quickly himself. Emin picked at the food, his appetite pretty nonexistent. He was just about to give up and ring for his tea when there was a knock at the door.
‘What now?’ he sighed before calling for the person to enter.
He frowned, not immediately recognising the woman in the long dress with a green scarf half-covering her face. When he did he almost fell off his chair as he scrambled up, reaching for a sword he’d forgotten to buckle to his hip.
‘Oh, that’s not very friendly,’ said the young woman, pointing a slender finger at him and making a sharp downward motion. ‘Sit.’
Emin felt an irresistible weight appear on his shoulders and drive him back down into his seat. She stepped forward and gave him a fond smile, one he recognised all too well.
‘This can’t be,’ he muttered. ‘It’s impossible! What sort of trick is this?’
‘Aren’t you pleased to see me?’ she asked, shutting the door behind her and walking to the centre of the room. Her dress was elegant but old-fashioned, twenty years out of date. She was no more than twenty-five summers old, with bright yellow eyes and auburn hair hanging in a plait over her left shoulder.
‘If you really were my sister,’ Emin growled with mounting anger, ‘then yes, I would be delighted. But she’s dead. If you’re looking to make an enemy of me you’re going about it in the right way.’
The woman sat at the table, still smiling. ‘You have a life-size painting of her in your throne room and one of the finest buildings in Narkang bears her name, yet you’re not glad to see her in all her beauty before you. You humans are fickle.’
Emin didn’t reply. His mind was racing, frantically trying to work out who or what would be so casually callous as to wear Gennay’s face. After a moment he realised the impersonation was not perfect; Gennay Thonal’s eyes had been a glittering ice-blue, like her younger brother’s.
It’s a God, it must be — and if my guess is right, one not usually clothed in female flesh.
‘Another wager won,’ Emin said grimly. ‘Morghien told me I was being arrogant when I suggested one of you would make me an offer.’
‘But did you expect me?’ asked the yellow-eyed God, unperturbed that its guessing game was already over.
‘The list of suspects wasn’t long. Few of the Pantheon would deign to visit me nowadays.’ Emin took a breath to regain his composure. ‘If you want a Mortal-Aspect, your best bet is the man who was here a few nights past.’
‘Daken?’ she said, laughing. ‘Oh please; the man is useful for getting rid of inconveniences, but you insult me by suggesting it.’ She tilted her head in thought. ‘At any rate the man bears something of a grudge. I don’t believe he’s suitably grateful for the gifts bestowed upon him.’
Emin gaped. ‘He’s aligned to your Trickster Aspect, Larat! I can’t believe Litania has an agreeable influence on anyone’s life, but to be her plaything . . . ?’
The God of Magic and Manipulation shrugged. ‘He thrives, what more does a white-eye wish for? It smacks of ingratitude. Nevertheless, to link myself to that oaf? I would prefer a Mortal-Aspect to complement my intellect, not muddy the waters.’
‘He’s no fool,’ Emin countered, ‘and if you think to win me by flattering my intelligence — ’
Larat raised a hand to cut him off. ‘Your intelligence is what it is; your ego equally so. Concerning Mortal-Aspects, let us say I remain unconvinced. A bold move, perhaps, but as I see it, one yet to bear fruit.’
‘Then why are you here?’ asked Emin, mystified. ‘Your Lord has made His feelings towards me most clear. You could find few breakfast companions more out of favour with Lord Death. I am barred from His temples; I will not receive any aid from Him or His followers . . .’
‘How you must be weeping into your pillow,’ Larat broke in. ‘Are your feelings stung? Let me offer this salve; Death is lord of us all and as we are assailed, so He bears the brunt of it. He has lost many followers and Aspects — one of whom has bloomed in the meantime — so do not imagine you are so special in His treatment of you.’
‘Why are you here?’ Emin repeated. He didn’t really expect a straight answer — that was not in Larat’s nature — but he’d had an uneasy night and his patience was worn thin.