said. "You seem very good at ignoring some things. Your own divinity. General good manners. My feminine wiles."

"You're hardly wily, my dear," Lightsong said. "A wily man is one who fights with a small, carefully hidden dagger. You are more like a man who fights with a boulder the size of three palace stones. Regardless, I do have another method of dealing with you, one that you shall likely find quite flattering."

"Somehow I find myself doubting."

"You should show more faith in me," he said with a flippant wave of the hand. "I am, after all, a G.o.d. In my divine wisdom, I have realized that the only way to truly compliment one such as you-Blushweaver-is to be far more attractive, intelligent, and interesting than you."

She snorted. "Well, then, I feel rather insulted by your presence."

"Touche," Lightsong said.

"Are you going to explain why you consider showing me up to be the most sincere form of compliment?"

"Of course I am," Lightsong said. "My dear, have you ever known me to make an inflammatorily ridiculous statement without providing an equally ridiculous explanation to back it up?"

"Of course not," she agreed. "You are nothing if not exhaustive in your self-congratulatory made-up logic."

"I'm rather humble that way."

"Undoubtedly."

"Anyway," Lightsong said, holding up a finger, "by being far more stunning than you are, I invite people to ignore you and pay attention to me. That, in turn, invites you to act your usual charming self-throwing fits and being seductive-to draw the attention back to you. And that, as I explained, is when you are most majestic. Therefore, the only way to make certain you receive the attention you deserve is to draw it all away from you. It really is quite a difficult task. I hope you appreciate the work I do to be so wonderful."

Let me a.s.sure you," she said, "I do. In fact, I appreciate it so very much that I would like to give you a break. You can back down. I will take the awful burden of being the most wonderful of the G.o.ds."

"I couldn't possibly let you."

"But if you are too wonderful, my dear, you will completely destroy your image."

"It's getting a little tiresome anyway," Lightsong said. "I've long sought to be the laziest of the G.o.ds, but I'm realizing more and more that such a task is beyond me. The others are all so much more delightfully useless than I am. They just pretend to not be aware of it."

Blushweaver glanced at him, obviously sensing the hint of bitterness in his voice. They stopped on the walkway, Blushweaver facing him, her back to the arena floor. Lightsong feigned a smile, but the moment was dying. They couldn't continue as they had. Not amidst the weights that moved around them.

"They aren't as bad as you imply," she said quietly.

"Only a group of idiots beyond imagining would give me control of their armies."

"They trust you."

"They're lazy," Lightsong said. "They want others to make the difficult decisions. That's what this system encourages, Blushweaver. We're all locked in here, told to spend our time in idleness and pleasure. And then we're expected to know what is best for our country?" He shook his head. "We're more afraid of the outside than we're willing to admit. All we have are paintings and dreams. That's why you and I ended up with these armies. n.o.body wanted to be the one who actually sent our troops out to kill. They all want to be involved, but n.o.body wants to be responsible."

He fell silent. She looked up at him, a G.o.ddess of perfect form. So much stronger than the others, but she hid it behind her own veil of ridiculousness. "I know one thing that you said is true," she said quietly.