events, the Bastard, not that praying to the god of disasters was exactly the safest course. 'The Lady of Spring is not your usual Patroness, surely?'
'Oh, aye! She blesses me much. Today, I pray for poetry.'
'I thought the Bastard was the god of poetry.'
'Oh, Him, too, aye, for drinking songs and such. And for those great songs of when the walls come crashing down and all is burning, aye, that make your hairs all stand up, those are fine!' Jokol waved his arms to mime horripilating tragedies suitable for epic verse. 'But not today. Today, I mean to make a beautiful song to my beautiful Breiga, to tell her how much I miss her in this stone city.'
Behind him, Ottovin rolled his eyes. Ingrey took it for silent comment on the sisterly object of the proposed song, not on the song itself. Ingrey was reminded that in addition to being the goddess of female virgins, the Daughter was also associated with youthful learning, civil order, and, yes, lyric poetry.
Biast was staring up at Jokol, looking impressed despite himself. 'Is this by chance the owner of your ice bear, Ingrey?' he inquired.
Though longing to deny all association with the ice bear, now and forever, Ingrey was reminded of his social duties. 'Pardon me, my lord. Allow me to present to you Prince Jokol of Arfrastpekka, and his kinsman Ottovin. Jokol, this is Prince-marshal Biast kin Stagthorne. Son of the hallow king,' he added, in case Jokol needed a touch of native guidance among the perils of Easthome high politics.
But Jokol was neither ignorant nor overawed. He signed the Five and bowed his head, and Biast returned both greeting and blessing, as confident chieftains of two races neither vassal nor allied, but with some such possibilities hovering in the future, not to be scorned.
The promising mutual appraisal of the two princes was interrupted by the return of Symark, clutching the arm of a gray-robed acolyte. Having secured a guide to the proliferating hodgepodge of buildings that made up the Temple complex, Biast went to collect his sister from the Mother’s court.
Jokol, taking the hint, made to bid Ingrey farewell. 'I must try harder to see this archdivine fellow. It may take some time, so I should start, eh?'
'Wait,' said Ingrey. 'I’ll tell you who you should see. In a building two streets back, second floor—no, better.' He darted over to pluck a passing boy in Bastard’s whites, a young dedicat of some sort, out of the thin stream of people passing through the central court bound on various errands. 'Do you know the way to Learned Lewko’s office?' he demanded of the boy.
The boy gave him an alarmed nod.
'Take this lord to him now.' He handed off the dedicat to a bemused Jokol. 'Tell him Lord Ingrey sends a complication for his collection.'
'Will this Lewko help me to see the archdivine?' asked Jokol hopefully.
'Either that, or he’ll go over Fritine’s head. Threaten to give him Fafa; that will stimulate him on your behalf.' Ingrey grinned; for the god of vile jokes, this practically constituted a prayer, he decided.
'He is a power in the Temple?'
Ingrey shrugged. 'He is a power of a god who does not wait on clerks, at least.'
Jokol pursed his lips, then nodded, brightening. 'Very good! I thank you, Ingorry!' He trudged off after the boy, trailed by the dubious Ottovin.
Ingrey thought he heard someone laughing in his ear, but it wasn’t Symark, who stood looking on somewhat blankly. A trick of the court’s acoustics, perhaps. Ingrey shook his head to clear it, then pulled himself to an attitude of grave attention as Biast returned with the ladies.
Biast, after a glance around the court, gave Ingrey a peculiar stare, uncertain and searching. It occurred to Ingrey that the last time all of this party had been present in this place was two days ago, for Boleso’s funeral. Was Biast wondering whether to believe in Ingrey’s claimed shaman-miracle of cleansing his late brother’s soul? Or— almost more disturbing—belief accepted, was he wondering what further consequences must flow from it?
In any case, the gray-robed acolyte led them around the temple into the maze of buildings housing clerks and works of the various holy orders. Some structures were new and purpose-built, but most were old and reassigned. They passed between two noisy and busy, if slightly dilapidated, former kin mansions, one now a foundling hospital run by the Bastard’s Order, the other the Mother’s infirmary, its colonnades echoing with the steps of physicians and green-clad acolytes, its tranquil gardens sheltering recovering patients and their attendants.
