Eda gritted her teeth. “The gods are relying on me to build the temple. How else am I supposed to reinstate a religious order in the Empire?”
“Perhaps reinstating religion isn’t the best use of your time.”
“You believe in the gods more intently than anyone else I’ve ever met. Why are you so resistant to the idea of organized worship?”
It was a conversation they’d had almost daily since Eda had brought Niren to live in the palace. Neither of them ever seemed to tire of their arguments.
Niren finished with the comb and began braiding Eda’s hair. “Belief is a personal, individual thing. Worship shouldn’t be forced on anyone.”
“I’m not forcing it, I’m offering it.”
“And you think an Empire-mandated temple will compel the people to serve the gods willingly?” Niren pinned the braid on top of Eda’s head, and swiftly started on another one.
“I do.”
“And if they don’t?”
Eda shrugged, always uncomfortable when the conversation reached this point. “If they don’t, the temple will be there for them anyway.”
“And how do you intend to feed your priests and priestesses? Out of the royal treasury?”
Niren knew full well that the treasury was depleted, and Eda scowled at her in the mirror before glancing around theroom. Lamps burned bright from their gold-plated wall sconces, designed to look like stars caught in the bare branches of trees. The flickering flames danced out of time with the rhythm of the rain, glinting off the mosaics that covered the walls from floor to ceiling. The tiny pieces of colored glass formed scenes from mythology, crafted by some long-ago artisan. They needed to be restored, but Eda had allocated the funds she could have spent beautifying the royal suite on the temple. The rest of the treasury funds had gone to paying her guard and all her various supporters who had helped pave her way to the throne. There wasn’t any left.
Eda’s eyes snagged on the archway that led into her bedchamber, where the old Emperor had died. She still had a hard time thinking of him as her father, even though that was the claim she had made when she seized the Empire: an illegitimate daughter, the Emperor’s only heir. It was strange, occupying the rooms where so many royals had drawn their first—and last—breaths. According to the histories, a young king had even been stabbed in his sleep by his own sister here. There was no reason given, but if the king had been anything like Eda’s Barons, she could think of several without trying too hard.
“Niren, what do you know about the spirits?” said Eda, watching her friend’s nimble fingers continue to braid and pin her hair.
“The One made the spirits at the beginning of the world, to help the gods in their tasks. No stories tell how many there were—some say as many as the stars, some say more than the grains of all the sand on Endahr.”
Eda was not surprised that Niren knew about the spirits—she was probably more well informed than the head palace librarian,since all she ever seemed to do was read. “What happened to them?”
Niren pinned another braid. “They were powerful and clever, and many began to imagine themselves as equal to the gods, even higher than them. There was one spirit who seduced the god of the sea and took his power for her own. There were some who taught the sacred Words of the gods to mankind. There were some who spun evil diseases into the world in order to erradicate mankind, whom they deemed unworthy. And there were some who sought to swallow the sun, the last unclaimed Star, and become gods in their own right. But when the spirits banded together to slay Raiva, goddess of the wood, the gods at last took notice. The gods bound the spirits with the Words of power and sent them into the void for eternity, all but a few who had proved themselves faithful. Some stories say one of a handful of remaining spirits is the servant of Tuer. Why do you ask?”
Eda played with the ring resting in a little ivory-latticed jar on the dressing table: a heavy gold band shaped like a tiger chasing its tail, with rubies for eyes. Just like these rooms, it had belonged to the Emperor. She should know—she’d taken it off his finger. “Something made me think of it this morning, but it doesn’t matter.” Eda chewed on her lip. “Are you angry that I brought you here?”
Niren shrugged. “You took me away from my mother and sisters last year without warning. I haven’t even seen the city you made me Marquessof.” Niren’s tone softened her words.
“You’re my only friend, Niren. The only person I can trust.” For an instant, she blinked and saw Shadow Niren in the mirror, dead eyes watching her, dead hands binding up her hair.
But the next instant it was living Niren, pinning the lastbraid into place. “And who’s fault is that, Eda?” Niren stepped back to examine her handiwork. “How do you even know you can trust me? We were friends when we were young, when you were a child on your parents’ estate and didn’t understand the differences in our stations. I felt it even then.”
Eda tried to shake the image away. “But we are friends?”
Niren shook her head in obvious exasperation. “Of course we are.”
Eda made no apology; Niren didn’t expect one.
Niren glanced toward the door and then back at Eda. “Now I’m afraid I have to tell you something you will not like.”
Eda fidgeted with the clasp on her jewel case, flicking it open and shut, open and shut, watching the play of the light on the metal. “The Barons have sent you with unpleasant news,” she guessed. It wouldn’t be the first time.
Niren rubbed a hand over her eyes, mouthing a quick prayer. “The envoy from Denlahn has arrived.”
Eda thought she’d heard incorrectly. “What?”
“The envoy from Denlahn is here.” Niren shifted uncomfortably. “For the peace treaty talks. The Barons arranged it without you, months ago. There’s to be a party tonight to celebrate their arrival.”
Eda slammed the lid of the jewel case shut so hard the perfume bottles on the dressing table bounced and knocked together. So that’s what the Barons had been getting at during the council session. They weren’t petitioning for a treaty—the bastards were informing her it was already underway.
