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Slowly and with no choice, Xan says, “I have some Artemian.”

Atticul’s sickly grin spreads over his face. “Very good.”

“You trick me?” Xan says, speaking slowly. “My terms no different for this game. You want peace. No peace without her freedom.”

Atticul is speaking again, Xan has to concentrate on his drawling Artemian, something that seems to be. “I make good deal.”

Xan squares his shoulders, “What deal?”

Atticul smirks. “Are you sly? I send you whore. Bad woman?”

Xan narrows his eyes. “Envoy of Pluma. No bound by Azurian law.”

Atticul sighs, heavily before he speaks again. His words seem to be. “Those laws bad. My Attar different. I change law of sin. But I need law of sin. That—” the word he says next, Xan does not understand, but he can guess, “— priest, no trust. You prove he sin.”

“You want me spy?”

“I do.” Atticul smiles

“If he is sinner you kill him?”

Xan remembers the priest saying a man who was found to be sly would be burnt in the punishment square. Could he condemn that taut little man to such a death?

“Yes.” Atticul says, leaning forward.

“He is chaste. Obey your God.”

Atticul pauses. “He visit temple bathhouse. Early. Before dawn.”

“And what I get? Plumian woman?”

Atticul tips his head on one side. “Woman, yes. Your sister, I know this. I give you what you want. Woman and island. Make you king.” Atticul leans back and smirks.

There is a knock at the door. Atticul bids it open and a man comes in dressed in the livery of the palace pages. “Woman and island for priest,” Atticul says again.

Later, after Xan has returned to his chamber, he tries to make sense of all that he has learned. He wishes the priest had been there to translate for him, although it is very clear why he was sent away. Xan is certain he understood the basics of what Atticul said.

He is sure it would not be a simple matter to seduce the priest. He has already flirted with him for his own amusement, and only met with a cold rebuff. But perhaps if he were to persevere. Such a devout acolyte has likely never known pleasure.

And if he succeeded, he would see the face beneath the veil, which he would very much like to do. He has wondered what that face looks like since his first meeting with the priest.

He would be sending the man to burn. Could he do such a thing? Even for Pluma? For Trysta?

But whether he decides to bed the priest or not, whether for his own pleasure and curiosity or to deliver him to Atticul for Trysta’s sake, he ought to make Atticul think he is attempting to do so. So he ought to go to the bathhouse.

But another question floats to the top of his mind as he paces his chambers, examining these thoughts. Why does Atticul want to destroy a meek acolyte of Zai?

8

PERL

Perl is in Doroth’s large study. One of the fine well-appointed rooms of the High Priest of the North. Two plump settles, upholstered in brown leather, face a large hearth with a generous fire. Doroth sits on a tall chair, carved with depictions of the Sidusia and inlaid with white nacre, behind a matching desk, similarly carved and decorated. The desk is covered with papers and several fat white candles, the flames glittering in Doroth’s hooded eyes.

It has been two days since Karo left. Perl had been the only one to bid her farewell, watching her ride off to the Ivory Palace in the heavy snow.

She will not reside in that palace long, he knows. Rafus is dead. Karo has no right to live there.

The snow is falling even more heavily now. The wind howls outside, blowing flurries against the windows, making them rattle and groan.