In the next street over they came to a large edifice, three stories high and built of the same yellow stone as Hetwar’s palace, dedicated to the libraries and council rooms of the Father’s Order. A winding staircase circled a spacious hall and brought them at length to a hushed, wood-paneled chamber.
The inquiries were already under way, it seemed, for a pair of retainers Ingrey thought he recognized from Boar’s Head were just shouldering back out the door, looking daunted but relieved. They recognized the prince- marshal and princess and hastened to get out of their way, signing sketchy gestures of respect. Biast managed a return nod of polite acknowledgment, although Fara’s neck stayed stiff, pride starched with mortification. Fara caught her breath in a little snort like a startled mare when the first person they encountered on the other side of the door was Boleso’s housemaster, Rider Ulkra. Ulkra bowed, looking at least equally queasy.
A long table stretched across the head of the room, and five men sat along it with their backs to the draped windows. Two wore the gray-and-black robes and red shoulder braids of divines of the Father’s Order, and the other three wore the chains of office marking judges of the King’s Bench. At a small table to one side, a scribe sat with her quills and inks and papers. Other benches lined the walls. Near the scribe, on the bench on the far side of the room, another divine sat, a gangling fellow with untidy graying black hair that seemed to echo his robes. His red shoulder braid had a gold cord running through it, the mark of a senior scholar of jurisprudence. A counselor to the counselors?
The judges all rose and made obeisance to the prince-marshal and courtesies to the princess; a couple of dedicat-servants were sent scurrying to secure padded chairs for the Stagthorne haunches. While this was going on, Ingrey circled in on Ulkra, who swallowed nervously but returned his greeting.
'Have you been questioned yet?' Ingrey inquired politely.
'I was to be next.'
Ingrey lowered his voice. 'And do you plan to tell the truth, or lie?'
Ulkra licked his lips. 'What would Lord Hetwar desire of me, do you suppose?'
Did he still think Ingrey was Hetwar’s man? So was Ulkra exceptionally shrewd, or just behindhand on capital gossip? 'If I were you, I should be more worried about what Hetwar’s future master desires.' He nodded toward Prince Biast, and Ulkra followed his glance, warily. 'He is young now, but he won’t stay that way for long.'
'One would think,' Ulkra angled, speaking almost under his breath, 'he would desire to shield his sister from reproach and censure.'
'Would one?' said Ingrey vaguely. 'Let’s find out.' He beckoned to Biast, who trod over curiously.
'Yes, Ingrey?'
'My lord. Rider Ulkra here cannot decide if you would wish him to tell the exact truth, or shade it to spare your sister chagrin. What that says about your reputation, I must leave you to decide.'
'Sh, Ingrey!' whispered Ulkra in furious embarrassment, with a fearful glance over his shoulder at the table down the room.
Biast looked taken aback. He said cautiously, 'I promised Fara that none would shame her here, but certainly no man should violate his oath of truthsaying before the judges and the gods.'
'You set the path for your future court starting even now, prince. If you discourage men from speaking unpalatable truths in front of you, I trust you will develop your skill for sifting through pretty lies, for you will spend the rest of your reign, however short, wading in them.' Ingrey let his mild tone suggest that it was a matter of utter indifference to him which Biast chose; Ingrey would manage just the same.
Biast’s lips twisted. 'What was it Hetwar said of you? That you defy whom you choose?'
'Whom I please. I please Hetwar best so. But then, Hetwar is no man’s fool.'
'Verily.' Biast’s eyes narrowed; then he surprised and gratified Ingrey altogether by turning to Ulkra, and saying shortly, 'Tell the exact truth.' He inhaled, and added on a sigh, 'I’ll deal with Fara as I must.'
Ulkra, eyes wide, bowed and backed away, presumably before Ingrey could wind him into further coils. The chairs arrived; Ingrey gave Biast a slight, sincere bow, rather ironically returned, and took his place on the rear
